need Brooke’s nagging right now. Wyatt was enough to deal with... A satisfied grin appeared on her lips as a brainstorm popped into her head. She would divert Brooke’s attention and teach McCauley a thing or two at the same time.
“It’s just that Mr. McCauley is here,” she said into the intercom, “and—” As anticipated, Brooke clicked off and came rushing out of her office, a look of elation on her face.
“Wyatt, as I live and breathe!”
“Hello, Brooke. I came by to take Cara to lunch. To discuss the auction.”
A frown threatened to form between Brooke’s eyebrows before she rallied. “Then I’m the one you need to be having lunch with, silly. I am the chairman, after all.”
“Ms. Abbott’s right,” Cara agreed. “She’s the one you should be talking to about the auction.” She smiled sweetly at Wyatt as Brooke entwined an arm through his and pulled Wyatt toward her office.
“We can talk better here than in some noisy restaurant,” Brooke cooed as she ushered him through the door. “Excuse me just a sec.” She darted back to Cara. “Be a dear...call Marcel’s and order lunch. Oh, and postpone this afternoon’s session with the layout people until three.”
Step into my parlor... Cara thought with diabolical pleasure as she reached for her telephone.
Revenge was taking its toll. For the past hour and a half, Cara’d been an unwilling party to Brooke’s twitter and Wyatt’s laughter, and she was sick of it. She’d delayed her own lunch to complete the report, reschedule Brooke’s afternoon agenda and handle an emergency call, so she was not only put out, she was starving, too. Her stomach growled, underscoring her hunger pangs.
At two-thirty the pair finally emerged from Brooke’s office, Brooke wrapped around Wyatt like a love-struck anaconda. They came over to Cara’s desk. “Mr. McCauley has graciously consented to be part of the bachelor auction,” Brooke announced with unconcealed relish.
Cara, startled, looked up into Wyatt’s face. “He has?”
“And not just a simple evening, either,” Brooke gushed. “Wyatt’s date will have the pleasure of flying with him to New Orleans for an overnight stay.”
“How wonderful,” Cara said, hoping Wyatt could read the mockery in her tone.
“Isn’t it? This will be the highlight of the evening,” Brooke enthused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the bids top ten thousand, maybe twenty.”
What woman in her right mind would waste all that hard-earned cash just to spend a few hours with a brash, know-it-all like Wyatt McCauley? Cara asked herself, then heaved a sigh. Any woman who could afford it, that’s who. A woman like Brooke who was probably planning her travel wardrobe at this very moment.
“Oh, give Mr. McCauley our fax number,” Brooke said, “so his secretary can transmit the details.”
Dutifully, Cara grabbed a red pen, circled a number on one of Brooke’s business cards and held it out for Wyatt. When he walked over to pick it up, Cara heard him say under his breath, “I can hardly wait,” before he moved away.
That was strange. He’d been so adamant with his refusals. Surely a couple of hours with Brooke couldn’t have generated such a dramatic turnaround. Yet apparently it had. His previous “no” was now a “yes” and that megawatt smile beaming down on Brooke didn’t indicate a man who was anything but delighted to be a part of her auction.
He had to know Brooke’s ulterior motives. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the woman, and although a major aggravation, Wyatt was no fool. Then again, maybe he wanted Brooke as his date. Maybe that was why he’d not only agreed to the auction, but had expanded the prize from a single date into an entire weekend. From all appearances, Wyatt was as taken with Brooke as she was with him. So what do I care? I don’t. But watching the twosome grin like actors in a toothpaste commercial, Cara couldn’t help wishing something would foil their little plot for a romantic interlude in the name of charity. Charity indeed
Cara removed the papers from her printer and turned it off. She needed to get out of here, her rumbling stomach providing the perfect excuse. “Here’s the report. I’m off to lunch now,” she told Brooke.
“Wait up,” Wyatt called after her, “and I’ll ride down with you.” He kissed Brooke on the cheek. “See you at the auction.”
“Not sooner?” Brooke purred.
“We wouldn’t want anyone to think us in collusion—now would we?” His wink brought another broad smile from Brooke.
“I suppose you’re right,” she said almost with a giggle. Cara couldn’t believe her eyes and ears. Brooke, a tough-nut businesswoman, was simpering like a teenager.
Cara waited as Wyatt had instructed, mumbled, “Thank you,” when he opened the door to the hallway, then proceeded on her own toward the elevator, taking out her frustrations on the “down” button.
“Why so grim? I thought you’d be happy I’d decided to help you out.” He pulled Cara’s hand away before she could jab the button a fifth time.
“You aren’t helping me. All you’ve done is make me look inept in front of my boss. She got a job done that I couldn’t handle. You told her yes, not me. But I suppose it will benefit the Rosemund children. Someone’s bound to fork over substantial bucks for the pleasure of your company.” And we both know who.
“Someone like you?” he asked as they stepped onto the elevator.
“Hardly.”
“You are going to attend the auction, aren’t you?”
“Sure. But I’ll be there to work, not to bid.”
“You don’t know what you’ll be missing. It’ll be a memorable date. Dinner at Commander’s Palace, a cruise on the Mississippi by moonlight. Sure you don’t want to make an offer?”
“Is this more retaliation—making me spell it out in black and white? For your information I could no more compete in that auction than I could buy out General Motors.”
“Jeez, you’re a sorehead when you’re hungry.” Wyatt took her arm as they reached the ground floor. “Let’s get some lunch.”
“You had lunch.”
“I’ll have dessert.”
“You had that, too. I ordered from Marcel’s, remember?”
“I could squeeze in another one. An extra lap at Town Lake will work it off.”
“Look, I know I should be grateful you’re doing the auction—and I am. But I don’t want to have lunch with you. OK?”
“OK,” he said agreeably. “I’ll give you a reprieve—this time. See you at the auction.”
“You are stunning,” Meg pronounced. It was the night of the auction, and she was fluttering around Cara, admiring her own handiwork. Meg had insisted
