thought the movers did all that earlier in the week.”
“I’m sure they’d have taken care of this, too,” Paige said sweetly, “if Mr. Weaver had just thought to ship his sugar and coffee and eggs and ice cream along with his furniture, all the way from Atlanta.”
The super waved a hand. “There’s a cart down the hall in the storage closet. The doorman has a key, if the room’s locked. You should have asked him instead of bothering me, anyway.” She put the phone back to her ear and then paused. “Ice cream? That must mean Mr. Weaver is arriving soon—right?”
“How should I know when to expect him?” Paige murmured. “As you so graciously pointed out, I’m only the hired help.”
She regretted the jab as soon as the words were out. She knew better than to make catty remarks to someone in a position to do favors for her, that was sure. Don’t make anyone into an enemy—it was the first and most basic rule of a service business. What was wrong with her anyway?
She considered apologizing, but decided that the super would be even more annoyed by what she would probably see as yet another interruption, so Paige went in search of the cart instead.
When she let herself into Austin Weaver’s apartment a few minutes later, pushing the cartful of grocery bags, she found herself fancying that the spacious rooms held an expectant hush—as if they realized that the new residents would be turning up soon.
She dismissed the notion and hurried toward the kitchen. The logjam at the supermarket had put her well behind schedule, and Tricia Cade hadn’t helped a bit. There was still a meal to fix, flowers to arrange, towels to put out, and all the last-minute touches which went so far toward making an impersonal apartment into a home. Touches which all took time. Touches which were particularly important in this case, since Austin Weaver and his daughter Jennifer hadn’t yet seen their new residence.
Their first impressions of it could have a dramatic impact on Rent-A-Wife, as well, Paige knew. If Austin Weaver liked the arrangements which had been made for him, Rent-A-Wife would have not only an enthusiastic new client but a good recommendation. If he didn’t, the business would be the one to suffer, especially since all three partners had been involved at one stage or another in getting the Weavers settled in Denver so Austin could take on his new job as the chief executive officer of Tanner Electronics.
Cassie had blitzed every real estate agent for miles around till she’d located the best available apartment in the city. Sabrina had whipped the place into shape by organizing the cleaning team and the painters, and then supervising the movers as they arranged Austin Weaver’s furniture.
Until today, Paige had managed to stay away from the entire project. But it was only fair that the finishing touches had fallen to her; not only had the other two already done their share, but she was the most domestically inclined of the three, the best cook, and the most detail-oriented. And since she hadn’t found just the right occasion to explain to her partners why she’d much rather keep her distance from Austin Weaver, here she was.
With the casserole safely in the oven, Paige took another look at the clock and gave a sigh of relief. It was just midafternoon, so she’d be well out of the way before the Weavers’ arrival. She put the flowers, their stems freshly cut, to soak in cold water and went looking for vases. Where would Sabrina have put them? The topmost cabinets in the super-efficient kitchen were entirely empty, and the linen closet yielded nothing more promising. Of course, there was no guarantee Austin owned anything of the sort, she reminded herself.
Paige paused at the doorway of the smaller bedroom and looked in at the sunny yellow carousel horse, the white-painted bookcase crammed with volumes of all sizes and dimensions, the small bed dwarfed by its headboard—an enormous three-story-high dollhouse.
Austin Weaver had a daughter.
She’d known the fact for weeks, of course, since even before he’d actually accepted the job at Tanner Electronics. But it wasn’t until Paige was faced with the hard evidence of Jennifer Weaver’s existence—the carousel horse, the bookcase, the dollhouse bed—that the child seemed real.
Austin Weaver’s daughter. Five years old, and—if the photographs were accurate—a budding beauty.
Paige walked slowly back toward the living room, where a few silver frames were grouped atop a shiny black baby grand piano. The piano was leased, Sabrina had told her, since Austin thought shipping a grand piano cross-country was hardly practical. Paige had had to bite her tongue to keep from saying that she wouldn’t be surprised by anything Austin chose to leave behind, and that the only really amazing thing was that he’d collected as much baggage as he had.
She’d settled, instead, for commenting that since Tanner Electronics was paying the bill for his move, and since Caleb Tanner’s attitude seemed to be that whatever his new CEO wanted he was to get, regardless of the cost, leaving a baby grand piano behind had been a needless economy.
She paused to straighten the silver frames, which were a fraction of an inch out of line. Austin with an infant in his arms. Austin swinging a toddler over his head. The toddler alone, perched on the carousel horse. A slightly older child, her arms and legs just starting to stretch out of chubby babyhood.
But there was no photograph anywhere she could see of a woman who might be the mother of that toddler…
Paige wondered if that meant the woman’s picture was so precious that Austin was carrying it with him instead of shipping it ahead with the rest of his possessions. On the other hand, she thought, there might not be a photograph at all. If it had been a divorce…
Though surely in that case, she mused, wouldn’t it would be more likely that the child would have remained with her mother, instead of being placed in the care of a business executive so high-powered and so driven that companies across the country had competed for his services?
Too late, Paige heard the click of a key and then, as the front door swung wide, the soft purring voice of the super. “I’m sure you’ll find everything just as you ordered, Mr. Weaver,” Tricia Cade said.
Paige froze. Not yet, she wanted to say. I wasn’t expecting you till evening, till long after I’ve gone. You can’t come yet.
Her first instinctive reaction was to dart a look around the apartment, hoping to see an escape route. But the only path from living room to kitchen—and to the service exit where she’d left her belongings—led directly past the front door. For a fleeting instant, she even considered trying to huddle in the shadow of the baby grand piano and hope the coast would clear long enough to let her slip out.
But to be discovered in hiding would only make things worse; she couldn’t take the chance. And she had nothing to conceal anyway, Paige reminded herself. No reason to run away.
Maybe it would be just as well to get this first encounter out of the way right now. Even with the super as a witness, it would be a whole lot better to face Austin Weaver now rather than encounter him for the first time in public—maybe even at Sabrina’s wedding, when it would feel as if half of Denver would be watching.
Besides, though it wasn’t going to be exactly easy, facing him was really no big deal, she told herself. At least it wouldn’t be for Paige, since she was forewarned and prepared. Austin would be surprised, no doubt—perhaps even shocked to see her. There would probably be a little uncomfortable small talk. Then they’d both move on—and that would be it.
She tried to take a deep breath to prepare herself, but her chest
