But he shouldn’t have had to do it laying brick, and some of the starch went out of her. “You aren’t ever going to forgive me, are you?”
“Let’s just say I’m in no hurry.” He flicked his hand toward the door. “Run along and find something degrading to do.”
The telephone rang. He reached out, but she was pissed again, so she beat him to it. “Byrne residence.”
“Give me that.”
“A freebie,” she whispered.
“I need to speak with Colin,” the woman at the other end said.
He held out his hand for the phone, clearly expecting the worst from her. It was tempting to give it to him, but she had a point to make, so she turned her back. “Mr. Byrne is working now. May I take a message?”
“Tell him it’s Madeline.” The woman on the other end made no attempt to hide her displeasure at being put off. “I’m sure he’ll take my call.”
“Madeline?” She turned back to Byrne. He vigorously shook his head. She settled back on the arm of the couch and reclaimed her oatmeal, finally beginning to enjoy herself. “I’m sorry, but I have orders not to interrupt him.”
“He won’t mind. I promise you.”
“I’ll make certain to deliver your message.”
“I’m afraid you don’t understand. I’m Madeline Farr.”
Sugar Beth vaguely recognized the name of a New York socialite and put a little more magnolia into her accent. “Are you really? My, this certainly is an honor. I can’t wait to tell all my friends I’ve spoken with you in person. Let me have your number.”
She took a bite of oatmeal while an irritated Madeline reeled off a telephone number Sugar Beth didn’t bother to write down. “Got it,” she said when the woman paused for breath.
“It’s very important for Colin to call me back by the end of the day.”
“I’ll tell him the minute I see him, but he still has messages backed up from last week, and he’s been working so hard he barely comes out of the office, the poor ol’ sod.” She gave Colin a thumbs-up, making the point that she could talk his lingo anytime she pleased.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Do your best,” the woman snapped.
“I sure will,” she replied. “So lovely talkin’ with you, Ms. Farr.”
She hung up and regarded Byrne with satisfaction. “Note that I didn’t tell her to go screw herself, even though she’s obviously a bitch. I remained polite, fawning almost. At the same time, I didn’t commit you to anything. In case you’re not bright enough to figure it out, there’s a real upside to having a sinner like me answer your phone. I lie, and your conscience stays clear.” She rose from the couch. “Now, about that raise . . .”
He took a sip of coffee, unaffected by her outburst. “I’m having a dinner party in ten days to thank some of the people from the university who helped me with my new book. My agent and editor are flying in. A few others will be here, maybe thirty total, I’ll let you know. The caterer’s phone number is on your list. See what you have to do to get the house ready. And you’ll need to serve, of course. After that, we’ll discuss how much you’re worth.”
“You bet your sweet heinie we will.”
She grabbed her oatmeal and headed out the door.
Colin listened to the taps of her ridiculously inappropriate heels retreating down the hallway. His writer’s imagination could be a blessing or a curse, and right now he was cursed with the image of those tight black slacks hugging her bottom, and that little turquoise butterfly bouncing between her breasts. He needed to look for a uniform company as soon as possible.
It was ironic. When he’d arrived at Parrish High, he’d been twenty-two, in the throes of his own hormonal overload, and it had taken all his self-control to keep his eyes from lingering too long on so many short skirts and supple breasts. But Sugar Beth had never tempted him. So how was it that now, older and infinitely wiser, he found himself bombarded with mental images of her lying naked and feisty in his bed?
He knew better. Painful experience had taught him to keep his sexual relationships uncomplicated, but he still sometimes had to fight that instinctive part of him that was attracted to dramatic women. This was clearly one of those occasions. Still, age had taught him how to control his old weakness, and he wouldn’t let it worry him.
He’d inherited his foolish romanticism from his mother. When he was a boy, it had made him far too caught up in dreams of slaying dragons and rescuing princesses for his father to tolerate, and after a few beatings, Colin had learned to confine that part of himself to the stories he wrote in his head. Still, it had taken his disastrous five-year marriage to a deeply neurotic American poet with raven hair, milky white skin, and haunted eyes to make him understand that he could never again express that secret part of himself anywhere but on paper. He’d loved Lara desperately, but there hadn’t been enough love in the world to satisfy her kind of neediness. One rainy New Orleans night nine years ago, she’d run their car into a concrete abutment, ending her own life and taking the life of their unborn child. It had been the worst time of his life, a black hell that had swallowed him whole for nearly two years. He’d vowed never to put himself through anything like that again.
Once again, he considered the wisdom of having the ultimate high-maintenance female working in his house, but the opportunity for revenge had been too sweet to resist. Still, he wouldn’t let her distract him again. From now on, he’d direct every bit of his energy where it belonged. Into his new novel.
He heard the faint sound of running water in the kitchen. Last night it had taken him nearly an hour to come up with that overloaded list of things for her to do today. The dinner party had been in the works for a month, so that was pure serendipity. He smiled and checked his conscience to see if he was ashamed of himself, but the romantic boy who’d once dreamed of slaying dragons and rescuing princesses had developed the heart of a cynic, and his conscience didn’t say a word.
Sugar Beth tossed aside Colin’s list long before she got to the end and concentrated on the essentials. As she’d expected, his freezer was stuffed with frost-encrusted casseroles from the good women of Parrish, but the rest of his refrigerator was nearly as empty as hers. He’d tossed a pile of clothes destined for the dry cleaner on the couch, and a package addressed to a New York literary agency needed to go to the post office. He’d also left a note about some books waiting to be picked up at the bookstore. If she got enough done, maybe she’d be able to start searching the house this afternoon.
She polished off her coffee, set her oatmeal bowl in the sink to soak, then grabbed the keys to his Lexus. No way was she using her gas to run his errands. As an afterthought, she tossed the keys to her old Volvo on the counter, just in case he had an emergency. She was nothing if not considerate.
His Lexus smelled like designer cologne and a portfolio of tax-free municipal bonds. She set her purse on the seat. Inside was the envelope he’d left her with a hundred dollars in petty cash and a note saying he wanted a receipt for every penny. Suspicious bastard.
As she came out of the dry cleaner, she met Sherry Wilkes, a former classmate, who backed her into a corner and filled her in with a description of all her health problems, which included acid reflux, eczema, and early-stage endometriosis. Sugar Beth supposed she should be grateful that someone female wanted to talk to her, but the encounter only made her think about how much she missed the Seawillows. So far she hadn’t run into any of them, but that wouldn’t last forever. She wasn’t looking forward to being cut dead by the women whose friendship she’d held so cheaply.
She found the town’s new bookstore catty-corner across the street from Winnie’s antique shop. Hand-painted African animals formed a border around the plate-glass window, which displayed current best-sellers, biographies, and a wide selection of works by African American novelists. A toy train surrounded a display of autographed copies of Last Whistle-stop designed to attract the tourists. In the center of the window, the store’s name, gemima books, was printed in bold brown letters outlined in black. Beneath that, a smaller inscription read All people with free hearts are welcome here. The only sign Sugar Beth could remember from Parrish’s former bookstore had read no food or ice cream.