CHAPTER FOUR
"My, my, my." Upon opening the floor-to-ceiling cabinet in Winthrop Carruthers' kitchen, Roseanne found herself staring at the most complete pantry she'd ever seen. Neatly stored on the shelves sat a cornucopia of canned goods, every spice known to man, and more varieties of rice, flour, and sugar than she'd thought possible.
So. Point of information number one. Winthrop Carruthers liked to cook. Either that or he kept his housekeeper well supplied.
Roseanne knew he had a housekeeper because she'd already had a run-in with the blustery Hispanic woman earlier that morning. It had been an awkward moment, waking up in a strange bed to find an outraged face staring down at her. Then the outraged woman had begun jabbering in Spanish. Roseanne had feared she was a goner. Somehow she'd managed to explain that she was a guest and not a burglar who'd decided to take a nap. But it had been a close call.
Now, despite the suspicious surveillance of the housekeeper, Roseanne was making a thorough study of Winthrop's house. If she were going to play the man's fiancée she'd need to know something about him. That drive last night with Boyd could easily have been her undoing. She'd known nothing!
Oh yes, right, Winthrop claimed all she had to do to look like his fiancée was show up at the Sons of Texas ball, but Roseanne tended to think he underestimated the Sylvia problem. Rumors gained traction over time. Better sooner than later to douse the idea Win planned to reconcile with his ex-wife.
With a sigh, Roseanne closed the pantry door. So far she hadn't learned much during her search of Win's house. He seemed something of a dull fellow. Instead of novels, Winthrop's bookshelves held such page-turners as "High Speed Neural Networks" and "Digital Analysis Processing." The videotapes by the television set recorded nothing steamier than National Geographic nature specials.
But he did have his shade of mystery. Take all those diplomas carefully stowed on the bottom shelf in the study. Quite a puzzle. Three bachelor's degrees and one or two master's. Plaques from several honorary fraternities were stuffed underneath them. Clearly, Winthrop had been a brilliant student. Just as clearly, he wasn't particularly proud of the fact.
Glancing at her watch, Roseanne cut her research short. If she wanted to catch Winthrop for lunch, she'd better hurry. He'd left bright and early that morning, trying to avoid her, no doubt. The man needed a lecture on the proper way to pull off a phony engagement. This whole thing was going to require a wee bit more togetherness.
~~~
The walls of Winthrop's private office were made entirely of glass. Roseanne noticed this detail with dismay while still a few feet down the hall in his corporate office building. If he saw her coming, he'd surely bolt. Not only would such flight be detrimental to their masquerade, but it would also be very insulting.
So she approached carefully. Once she actually caught sight of Winthrop, however, Roseanne relaxed. He wouldn't notice the approach of a herd of buffalo, let alone one troublemaking Yankee lawyer. His focus was entirely taken by a half-dozen computer screens. Seated before the monitors, he appeared utterly absorbed.
A pair of gold wire frame glasses sat on his nose. They looked rather cute on him, Roseanne admitted. His hands moved swiftly over a forest of keyboards, evidently manipulating the data he saw on the various screens. His fingers were long and well made. For a moment they intrigued Roseanne. They had the look of an artist, sensitive and deft—but she'd felt their steel strength. A contradiction, another mystery, like the diplomas at the bottom of the shelf.
Or the fact there was neither secretary nor receptionist to halt Roseanne's intrusion as she pushed on the glass door. Perhaps Winthrop liked to make himself highly available to his staff. Meanwhile, the high-tech hinges made no sound as the door opened.
Winthrop didn't look up from his computer screens, although he must have sensed someone come into the room. "Just put the coffee behind me on my other desk, sweetheart," he said in a distracted drawl. "Looks like I'm goin' to be a while here."
Sweetheart? Amused, Roseanne parked her lean hip, instead of the desired cup of coffee, on the corner of his desk. "I hope you won't be too long, darling," she crooned. "I wanted to take you to lunch."
At her voice, Winthrop started. He turned slowly, scowling. "Huh. What are you doing here?"
Roseanne suppressed a grin. Apparently the 'sweetheart' hadn't been aimed at her. "Just what I said, taking you to lunch."
"I thought I was public enemy number one." Winthrop turned pointedly back to his computer screens.
It took Roseanne a moment to grasp his meaning. "Oh, right. Your type. True, I don't care for men who desert their wives, but I can put my feelings aside for the greater good. Especially since it's only 'til next Friday. Meanwhile, you are my fiancé."
He resumed typing on his keyboards, though not at the same lightning speed as before. "Don't you remember? I explained last night this sort of appearance is unnecessary."
"Apparently you and I disagree on what's necessary. Look, you're going to have to do more than simply install me in your house to make this engagement look like the real thing."
His shoulders visibly stiffened. His rate of punching on the keys almost slowed to a stop. "Do more? Like what?"
"Like appear with me in public." Roseanne began to lose her patience. "Like treating me with a bit of respect, if not affection, when we're in this fishbowl of an office of yours. Anybody passing by would think I'm trying to dun you for charity. They certainly wouldn't imagine we have a personal relationship."
With a sigh, Winthrop finally abandoned his computers. He swiveled in his chair to face her. "Why is it that the more I want to get out of this situation, the deeper I fall in?"
"Must be your giving nature."
"Wasn't aware I had one of those."
"Then maybe you're just no match for me," Roseanne opined.
"Now that sounds more like it."
"Don't be too hard on yourself." She grinned. "I've vanquished many a tougher specimen than you."
Winthrop's gaze fell to the side. "I'm sure you have," he mumbled.
"I can see you're busy." Roseanne got back to the subject at hand. "But I'll keep this down to one hour, I promise. Anyway, you could probably use the break. What time did you get into the office this morning? Seven-thirty?"
"Seven." Winthrop took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "We have a deadline tomorrow and some last minute technical problems came up."
"So," Roseanne figured, "you don't usually get into the office until...?"
"Seven." Winthrop smiled his swift smile at her. "Maybe you're right. I could use a break, and since you're buying..."
"Now, I like a man with a proper sense of perspective." "Don't knock it." Winthrop rose from his seat.
"Who's knocking? A girl always knows where she stands with you, Carruthers. As long as she's on the right side of your stomach and your pocket book."
"My stomach and my pocket book both happen to be very important to me." He put his hand against her back to lead her out the door.
Roseanne shivered at his touch—she couldn't have said why. There was just something...strong, and almost...secure about it.
Perhaps the impression came from the fact he was actually taller than her? Yes, that must have been why.
Smiling brightly, Roseanne turned, moving naturally away from Winthrop's hand. Even with an explanation for its effect on her, his touch made her uneasy. "Do you know a good lunch spot nearby?" she asked.
"Hmm?" Winthrop wasn't even looking at her. He appeared to be focused on something about a million miles away. Yep, Roseanne had a strong suspicion he was still in the world behind his computer screens.
She didn't have to worry he might have noticed her odd reaction to his hand on her back. He was gone.
Her make-believe smile turned amused.
~~~
The Chinese restaurant was dimly lit and smelled heavenly, redolent of garlic and sesame oil. The faded red wallpaper and hanging paper lanterns probably dated fro
m two decades earlier and the waiters had faces as wrinkled as the upholstery in the booths. But Roseanne had a happy sense that the food would be excellent.
It wasn't as public a place as she'd have liked in order to display Winthrop's newly affianced state, but she felt she'd made headway simply getting him to do anything with her.
The host at the door seemed to recognize Winthrop and immediately began chattering at him in Chinese. Winthrop nodded and answered him in English.
"Yes, a special friend," he said. Even in the dim light, Roseanne could see he was blushing. "Any booth will be fine. Yes, tea, thank you."
"You understand Chinese?" Roseanne asked him as they seated themselves in one of the spacious booths.
"A little bit. Can't speak it though. Too hard to get my mouth around the words."
"What other languages do you know?"
He gave her a peculiar look. "What do you care?"
The question was so suddenly cold that Roseanne felt thrown. "Why, I need to know more about you," she explained. "If I haven't the foggiest idea of your past history, people are going to wonder, aren't they?"
He regarded her for another icy moment. "I know French, Spanish, a little Italian, less German, and kitchen Mandarin. Oh, and Latin."
"Really!" Roseanne was impressed. "That's fascinating. I've heard that people with an aptitude for mathematics are also good at languages."
"I didn't say I was good at any of them," Winthrop contradicted curtly.
"But you are good at mathematics." Roseanne pointed out the obvious. "And machines," she added thoughtfully. "Was that true, what Boyd was telling me last night—that they always obey you?"
"Always is a rather strong word."
Roseanne paused. Once again, she was getting the distinct impression that Winthrop did not appreciate this characterization about his relationship to machines. "Even 'sometimes' would make me happy. I can never get mechanical things to work. For example, as soon as I step next to it, the copier breaks down. Never fails."
Winthrop gave her a close look. "Yes, but when it comes to people, you have no problem at all, do you?"
"What do you mean?"
"People 'work' for you, don't they? The way mechanical things do for me."
She frowned, considering that. Oddly, the idea held some water. Usually people did end up doing what she wanted.
Winthrop picked up his chopsticks and took them out of their paper wrapping. "The way you are with your copier, that's how I am with people." His gaze fixed on his chopsticks.
Roseanne opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The analogy left her speechless. He couldn't possibly believe it was true. A man couldn't build a multimillion dollar company without having some interpersonal skills. "That is absurd," she said at last.
"Is it?" He turned his eyes in her direction. "You and I haven't exactly hit it off."
"You and I are different." Even as she tried to explain, Roseanne felt like she was losing track of things. Winthrop was the prey and even, in his case, an enemy. It wasn't her job to be reassuring him. "We— Well, we're on opposite sides."
Winthrop's slight smile was wry. "You mean, me being a man, and you a woman."
Hearing it put in those terms didn't sit right. "It's a little more complicated than that."
"How so?" Winthrop leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Look." Roseanne tried to sound reasonable, but his ironic smile disconcerted her. "This discussion is just going to lead us into dangerous territory and we're going to end up fighting again. Let's just agree to disagree, shall we?"
Winthrop's smile grew. "Agree to disagree about what?"
"About why we don't get along."
"Let me get this straight. We're supposed to agree to disagree about why we can't agree." He shook his head, his smile very big now. "It's nice to know you have such a generous capacity for sheer, outright irrationality, Miz Archer."
"I'm not being irrational." She was annoyed because he'd managed to best her, at least this once. "And you ought to call me Roseanne. People are going to find it strange if you don't address your fiancée by her first name."
"Roseanne." Winthrop tested the name. "And are you going to call me Win?" There was a definite twinkle in his eyes.
"Of course."
He picked up the pot of tea left on their table and started to pour. "Tell me... Roseanne. Starting to have second thoughts about your little charade?"
Somehow, coming from his lips, Roseanne's name acquired an intimacy she hadn't known it possessed. She had to force herself to meet his silently laughing eyes. "No second thoughts at all. Don't know why you'd say so."
He laughed out loud. "Maybe the way you're clenching your teeth."
That laugh. Roseanne's annoyance fell away, replaced by surprise. His laugh— It was a rare sound. He'd only done so maybe once since they'd met. And just like the last time, the sound was very pleasant. Heck, she almost laughed, herself.
Instead, she hiccupped, dismayed. No. Oh, no. Surely she wasn't softening toward Winthrop Carruthers. She knew too much about him to do that.
He'd been the one determined on the divorce from his still-loving wife. Roseanne had read the file. All the way along, Sylvia had been requesting a reconciliation instead of a dissolution. Winthrop had been oblivious to her pleas.
And yet, Roseanne had a powerful feeling that it was only since the end of his marriage that laughter had become a rare thing for Winthrop Carruthers.
~~~
Over lunch, Winthrop explained the basics of the contract proposal Carruthers Engineering was preparing for the next day. His technical brilliance was matched by his ability to make the highly specialized scheme comprehensible—even clear—to Roseanne. She was further amazed he managed to accomplish this feat without making her feel stupid about her math/science ignorance.
But as they walked back to his downtown office tower, she discounted this unexpected sensitivity on Winthrop's part and got back to business. She peered about her at the crowd streaming with them toward the building. How many of them, she wondered, were Winthrop's employees, or others who might recognize the star of the Houston aero-engineering world? Would anybody notice he had a woman on his arm—or make the leap to consider the two of them romantically involved? In any event, at least she and Win were creating an evidence trail. It was a start.
"What about dinner?" Roseanne asked, considering what further evidence they might create.
"Hm?" Winthrop looked up from his motion of leaning forward to open the glass door to the lobby.
The faraway expression on his face was becoming familiar to Roseanne. It said he was there in body only, his mind already back in the world of computerized micro-mechanics.
The guy was such a nerd. It made Roseanne smile. "Are we meeting for dinner tonight?" she asked patiently.
"Oh. Dinner." He made a visible effort to return to the third dimension. Roseanne had to consider such effort—coming from Win—a compliment. "I've got to get this proposal finished tonight and ready to ship out first thing tomorrow morning. I don't suppose—?" He stopped and grimaced, as though afraid to finish his sentence.
But Roseanne knew what was coming. With a wry smile, she came to his rescue. "I'm a professional myself, Carruthers— I mean, Win. I know how these things go. Managing a meal on my own is no big hardship."
"Oh, great. Thanks." He looked vastly relieved, as well as surprised. It was apparent that in his experience women were rarely this flexible.
"Just one thing." Roseanne stopped him as he moved toward the lobby door.
"Hm?" He turned back with the distant look again threatening his features.
Roseanne rolled her eyes heavenward. It seemed she was going to have to do all the plotting in this performance of theirs. "How about a friendly kiss goodbye—sweetheart?"
It was a good idea, probably necessary, in fact. People were milling all around them, some of whom must know Winthrop. But Roseanne tensed even as she suggested the pu
blic display of affection. She hadn't yet forgotten her odd reaction to his mere touch on her back.
Of course, it had been a ridiculous reaction. She shouldn't be affected in any way whatsoever by a man like this.
"A...kiss?" Win's attention jumped fully back to the present moment. A light pink tinged his face. "Uh, do you really think that's...?" His voice trailed off as he caught her eye. She was giving him the warning glint she'd give an opposing counsel with a bum argument. Win cleared his throat. "Um, okay, then. Let's, uh—"
He leaned forward to brush his lips across her cheek. It happened so quickly she wasn't sure those lips actually made a landing. The next instant he was making good on an escape.
Looking after him, Roseanne couldn't help chuckling. That almost-nothing kiss hadn't been so bad. She'd barely even felt it. And to top it off, she'd gotten the man to cooperate. At the bare minimum possible, true, but it had still been cooperation.
All in all, she was pleased with her accomplishments of the afternoon. She'd gotten Win out in public with her, convinced him to use her first name, and started the process of proposing another woman in his life.
Everything was going according to plan.
~~~
Roseanne's vaunted ability to make do on her own for dinner lasted as long as it took her to open Winthrop's pantry for the second time that day. She winced. No handy convenience foods were in sight. The freezer had yielded no better results.
Eyeing a bag of rice, she considered taking a stab at cooking for herself. But remembering the last time she'd gone down that road made her reject the idea. The result had been two ruined pans, a smoking oven, and food that was perfectly inedible.
Assuring herself that lack of domestic ability did not impair a woman's femininity, Roseanne went to find the keys to Win's second car. With the vintage Cadillac, she could probably find a grocery store, and maybe even the same brand of microwave dinner she usually bought at home. She figured it must be okay with Win for her to use the car, since he hadn't complained she'd already driven it into town to have lunch with him.
Still, she was careful with the fancy car while she found a store and bought a microwave dinner. She brought the food home, nuked it, and sat at the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room. She'd eaten more frozen dinners this way than she could count. Back home, she preferred the opportunity to relax over convenience food to having to stay "on" while entertaining a client at a restaurant. Recently she'd even come to prefer her bachelorette dinners to the occasional social engagement with a man.
The Fiancée Fiasco Page 5