terrific instincts.”
“Hey.” Tess said, but Gina picked up her purse.
“I have to be going, anyway,” she told Tess. “I love you, but I don’t want to hang out in your neighborhood after dark, and I really need more of this muscle stuff on my legs. Call me later and tell me everything.”
“You know, that’s an intelligent woman,” Nick said when she was gone.
“That’s the woman you said was wasting her life in tights,” Tess reminded him.
Nick winced. “I didn’t exactly say that. I said that dancing wasn’t much of a career, and she was going to be in trouble someday if she didn’t plan ahead.”
“Well, some people live for the moment.” Tess flopped back into her chair and tried to forget that Gina was in trouble right now because she hadn’t planned ahead. One of the more annoying things about Nick was that he was often right.
“I was wrong. I’m sorry.” Nick opened his mouth to go on, but Tess shook her head.
“Forget it. I’m in a bad mood and I’m taking it out on you. Now, explain this mess to me.” She craned her neck to look up at him. “But don’t explain it looming over me.” She waved him to the floor. “Sit.” She watched him slide down the wall beside her chair to sit at her feet, his broad body graceful even in collapse. She grinned at him. “This is good. You understand the basic commands.”
“Come down here with me and I’ll roll over,” Nick said, and Tess felt her pulse flutter.
“Go away,” she said.
“Forget I said that,” Nick said. “That was my evil twin.”
“The only evil twin you have is that twit you work for,” Tess said.
“Funny, you should mention Park…” Nick began again.
IT HADN’T SEEMED like a disaster to Nick when he’d walked blithely into his office at Patterson and Patterson a couple of hours earlier. Walking into Patterson and Patterson always made him feel good, anyway. There was something about the ambiance of grossly expensive imported mahogany paneling, grossly expensive imported Oriental carpets, grossly expensive antique furniture and moderately expensive secretarial help at his beck and call that made him feel like a robber baron. And that afternoon, life had been especially good: an important and unexpectedly swift victory in court, a grateful client and an afternoon that was suddenly his to spend any way he wanted. If the lettering on the door had only said Patterson, Patterson and Jamieson, life would have been perfect.
Then things started to go downhill.
“I’m back, Christine,” he’d said to his secretary.
Christine looked up at him, beautifully brunette but only marginally interested.
“No, don’t get up,” he said on his way into his office. “I can find my way.”
Christine drifted to her feet and followed him, giving the impression she’d been going that way, anyway. “Mr. Patterson was in today,” she told him. “And Park wants to see you.”
“You put that well.” Nick shrugged off his jacket and dropped it on a chair. He sat down at his desk, glanced at the framed snapshot on it with a half smile, and then leaned back in his chair, tugging at his tie. “Park’s dad put him in a snit again, but you’re too tactful to say that. No wonder we pay you a fortune.”
“I need a raise,” Christine said without changing her tone or expression. “And I wouldn’t call it a snit. More like a panic.”
Nick loosened his tie and sighed a little in relief. “I hate ties. Some woman must have thought them up for revenge.” He cocked an eye at Christine. “You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?”
“Yes,” Christine said. “You also have several messages from women. None from Tess.”
Nick’s eyes went to the picture on his desk and then back to Christine. “Why would I want to hear from Tess?”
“Because you keep calling her and she doesn’t call back,” Christine said with great and obvious patience. “Your messages are on your desk. Park is in his office. Pacing.”
Nick ignored the messages. “Anything I should know before I see him?”
“How would I know?” Christine said, drifting out the door again. “I’m just a secretary.”
“Right,” Nick said. “And don’t you forget it.”
Christine ignored him.
“NICK!” PARK HAD COME OUT from behind his massive desk to slap him on the back, the picture of an Ivy League beach-boy, hitting forty and fighting it every minute. “Buddy! Pal! Compadre!”
“Compadre?” Nick shook his head and stretched out in the leather chair in front of Park’s desk. “This must be bad. You don’t speak Spanish.”
“How about partner?” Park said.
Nick crossed his ankles on the Oriental rug, trying to look unconcerned as his pulse leapt. “Partner would be good,” he said. “Does this mean we got the Welch account?”
“We haven’t exactly got the account.” Park sat on the edge of his desk and leaned forward to slap Nick on the shoulder again. “But no problemo, hey? You can still pull it off. You’ll just have to do a couple of small things and—”
“What?” Nick said suspiciously, his heart sinking at Park’s tone.
“Well, it would help if you’d get married,” Park said.
“I told you that you shouldn’t have done all those drugs in the seventies,” Nick said. “You’re having a flashback.”
“Funny.” Park paused. “Welch called Dad. He wants to meet our families. Especially yours. He likes you.”
“We don’t have families,” Nick said. “Or I don’t. You can at least show him a couple of parents. What’s this about?”
“I have no idea,” Park said. “We’re invited to his place in Kentucky—Friday night and Saturday—for a reading from his new book, and Dad said that Welch specifically told him that we’re supposed to bring our wives. Especially you. What did you say to Welch, anyway?”
Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. I sure as hell didn’t tell him I was married. He came to my office on an impulse, he said, and for some reason he was being a real bastard, edgy as hell, and I was pouring on the charm, trying to sell him on the deal when all of sudden, he—” Nick stopped, trying to pinpoint exactly what had happened. “He mellowed on me. Smiled, nodded, turned into Mr. Congeniality.” Nick frowned as he remembered the conversation. “I’ve been going over it in my mind, but for the life of me, I can’t recall exactly what I said. I was just explaining the plans we had for negotiating the new book contract, and suddenly he was a nice guy. And now he wants to meet my family? This is ridiculous.”
“No, this is Norbert Nolan Welch, the great American author,”
