in court by nine. He just doesn’t seem to understand that not everyone can keep the same pace or accomplish all he can. Plus, he’s blunt and outspoken. I’ve heard him called arrogant. And he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. But I wouldn’t be throwing you into the lion’s den unless I knew you were up to it. Besides,” Sadie added as if she were sharing a confidence, “he’s one of the most handsome men you’ll ever meet. So when he’s at his worst just sit back, take in the scenery and tune him out.”
Not an easy man to work for? Brusque manner? Demanding? Formidable? Blunt, outspoken, arrogant? And that was coming from a woman who considered herself Rand Colton’s biggest fan.
Rand Colton had to be a bear of a boss.
“Please, darling. I’ve given all my work clothes to charity and I’ve grown accustomed to lounging around in my bathrobe until midmorning. I just don’t want to go back to work. But Rand really needs help right now.”
Lucy narrowed her eyes at her aunt. “You don’t have an ulterior motive, do you? That business about how handsome he is—that was just to soften the blow of his personality flaws, right?”
Sadie was as tall a woman as Lucy was, both of them stood a full five-foot-six-inches, but where Lucy was slender, Sadie was more plump, with round apple cheeks that puffed out even more with the smile she granted her niece.
“No ulterior motives,” Sadie vowed. “I know you’ve sworn off men.”
“I haven’t ’sworn off’ men,” Lucy said, taking issue. “That makes me sound bitter and extremist, and I’m neither of those things. I have merely opted to—”
“Dedicate yourself for the moment to Max. I know. You’ve told me once or twice or fifty times. Not that I blame you for a lack of interest in men after what Max’s father did. But believe me, Rand has more than enough female companionship and I’m the last person who would set up my own niece with such a playboy. This is strictly selfishness on my part. I’m trying to get him the assistance he needs without being the one to provide it myself.”
Lucy stalled for another moment just for effect and then said, “All right. I guess you can arrange an interview.”
“Done! Three o’clock this afternoon. I’ll drive you in myself and take Max for ice cream while you meet Rand.”
Lucy laughed again. “You’ve already arranged for the interview. Very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“It’ll work out for the best. You’ll see. Now go change into a suit. You have to look professional. Rand is a stickler for that.”
“Oh good, a stickler, too,” Lucy said facetiously, adding stickler and playboy to the already long list of things that didn’t recommend Rand Colton to her.
“Just keep thinking of all the other attorneys you’ll encounter to hand out your card to,” Sadie advised airily. “Now scoot! You don’t want to be late. He can’t abide anyone being late either.”
“I think I should have two scoops on-account-a when you go someplace dressed like that we don’t eat dinner till way late in the nighttime and by then I’ll be hungry again.”
Lucy craned around to look at her son, strapped into the back seat of Sadie’s car by seat belts.
Max was small for his age but precocious. He seemed more like four going on forty most of the time, making it difficult to argue with his reasoning.
“It’s true that I dress like this to go to work. But today I’m just going to talk to a man, so it won’t take that long. We’ll have dinner at the same time we do every night now.”
Max wrinkled his pert little nose.
Lucy thought that even if she weren’t his mother she’d think he was adorable. He had chipmunk cheeks, big blue eyes that stared out at her from behind owlish eyeglasses, and whisk-broom brown hair cut close to his head.
“Two scoops, okay?” he said as if she should grant permission despite their previous exchange.
“Sorry. One scoop, buddy.”
“But what if they have the butter brickle kind and the bubble-gum kind? Then I should have a scoop of each and eat supper better tomorrow.”
“If they have both kinds you can have one scoop of one kind now and we’ll get the other kind to take home for tomorrow.”
Max grinned victoriously, as if that had been what he was angling for all along.
Seeing it made Lucy’s heart balloon. He had a silly habit of biting the tip of his tongue between his front teeth when he grinned like that and it was so cute she couldn’t believe it. He also had heartbreaker dimples in each chubby cheek that made him look irresistibly impish.
“What if there are three kinds?” he suggested as if he knew her defenses were down.
“Quit while you’re ahead,” she advised as both she and Sadie laughed.
Sadie pulled to a stop at a red light and nodded to the huge chrome and glass high-rise building on the next block. “Rand’s office is in there. I’ll just drop you off out front. The ice-cream parlor is two blocks farther down in the lobby of the redbrick building. They have underground parking there so I’ll be able to get a spot. Why don’t you walk over and meet us when you’re finished?”
“You don’t want to come up and say hello?”
“Rand and I had a nice chat on the phone. I know how busy he is. I don’t want to bother him with a drop-in.”
When the light turned green, Sadie pulled through the intersection and eased the car to the curb in front of Rand Colton’s building. “He’s on the twenty-third floor, Suite 2300. Good luck.”
“I probably need it,” Lucy said wryly. Then, with a quick glance back at Max again, she added, “Be good for Aunt Sadie.”
“He’ll be fine,” Sadie answered as the car behind them honked.
Lucy took that as her cue and hurried out of the vehicle so her aunt could get going again.
As she entered the imposing building, she checked her watch. She had twenty minutes to spare and while she had no intention of being late, she also didn’t want to appear overeager.
So with time to spare, she found a rest room in the lobby and went in to check her appearance.
She’d worn what she considered her power suit—a navy blue formfitting jacket with a high split-collar that helped disguise the length of her neck, and straight-leg slacks to match. She knew that some schools of thought held that a woman should wear a skirt but she didn’t subscribe to it. Partly because she felt more comfortable—and more confident—in pants, and partly because on her eighteenth birthday she’d taken a dare from a friend and been tattooed on the inside of her right ankle. It was a tasteful rose tattoo, barely an inch from bud to stem and not readily noticeable, but depending on how conservative the interviewer was, it could be detrimental.
She freshened her lipstick. It was a pale shade of burnished red and, along with mascara and blush, was the only makeup she wore.
She
