did you?” Cynthia asked, clicking her computer mouse and checking her screen.
“No,” Jenny said, feeling foolish. How anticlimactic. She should have made an appointment, but she’d been too chicken yesterday.
“He leaves early on either Tuesday or Thursday afternoons to visit his grandfather. Do you want to set up an appointment for tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Jenny said.
“Hey, Cynthia. I need to talk to Marc about the new marketing initiative with retailers,” a man said from behind Jenny.
“You know he’s not here, Will,” Cynthia said. “It’s Thursday afternoon.”
Jenny glanced around and saw Will wince. “Damn, I forgot. Gone to see the grandfather.” He shot Jenny and Cynthia a sly look. “That’s the official explanation. Underground is that he’s out for a quickie.” He gave Jenny a once-over. “You must be new here. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He extended his hand. “I’m Will Turnbull.”
They hadn’t met, but she knew who he was. He, of course, had never noticed her. He was so full of himself she was surprised he noticed her now. “Jenny Prillaman. I work with Sal in design.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Good for you. He’s a legend. Haven’t seen much of him lately, though.”
“He’s very busy with the designs for Brooke Tarantino’s wedding.”
“Yeah, that’s a hot job. Maybe you and I could get together for dinner sometime. I’ll give you a call,” he said, assuming her agreement and strutted away.
She turned back to Cynthia, who was eyeing her with curiosity. “I’d say he likes your new look,” Marc’s assistant said.
Jenny pulled at her sweater self-consciously. “Maybe it’s too much. Or too little,” she said and bit her lip.
“No, it isn’t,” Cynthia said. “If I were younger and forty-five pounds lighter, I’d wear a skirt like that.” She glanced at Jenny’s feet and shook her head. “I’ve had three kids and my feet couldn’t take those heels. Wear them while you can.”
“Thanks,” Jenny said. I think.
“It’s none of my business, but you might want to be careful with Will.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He likes to think of himself as a player.”
Jenny lowered her voice. “Thinking is the only thing he’s going to do with me.”
Cynthia laughed. “Smart girl. What time do you want to meet with Marc tomorrow? He’s got time for a fifteen-minute appointment first thing in the morning, or I can squeeze you in for ten minutes in the afternoon.”
“Afternoon,” Jenny said, thinking she needed coffee before she faced Marc Waterson. Maybe a doughnut, too.
MARC OPENED THE DOOR to the home for the elderly and inhaled a combination of oranges and antiseptic cleaner. The orange scent was trying hard, but the antiseptic was winning. He didn’t like the smell, but he figured a clean smell was better than a dirty one. He’d carefully reviewed more than a dozen nursing homes for his grandfather Waterson and chosen this one based on a comprehensive checklist. Despite his numerous responsibilities at Bellagio, he’d felt the heaviest burden in choosing a home for his grandfather. Since his own father had passed away and Grandpapa’s other children lived on the other side of the country, he’d been the only one to do the job. He was the only one to visit, too.
Marc showed his identification to the receptionist and she pressed a button to allow him entrance through the locked door. The security feature had been important to Marc because Grandpapa had a tendency to wander sometimes. Doctors blamed the old man’s increasing peculiarities on dementia.
Marc never knew what to bring, and he hated to come empty-handed. Today he brought a photo book of beautiful gardens. Grandpapa and Grandma had tended a garden together when they’d both been healthy.
He found his grandfather sitting in the day room looking out the window. “Grandpapa?”
His grandfather turned, and his blue eyes lit with recognition. “Marc, boy, it’s good to see you.”
Marc felt an easing inside him. He hadn’t realized he’d been tense. It was a good day. His grandfather had remembered him immediately. He extended his hand and his grandfather grabbed it with both of his.
“I brought you a book,” Marc said, sitting beside him. “Some nice gardens in there.”
Grandpapa flipped through the pages with his gnarled hands. “Pretty pictures. You didn’t need to bring me anything.”
“I wanted to. How are you feeling today?”
“Pretty good. I can tell it’s gonna rain.” He wiggled his fingers. “My joints are a little stiff.”
“Who needs the weatherman when you’ve got arthritis, right?”
Grandpapa grinned. “That’s right. What about you? Done any fishing? Gone to any Braves games lately?”
Marc shook his head, remembering the many times he’d gone fishing with his grandpapa when they’d both been younger. Since his grandfather had broken his hip last year, Marc feared he was too frail for field trips. “Too busy at work, but I saw one the other night on television.”
“Same one I saw. That shortstop needs to get his act together.” He looked at Marc and nodded. “You found a wife yet?”
Marc shook his head and smiled. His grandfather had been asking him the same question for at least five years. “Not yet. But I’m looking.”
“You need a wife. A wife is a good thing,” Grandpapa said.
“As long as it’s a good wife,” Marc added, thinking about Miss Brunswick County, the woman he’d met for dinner the other night. She was a knockout who had hung on his every word. Perfect wife material. And he couldn’t remember feeling so bored in his life. He was starting to wonder if his plan needed some modification. Especially the celibacy part.
“Humph. Your trouble is that it’s too easy for you. You don’t have to work at it,” Grandpapa said.
“What do you mean?” Marc asked, his mind naturally turning to Bellagio. “I know what hard work is,” he said. “I work sixty hours a week or more at Bellagio.”
“I’m not talking about the shoe company,” his grandfather said, wagging his finger at Marc. “I’m talking about women. You get them too easily. You don’t have to work for them, so you don’t appreciate them.”
Marc wanted to protest, but his grandfather’s words were too close to the truth.
“You don’t want a woman who will upset your applecart, but that’s exactly what you need.”
Marc shook his head. “I know what I need. I need a nice, lovely, nondemanding woman who will be happy to be Mrs. Waterson and be the mother of no more than two children.”
“And what are you going to contribute to this besides money and your seed?” his
