"Football players aren't supposed to know words like nefarious."
"I heard it on a beer commercial."
She smiled and adjusted her sunglasses. "All I'm saying is this. I got myself into a little jam-and, no, I'm not telling you who with. The easiest way to wiggle out was to pretend I'm smitten with you. Which, of course, I am."
"Bull. You treat me like a kid."
"Only to protect myself from your glory."
He snorted.
"Besides, being seen with you raises the profile of my business." She laid her cheek on her forearm. "It'll get people talking about Perfect for You, and free advertising is all I can afford right now. I'll pay you back. I promise." She reached over and patted one very hard, sun-warmed bicep. "Ten years from now, when we know for sure you've made it through puberty, I'm going to find you a great woman."
"Ten years?"
"You're right. We'll make it fifteen just to be safe."
Annabelle had a crappy night's sleep. She dreaded the start of Heath's dating marathon, but it was time to bite the bullet and hit him with everything she had. She arrived at Sienna's first. When he walked in, her heart gave a dopey little kick before it plunged to her toes. He'd been her lover, and now she had to introduce him to another woman.
He looked as grouchy as she felt. "I heard you played hooky yesterday," he said as he sat down.
She had hoped word of her outing with Dean would make its way back to him, and her spirits lifted. "Nope. I'm not saying a word." She made a zipping motion across her lips, turned the lock, and threw away the key.
His irritation deepened. "Do you know how juvenile that is?"
"You're the one who asked."
"All I said was that I heard you'd taken the day off. I was making conversation."
"I'm allowed to take a day off now and then. And Wind Lake doesn't count because I had to entertain a client. Specifically, you."
He got that sexy half-lidded look, the one that signaled he was about to say something raunchy. But then he seemed to think better of it. "So how is the course of true love progressing?"
"I think he's attracted to me. Maybe it's because I'm not clingy. I could be clingy, but I'm forcing myself to give him plenty of room. Don't you agree that's the smart thing to do?"
"You are not sucking me into this discussion."
"I know he has gorgeous football groupies hanging all over him, but I think he might be growing out of that stage of his life. I get the sense that he's maturing."
"Don't hold your breath."
"You think I'm being stupid, don't you?"
"Tinker Bell, you've redefined stupid. For a woman who's supposed to have a head on her shoulders-"
"Shhh… Here comes Celeste."
Heath and Celeste had a boring discussion about the economy, a topic that always disheartened Annabelle. If the economy was good, she felt as though she wasn't taking proper advantage of it, and when the economy was bad, she couldn't see how she'd ever get ahead. She let the discussion drag on for the full twenty minutes before she put an end to it.
After Celeste left, Heath said, "I wouldn't mind hiring her, but I don't want to marry her."
Annabelle didn't think Celeste had liked Heath all that much either, and her mood brightened. Unfortunately, only temporarily, because her next candidate, a public relations executive, showed up right on schedule.
Heath was his normal charming self-respectful, interested in everything she had to say, but unwilling to take it any further. "Great taste in clothes, but I make her nervous."
For the rest of the week, Annabelle pulled out the stops, introducing him to a filmmaker, a floral shop owner, an insurance executive, and Janine's editor. He liked all of them but wasn't interested in dating any of them.
Portia got wind of the dating blitz and sent two more socialites. One drooled all over him, which he hated but Annabelle got a kick out of. The other disliked his lack of pedigree, which infuriated Annabelle. Next Portia insisted on setting up an introduction at the Drake for morning coffee. Heath finally agreed, so
Annabelle took advantage of the time slot to schedule a former classmate who taught adult night school.
Annabelle's candidate was a dud. Portia's wasn't. Portia had insisted on the morning meeting, Annabelle discovered, because she'd lined up WGN-TV's newest evening anchorwoman, Keri Winters. Keri was gorgeous, accomplished, and polished-too polished. She was Heath's female counterpart, and together they were slick enough to float an oil tanker.
Annabelle tried to put an end to the agony after twenty minutes, but Heath shot her the evil eye, and Keri didn't leave for another half hour. When the coast was finally clear, Annabelle rolled her eyes. "That was a waste of time."
"What do you mean? She's exactly what I'm looking for, and I'm asking her out."
"She's as plastic as you are. I'm telling you, it's a bad idea. If you ever have kids, they'll come out of the birth canal with Fisher-Price stamped on their butts."
He refused to listen, and the next day, he called Ms. News at Nine to set up a dinner date.
Chapter Eighteen
Two weeks passed. Between getting ready for her wine and cheese party and brooding about Heath and Keri Winters, Annabelle lost enough weight to zip up the periwinkle blue mini she hadn't been able to wear all summer. "Go put some clothes on," Mr. Bronicki growled the night of the party when she came downstairs wearing the mini, along with a slinky ivory top.
"You're the hired help," she retorted. "You're not allowed to criticize."
"Showin' yourself off like a hussy… Irene, come out here and look at this."
Mrs. Valerio poked her head in from the kitchen. "You look very nice, Annabelle. Howard, come help me open this olive jar." After she'd started seeing Mr. Bronicki, Mrs. Valerio had dyed her hair Woody Woodpecker red, which matched the crimson sneakers she wore tonight with her Sunday best black dress.
Mr. Bronicki, spiffy in a long-sleeved white shirt, followed her into the kitchen. Annabelle moved to her office, where she'd converted her desk into a serving table with Nana's blue-and-yellow-plaid tablecloth and a gorgeous centerpiece of garden flowers Mrs. McClure had donated. Nana's charming pottery plates from the 1960s held the cheese and fruit. Mr. Bronicki had volunteered to answer the door and pour the wine while Mrs. Valerio kept the platters replenished. By shopping carefully and soliciting help from her seniors, Annabelle had managed to bring the evening together on budget. Even better, she'd picked up two more male clients through her new Web site.
Focusing on business didn't do much to erase the images of Heath in bed with Keri, but she did her best. The news that the WGN anchorwoman and the city's top sports agent were an item had recently hit talk radio, including the morning's top drive-time show, where disc jockeys Eric and Kathy had begun running a Name Their Weird Baby contest.
The doorbell rang. "I hear it," Mr. Bronicki grumbled from the kitchen. "I'm not deaf."
"Remember what I told you about smiling," Annabelle said as he shuffled past.
"Haven't been able to smile since I lost my teeth."
"You're funny as a box of Depends."
"Respect, young lady."
Annabelle had been worried people wouldn't mix, and she'd asked Janine to help. Her friend was the first to arrive, followed by Ernie Marks and Melanie Richter. Within an hour, Annabelle's tiny downstairs rooms were packed. Celeste, the University of Chicago economist, spent a lot of time talking to Shirley Miller's godson Jerry. Ernie Marks, the quiet elementary school principal, and Wendy, the vivacious Roscoe Village architect, seemed to hit it off. Annabelle's two newest clients, discovered through her Web site, clustered around the stylish Melanie. Unfortunately, Melanie seemed more interested in John Nager. In light of Melanie's having once married a man with a fetish for disinfecting doorknobs, Annabelle didn't think John the hypochondriac was her best match. The evening's most interesting development, however, came from an unexpected quarter. To Annabelle's surprise, Ray Fiedler latched onto Janine right away, and Janine didn't do one thing to shake him off. Annabelle had to admit that Ray's new haircut had done wonders for him.