Plum Girl (Romance) (31 page)

"Oh." Ann said, sounding as if she were mulling over the question. "Lonnie, I don't really know how this all concerns you, sugarplum, but I remember you as a real sweetie, so I'm sure your heart's in the right place. So if it makes you feel any better," Ann went on, "I can tell you that Lunther surely did not coerce me into anything. He did mention to me that he liked to dress up like a baby, and he asked if I would play the little game with him. You know, be his English governess, or some such. Change his dirty diapers, feed him his formula, spank him, and some other things I can't remember offhand."

Lonnie felt nauseated by what Ann
had
remembered. Okay, this was hardly the point, but really: Lunther wore diapers
and
soiled them? Was it just her, or was something seriously wrong with the world? Just then, she recalled the afternoon that Lunther bent over in front of her, and the sight of his big, puffy rear end... Oh,
Lord.
Her stomach rolled at the possibilities.

"Of course, I flat-out refused," Ann explained.

"But he didn't threaten to fire me, or anything, if that's what you mean by 'coerce. "

"And he didn't coerce you by... force?"

"Oh, no, doll! He never got physical. Are you kidding? He enjoyed playing the infant far too much to play the bully. Lonnie, sugar, if you don't mind me asking, how'd you find out about all of this? I surely didn't tell anyone. Well, except for Macey, but she already knew most of it."

"I found out from Macey, too," Lonnie admitted. "I guess it sounds weird, but when she told me, I was... I don't know... I was just so worried."

"Worried about me? Lunther's not my boss any more. He can't hurt me now, honey. Although I think he was pretty harmless,
anyway."

"Oh, don't you know?" Lonnie asked. "Lunther's dead."

"Dead?" Ann sounded shocked.

"Yeah, um, a heart attack."

"Oh, I had no idea!"

"But still," Lonnie pressed. "The harassment must make you angry." There was no doubt about it. She was fishing.

"Oh, hon, my instincts were right all along," Ann said. "You are a sweetie! You mean, you called me because you thought I had some pent-up rage, or some such?" She finished her question with a mirthful laugh, which made Lonnie feel somewhat foolish.

"Yes, I guess you could say that."

"Oh, hon," Ann said while chuckling, "that is really very nice, but you have nothing to worry about. Now, don't get me wrong. Lunther definitely told me more than I'd ever want to know about his personal life, but I never felt harassed. I really just felt sorry for the old guy."

"But you quit," Lonnie pointed out. "And so abruptly. Surely his requests made you uncomfortable enough that you wanted to leave the firm—"

"Yeah, well, I suppose you're right, sweetie. But a lot of it had to do with timing."

"Timing?"

"Sure. Oh, I'm not gonna lie to you, hon. I couldn't look at Lunther the same after he told me what he told me. I mean, one day he was my boss, a dignified attorney. And the next, he was an oversized newborn wannabe. Believe me, that made it pretty hard to take him seriously as an employer." She chuckled again and continued. "But, also, it happened that my fiancé's company had an opening for a program coordinator, which was a major step up for me. Lord knows, honey, Twit & Bell is no place for upward mobility. When they look at you as 'just a secretary,' no place is. So I left."

"But why was it such a secret where you went?"

"Sugarplum, I'm so embarrassed, but I didn't give my notice the way you're
technically
supposed to. I know it was so unprofessional of me, but the company wanted me to start right away, and it's not like I needed a reference, so... well, you know how it is." This was not how Lonnie pictured this conversation going at all. She'd assumed that Ann would have more unresolved feelings about what happened. But she wasn't even bitter!

Lonnie wished her luck with her new job and congratulated her on her impending marriage, and then got off the phone, mentally crossing one suspect off of her list. Ann Lee didn't have a motive to kill Lunther, but
someone
did, and Lonnie couldn't shake the feeling she was missing something. Something that was right under her nose.

Chapter 23

Lonnie was getting a sneaking suspicion that Twit's late arrivals to staff meetings were deliberate stabs at "making an entrance"—which was fine if "making an entrance" was supposed to elicit eye rolling and/or chortling. At the moment, the conference room was filled, and everyone was waiting for Beauregard to come in and "officiate."

Finally, the conference room door opened and he waddled in. But something was different. Twit looked irritated and less sure of his innate demigod status than he'd been in a while. At least, since Lunther had died.

"All right, people, let's make this a quick one," he said with a trace of weariness in his voice. "Ahem, let's see here..." He looked down at his papers, did the usual haphazard shuffling of them, and let out a sigh before he spoke again. "Okay, before we get into old business, let's cover new business. I have an announcement."
Oh good, this should only take most of the day to spit out.
"Lyn Tang's agreed to join the firm."
Or not.
Twit went on. "Under one condition, that is. She's being made"—his face tightened as he ground out the last word—"partner." His eye tic cha-cha-cha'd and his jowls clenched and released, clenched and released.

Lonnie couldn't believe it. He'd been adamantly against replacing Lunther, but apparently his desperation to court Lyn Tang exceeded his stance on the partner issue. She looked around the conference table to gauge her coworkers' reactions, but their faces didn't give away anything more than approving surprise.

"Then I assume I need to run an ad for an assistant position," Bette said.

"Uh, no," Twit replied, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. "That won't be necessary. Lyn wants to bring her longtime assistant with her. But you can start processing the personnel paperwork for both of them."

"I think I know how to do my job," Bette commented. "I'll have my assistant get started right away."

Twit said, "Now, as for old business—"

"Wait!" Delia shouted, and then realized her abruptness and immediately tried to soften her demeanor, which was like turning steel into granite. "Um... before you go on, Beauregard, I just wondered what the insinuations are of this." Going for the twenty-cent vocabulary was a new, unfortunate twist. Matt hissed "implications" under his breath, and half the table laughed. Delia used a mango-colored acrylic nail to drag a clump of fried hair behind her ear, and continued. "Does this mean that Lyn Tang is going to be our boss, too?" She paused and smiled sheepishly. "I mean, is she going to be as powerful as you?" The contrast between Delia's rusty accent and her batting eyelashes made Lonnie cringe inwardly.

Twit blushed.
Yuck.
Would the man just get laid and get it over with? "Quite frankly, Delia, I suppose my answer would have to be... yes." He let out a nervous fake cough. "That is to say, technically, Lyn will hold a, shall we say, boss
like
position here, but"—he cleared his throat of absolutely zero congestion—"I assure you, I still call the shots."

His eye tic turned violent. "In a manner of speaking, anyway," he clarified, only confusing them more. "That is, to elaborate," he rattled on, shuffling his papers again, "she won't have
more
power than me, of course. That would be simply obscene. And she certainly won't be able to do anything without my approval."

Now it was becoming clear. Lyn Tang was coming onboard sharing nothing less than completely
equal
power with Beauregard. No wonder he looked so beleaguered; he'd started the firm and now he had to share it with a virtual stranger.

A miasma of awkward silence hovered over the conference table.

"Ow!" B.J. yelped in pain. "What'd you do that for?" he asked Delia sharply, and leaned down to rub his ankle.

"Sorry, my foot must've slipped," she said without feeling.

"B.J., please, let's stay on track," Beauregard scolded. "I want to make this meeting as quick as possible."

"But it's not my fault!" B.J. protested immaturely. "She kicked my leg under the table—"

"Oh,
Lord,
can we get on with it please?" Bette whined—equal parts disgust and labored patience. B.J. turned beet red, Matt snickered, and Delia put on her best wide-eyed-doe face of innocence. But with all that eye makeup, she looked more like Nosferatu. At least that was Lonnie's impartial opinion. One thing was clear: Delia was livid about something. Poor B.J. had just been the unfortunate recipient of her rage, it seemed.

Beauregard cleared his throat and addressed the room again. "Now, for old business, how does February's budget look?" He turned his attention to the two accountants who'd come to the meeting. They spent the next several minutes reviewing the overall expense of the holiday party and explaining a change in policy regarding company reimbursements. Lonnie pretty much zoned out, though, since her temp status precluded her from getting reimbursed for anything, anyway.

"Very well," Twit said. "Does anyone have anything else to report?" Nobody spoke, so he continued. "Well, then, one final matter: we need to send back the company letterhead and envelopes we ordered from Paper Depot last month." That job went to Lonnie, so she perked up.

"We're going to have to place a new order," Twit went on. He paused, as if dreading his next words, and finished, "To go with our new company name."

"What?" a few people inquired at once.

Twit pushed himself off his chair, visibly gritted his teeth, and let out a strained sigh. "That's correct." He headed toward the glass door, and barely turned before finishing: "From this point on, the firm will be called Twit & Tang." He stalked out, and the room staled after him in silence.

It didn't last long. Within seconds, people were chatting and gossiping among themselves about Lyn Tang virtually usurping Twit's throne. The majority opinion regarded Tang with impressed awe. The minority opinion remained uncertain about what to think. And Nosferatu's opinion had an entirely unique feel to it. Once Twit was out of earshot, she muttered, "Mother-fucking piece of shit, stupid-ass waste of my time," and stormed out of the conference room.

Okay.

Lonnie went back to her desk, wondering how Twit's bad mood was going to affect his long-term disposition. On the one hand, he should be happy; Lyn Tang would bring her New England-wide prestige to the firm.

On the other hand, Twit's blissful autonomy following Lunther Bell's demise had abruptly come to an end.

* * *

The next night Lonnie and Dominick were entwined on her sofa, half watching
Goodfellas
and half making out. Takeout cartons were strewn about, and an open bottle of Pinot Noir rested on the coffee table.

"But, wait, I don't understand," Lonnie said, while Dominick slid his hand up to her breast. "Why'd he just kill that guy?"

"Who?" he mumbled against her skin.

"Joe Pesci."

"Killed who?" he muttered, and licked a trail from the nape of her neck to behind her ear. Lonnie shifted even closer.

"The waiter guy," she said breathlessly. Dominick lifted his head up and spared a glance at the television. His hair was ruffled and disheveled, and his eyes were borderline drowsy. "Oh. Because he wanted more respect. Also, he's psychotic."

"Great movie," she said sarcastically.

"It's a classic," he replied with a boyish grin, and went back to work on her neck. Her arms tightened around him just as her phone rang. "Damn," he murmured.

"That's okay," she whispered. "I'll let the machine get it."

After the third ring, the machine picked up, and played Peach's greeting. Then there was a beep. Then—

"Lonnie, it's Terry." She broke her kiss with Dominick and looked at the phone incredulously. "I really want to talk to you."
What for?
"Please gimme a call back as soon as you can. I miss you." She flew off the couch to shut off the machine before Dominick got the wrong idea from the utterly ridiculous message.

"By the way, I think I left my cupid briefs there—" She threw herself on top of the counter, hoping to smother the machine to death.

A few seconds passed before she slid off the counter and walked back to the sofa... where Dominick sat stiffly upright. "What the hell was that?" he asked, obviously a mix of annoyed, jealous, and it's time-to-put-up-my-guarded-I-don't-give-a-damn-guy wall.

Lonnie swallowed and shook her head vigorously. "No, it's not the way it sounded." She sat down next to him. He remained staunchly rigid on the adjacent cushion. "Let me explain," she said calmly. He sat there silently, and expectantly, with an I-don't-care-all-that-much expression on his face that didn't fool her for a minute. "Terry is that guy I had been dating. The one I mentioned when we first went to lunch a few months ago," she said.

"But I thought it didn't work out. You made it sound like it was over."

"It is, believe me."

"So why is he calling you for his
briefs
?" he persisted.

"No, you don't understand. Terry and I dated casually, and only for a few months. He doesn't even live in Boston. As soon as I met you"—she touched his lower arm—"things with him started tapering off." Why get into details about all the insults he'd hurled at her over the phone? "Now it's completely over."

She slid her hand up and down on his arm lovingly.

"Well, obviously he thinks there's still something going on," Dominick said, avoiding her eyes. But she could tell his tone was softening up, and he was coming around.

"He's—" She looked around, struggling to explain it, herself. "I think he just doesn't have anyone in his life right now, so he's making more out of us than there was. Believe me, Dominick, my relationship with Terry was nothing. It was casual, not a big deal." She turned his face and cradled his jaw in her hand. "Nothing like us," she said softly. And kissed him.