Enchanted (13 page)

oOo

Ashley slammed the door and smacked into several staff members clustered outside Kathleen’s office, apparently listening to the boisterous exchange that had gone on inside. She pushed them aside and stormed down the hall, taking the e
levator to the penthouse office
Mac occupied.

Grace looked up from the paperwork on her desk. “I’m sorry, Miss Tate, but Mr. O’Brien isn’t in today.”

“Good,” Ashley retorted, walking past Grace’s desk and pushing open the door to Mac’s office. “I need some privacy. I’m sure he won’t mind me using his office.” She closed the door and locked it before Grace could do or say anything else.

She hated this room with its dark oak paneling and bookshelves, buckskin leather upholstery, and the big, ugly, ancient oak desk. She had managed to decorate Mac’s home, but he wouldn’t let her touch a thing in his office.

She sat in the executive chair, almost swallowed in its immensity. She thought about Kathleen, that frumpy old maid who had had to resort to adopting a child for companionship. She laughed. Mac had been so gullible when she told him that story about Kathleen’s affair with his dad. Whether he believed it or not, those words had been enough to end his silly crush on a girl who didn’t fit into his class. But what could she do this time to get him back? She didn’t even know what had gone wrong.

It had to be a mistake. After ten years together, how could he possibly want anyone else? She tried to think what his reason could be. She knew she hadn’t done anything different, so the fault must be his. She had tried to see him every day for the past two weeks, but his new housekeeper wouldn’t even open the door, and his secretary continually said he couldn’t be disturbed. Why, then, had Kathleen been granted admittance? And to think she had stormed out of his office. Ashley wouldn’t dream of slamming Mac’s door. He wouldn’t put up with it. Ashley knew how to handle Mac—with kid gloves, a little pout, a few tears, but never, never slam the door. That made him mad—and when Mac got mad, she stayed out of his way.

Toying with the ugly bronze sculpted cowboy on his desk, she thought about their relationship, about her status in society. She liked being known as McKenna O’Brien’s lady friend. He lavished her with presents, took her on trips, and he asked nothing in return, except sex every now and then. She could put up with that on occasion.

She looked at her watch. Nine-thirty. Too early for lunch. Maybe she should go to her club anyway. At least there would be someone interesting to talk to. People loved to listen to her. She had so much to say, and they always looked happy to see her.

She opened the office door and overheard Mac’s secretary ordering flowers. She smiled. He wants to make up. How nice. Well, I won’t let him back too easily. I’ll make him suffer for a while. Maybe a diamond bracelet would be a nice getting-back-together present. She smiled at Grace and disappeared into the elevator.

oOo

Kathleen’s stomach growled with hunger as she paced the floor. Jon followed her with his eyes.

“Look, Kathy. Maybe the timing just isn’t right.”

She stopped and glared. “No. The timing is right. We just have to look for a different angle.”

“I’ve thought of everything.”

“There must be something else.”

“I told you. There’s already a glut of women’s magazines on the market. The economy’s in a slump and the big spenders don’t want to invest in anything new right now. I can’t pull advertising dollars out of my pocket.”

“Maybe the press conference will help.”

“The press conference won’t help unless you have some good news to give them.”

“Then find some good news,” Kathleen ordered and started for the door. She turned back to look at Jon buried in paperwork, shaking his head at the figures before him.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “I’ll put some ideas or paper and see what I can come up with. Why don’t you call it quits, go home, and spend the afternoon with your kids.”

He nodded his head, but Kathleen felt his shoulders slump, sensed his defeat.

Walking out of Jon’s office toward her own, she ignored the whispers as she walked by the desks lined up like dominoes down the main corridor of the floor. She had too much or her mind. The problem with the advertisers was serious. She knew the press conference would help, but she didn’t want to be overly optimistic. She needed to sit down at her desk, in the quiet of her office, and think up new strategies to attract the advertisers. Jon had talent, but she couldn’t leave e
verything up to him. If she had
to work twenty-four hours a day she would. This magazine had to succeed.

When Kathleen entered her office, the scent of
dozens upon dozens of
fragrant roses overpowered her. She smiled and thought the most pleasant of thoughts—Mac.

Vases stood on two corn
ers of her desk, one on her credenza, another on top of her bookcase. She went to each arrangement, touching the cold crystal vases while inhaling deeply to capture the memory of the multicolored roses, their aroma, their beauty. She found the card lying on her desk. It had only one word written on it,
Mac,
but that one word spoke volumes.

The phone rang. “Kathleen Flannigan,” she answered in her brisk, businesslike manner.

“Good morning.”

She fell into her chair, swinging around to stare out the window at the
skyscrapers
surrounding her. “Good afternoon.”

“I hope you’re not too tired. I kept you out rather late.”

“I’ve never felt better. Thank you for the roses. They’re beautiful.”

“I thought they might perk up your day.”

“They did,” she whispered.

“Will you change your mind and have lunch with me?” he asked.

“I wish I could, but—”

“But you’re too busy,” he interrupted.

“You do understand, don’t you?”

“No. No one should ever be too busy for the boss.”

Kathleen laughed. “If the boss wanted to discuss business, I wouldn’t be too busy.”

“What if the boss wanted to discuss something other than business?”

“I hate to mix business with pleasure.”

“Oh? Which one am I—business or pleasure?” He sounded sexy, and extremely seductive.

“Both. And I need to keep the two separate.”

“God, you’re difficult.”

“I’m a single parent. I have to work for a living.”

She heard nothing at the other end of the line. What could he be thinking? Anytime she mentioned Julie, he grew silent

“I take it you’re not going out to lunch?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

“No.”

“You always work straight through, don’t you?”

“Most of the time.”

“Maybe I should issue a directive saying all employees
will
take a lunch.”

“You have a lot of dedicated employees. They’d probably ignore your directive.”

“I’m being selfish. I want to see you.”

She twisted the phone’s cord around her finger. “Next Saturday’s still open.”

He sighed. “Next Saturday’s a long way away.”

“I know, but—”

“Please don’t say any more. I already know your excuses by heart.”

“I might change my mind.”

“No, you won’t, and I won’t ask you to.”

“Thank you. I won’t ask you to change, either. I rather like you just the way you are.”

He laughed. “You mean opinionated and stubborn?”

“That, too.”

“What else?”

“Tall, handsome . . .”

“Forty-nine,” he interjected.

It annoyed Kathleen that he kept dredging up the subject of age. “Your age doesn’t bother me and it shouldn’t bother you. As a matter of fact, I like my men older.”

“You’ve had others?”

“My father is older,” she stammered, then let out a deep sigh, wondering why those words escaped from her mouth.

“Don’t worry, Kath. I know you’re not comparing me with your dad.”

“He’s a wonderful man. I could make worse comparisons.”

“There’s no one I can compare you with,” he said. “No one at all.”

“Is that a compliment?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She savored his words “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I should let you get back to work.”

Kathleen thought about how little she’d accomplished that morning between Ashley’s interruption, her meeting with Jon, and her thoughts about the previous night. “It hasn’t been easy to concentrate today.”

“You were thinking about me?”

“Part of the time.”

“Good. Keep thinking about me, but try to get some work done. I won’t make money if your head’s in the clouds.” The laughter in his voice was infectious, and Kathleen caught herself smiling.

“Thank you, Mac. For everything.”

“Any time.”

oOo

The knock came at one-thirty. Kathleen’s head rested in her hands as she looked over the art department’s cost estimates for the magazine, trying her hardest not to fall asleep. The numbers didn’t look good. Nothing looked good, except the roses that surrounded her.

“Come in,” she said, looking up from the paper to see two men in tuxedos push a cart laden with sterling-silver-covered platters into her crowded office. She didn’t have to ask. Her face lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. Mac must have decided not to listen to her refusal to have lunch—and she was delighted.

“Please don’t let us disturb you,
ma’am
. We’ll only be a moment.”

She watched with intrigue as they assembled a small round table, covering it with a white linen cloth, silverware, crystal goblets, and fine bone china.

They carried in two Chippendale chairs upholstered in white damask, and set them on either side of the table. One of the waiters came to Kathleen, bowed, and took her hand, escorting her to a chair. He unfolded the red linen napkin and laid it across her lap.

“If there’s anything else we can get for you, ma’am, we’ll be just outside the door. The gentleman will be here momentarily.”

She watched them depart j
ust as Mac sauntered in, breath
takingly handsome, and exceedingly dapper.

“Ah, lunch. One of the finest meals of the day.” He leaned over and placed a soft, lingering kiss on Kathleen’s cheek
,
brushed a strand of hair from behind her ear so it hung in a ringlet along the side of her face, then took the chair across from her.

“You said you don’t go out to lunch, so I thought I’d have it brought to you.”

“It’s nearly two o’clock.”

“And you probably haven’t eaten since last night. Correct?”

She smiled into eyes that glimmered with hope, and anticipation. “I’m starving.”

“Good. Just what I wanted to hear you say.” He lifted the lid from the first platter, and Kathleen couldn’t help but laugh when she saw two Big Macs sitting on the tray, surrounded by french fries and hot apple pies.

“Now, this is what I call a meal,” he said, surveying the feast before him. “God, I love junk food.”

Kathleen licked her lips. “Mmm, this looks divine.” She ripped the top off a packet of catsup, squeezed it onto her plate, stuck in a french fry, and popped it into her mouth. “How did you know I have a penchant for the finer things in life?”

“I’m psychic. And I, too, have a penchant for the finer things in life. You’re one of them.”

“You’re much too kind,” she said, sticking a salty finger into her mouth.

“Champagne?” he asked, holding up the bottle.

Kathleen shook her head. “You forgot. I don’t drink.”

He grinned, then lifted the lid on the second platter. “Your Diet Coke, my dear.” He handed her the tall paper cup, complete with plastic lid and straw. “Hope this is more to your liking.”

“You remembered.”

“I never forget a thing.” He shoved the bottle of champagne back into its holder, picked up the second cup of Diet Coke, took a drink, and cringed.

“Damn. This is awful. How can you drink this stuff?”

“An acquired taste.”

“I prefer Molson.”

“You should have brought one along.”

“But you told me I drink too much.”

“You listened to me?”

“You and my housekeeper. Wonderful old lady but a bit of a busybody. She’s been harping at me, too.”

“I’m glad you’ve got someone who cares enough to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

“She’s also stuffing me with junk food. I’ve been on a health kick for so many years I forgot what grease, white flour, and sugar tasted like.”

“And you like it?”

“Love it.” He smiled, munching a mouthful of hamburger.

“You told me you couldn’t start over at forty-nine, yet now you’re telling me you’ve switched diets, you’ve given up beer . . .”