Don't Look Down (30 page)

Thursday, 8:40 a.m.

S
amantha drove into the parking structure and left the Bentley. Early as it was, she still felt miserably behind; she hadn’t even been to her own damned office in five days.

She rode up the elevator and walked down the hall, pulling out her keys as she went. Inside the office suite everything was quiet and neat, all the furniture where it belonged and now a tasteful forest green, all of the empty files put into cabinets and ready for client information.

As she reached the reception desk, though, she frowned. Both she and Stoney suddenly had double mail slots, one marked
mail
and the other marked
messages
. In her message slot were a half-dozen phone messages in a neat hand, detailing name, time called, return phone number, and message. And they all wanted to make an appointment regarding her services.

Holding the messages, she went through the side door into the office area, making the circle of the back. No one was there. Stoney had taken the day off, and considering that he’d only gotten out of jail yesterday afternoon, she wasn’t
going to argue with him. He’d smacked her across the fanny, but since he’d hugged her, too, she knew their shady little world was still intact.

Diet Cokes still lined the little break room refrigerator door, so she took one and popped the tab. As she turned, she caught sight of the Gauguin print hanging in the opposite hallway.

“Hello,” Rick’s voice came from reception. “Might I get some service up here?”

With a grin she made her way to the desk. “I thought you had a meeting with Donner.”

“I’m taking a coffee break,” he returned, leaning over the phone to kiss her. He swivelled one arm from behind his back, producing a crisp currency bill. “One hundred dollars.”

“I was wondering whether you’d pay up on the bet.” She took it, snapping the Benjamin Franklin. “This is going to buy me some new underwear.”

“Saucy.” He brought his other arm around in front of him. A pretty potted asparagus fern sat in his hand.

“What’s this?” she asked, taking it from him.

He shrugged. “I neglected to get you an office-warming present. And I know you like plants, so there you go.” Rick rocked back on his heels, looking absurdly pleased with himself. “I picked it out myself.”

Feeling unexpected tears pushing at the back of her eyes, Samantha set the plant on the closest file cabinet. “Come here, studmuffin,” she said, leaning across the desk to grab him by the lapels.

She kissed him, drinking in his warmth and his presence and his touch as he cupped the sides of her face and kissed her in return. He’d known just what present she would appreciate the most, and he’d gone out and gotten it for her.

Rick slid his hands down around her waist and lifted, draw
ing her forward over the desk to his side of the reception area. She leaned into him, meeting his deepening embrace eagerly.

“So you’re okay with my tiny little operation?” she asked, her voice not quite steady. “Two weeks ago you were pushing for that worldwide conglomerate thing.”

He gazed at her for a long moment. “No guarantees that I’ll stop pushing, but I’m okay with anything you want to do, Samantha—as long as I get to be a part of your life and you stay clear of things that will get you put in jail.”

She reached up and traced his lean jaw with her fingertips. “I love you, Rick Addison,” she murmured. The roof didn’t cave in, lightning didn’t strike, and her father didn’t magically appear from the beyond to chastise her. In fact, it didn’t hurt at all to say it. It actually felt…warm, and comforting.

He smiled. “I love you, Samantha Jellicoe.”

That felt even better.

The office door opened again. “Well, look who’s here,” Aubrey Pendleton said, strolling into reception.

Samantha drew a breath. “Are you the office fairy?”

The handsome blond man grinned. “Excuse me?”

“The one who hung up the painting and took all the messages?”

“Oh, yes, well, then I am the office fairy. Guilty as charged.”

Rick cleared his throat. “And you are?”

“Sorry,” Sam interjected. “Rick Addison, Aubrey Pendleton. Aubrey, Rick.”

The two men shook hands. “Is that your Barracuda outside?” Aubrey asked.

Rick nodded. “It’s a new acquisition. My ’sixty-five Mustang was recently totaled.”

“It’s flash. I’ve got a ’sixty-two EI Dorado. Took me a year, but I rebuilt the engine myself.”

Leaning closer as Aubrey straightened the mess they’d made of the reception desk, Rick’s lips brushed Sam’s ear. “He is
not
gay,” he whispered, then straightened again. “You helped Samantha out,” he said. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. I admire her spunk.”

“Spunk. That’s me, all right.” Sam pulled the messages out of her jacket pocket.
Rick was wrong about Aubrey. Probably
. “Hey, are these legit?”

Aubrey nodded. “You bet,” he drawled. “They’re practically beating down your door.”

Rick took her free hand, picking up his briefcase with his other. “Sam, could I see you in your office for a minute?”

Without waiting for an answer, he started dragging her toward the hall door. She didn’t fight him, but looked back at the walker. “Do you want a real job?” she asked.

“Miss Samantha, you hired me three days ago,” Aubrey answered. “I just didn’t have a chance to tell you.”

“Cool.”

Once they were in her office, Rick locked the door. “You’re hiring him?”

“You heard him—I already did.”

“Sam—”

“Come here and kiss me again,” she ordered, walking over to close the office blinds. No sense giving Donner a thrill this early in the morning.

He joined her by the window, kissing her lips softly. She liked that he didn’t make a big deal about what she’d said. After all, it wasn’t like she’d agreed to marry him or something.

Just as she was about to melt, he backed off a little. “By the way,” he whispered, “I thought you might like to take a look at this.”

She grinned. “I’ve seen it before.”

“Not that.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded newspaper. “This.”

With a frown she took it, unfolding yesterday’s
Palm Beach Post
. Across the top of the section it said “Society Page.” Beneath that, the headline
PUMMELING ON THE POLO GROUNDS
shouted at her, with a large black and white photo of herself and Laurie going at it in the mud. Patricia was in view behind them—or her backside was, anyway, as she crawled out of danger. “Great,” she muttered.

“Read the part I highlighted,” he instructed, indicating the paragraph with the tip of one finger. “Out loud.”

Samantha cleared her throat. “‘When asked whether she and Addison had set a date after their morning’s trip to the courthouse, Jellicoe’s response was a resounding, “No. I’m…” She trailed off.

“Finish it.”

Fuck
. “’“I’m still trying to figure out how he cheats at Scrabble,” she said, dodging any further questions.’”

“‘Cheats’?” he repeated, taking the paper back.

“Well, yes. Cheats.”

“Aha.” Moving away, he picked up his briefcase. “Sit down.”

Furrowing her brow, she complied, sinking into the chair behind her desk. “What are you doing?”

He lifted a Scrabble board and a sack of letters out of the briefcase and set them on the desktop. “It’s not cheating when I’m simply better at the game than you. All of we English are. And I’m going to prove it, Yank.”

She grinned, picking up her Diet Coke and taking a swallow. “Oh, this is war, Brit. Bring it on.”