Drop Dead Gorgeous

by Jennifer Skully

  “And don’t think I didn’t recognize that subtle reference to marriage, Ma.”

  “It wasn’t subtle at all. But that nice Laurence—”

  “His name is T. Larry.”

  “Then why did he introduce himself as Laurence?”

  “It doesn’t matter, because I’m not marrying him.”

  “Do you know how much he makes a year?”

  “I’m his secretary, not his accountant. And money isn’t important.”

  “Then it’s true love.”

  Madison thought about banging her head against her desk, just like T. Larry, but tried to think of her end of the conversation. Gauging what Bill, Anthony and Mike thought about it from their vantage point on the other side of her cubicle wall seemed quite important. Of course, then she couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said. “I told you yesterday after church—”

  “Does he attend church regularly?”

  “I have no idea.”

  The conference room door stayed tight as a vacuum-packed seal. What was going on in there?

  “James thinks he’s marvelous.”

  “James offered him condoms.”

  “Madison.”

  “He did, Ma. You’ve got a big problem brewing in that household of his. I think it’s called birth control.”

  Another shocked exclamation, then, “In my day people didn’t dream of talking about that kind of thing.”

  Her mother’s day had been smack-dab in the middle of the sexual revolution, though it somehow managed to roll over Ma and leave her untouched. “Are we referring to sex or birth control?”

  “I know what you’re doing.”

  “What?”

  “You’re trying to deflect the subject. Now about marriage and that nice Laurence—”

  “I’m not marrying T. Larry.” Taking T. Larry to her nephew’s birthday party might not have been one of her brighter impulsive decisions. Had she said that too loudly? The guys were being awfully quiet on the other side of the wall.

  “What does Laurence have to say about that?”

  “He doesn’t want to marry me, either.” It became difficult to lower the decibel of her voice when the level of her ire was rising. Then she sucked in a breath. Why was she angry? She never got angry. It must be her upset over Harriet and the suit. “Ma, can we talk about this later?”

  “But we need to start planning…”

  “Ma.”

  “All right. I just called to tell you your brother would be by tomorrow to fix the disposal. So leave a key under the mat.”

  “I always leave a key under the mat.” Because one of her brothers was always coming over to fix something for her, the big sweeties.

  “And for goodness sake, clean up the kitchen a little. You know he hates to work in a mess.”

  She didn’t have time to clean up. She had her picnic with Richard. “Sean already told me.”

  “I don’t know where you get your messiness from.”

  She got it from having too many better things to do. “Bye, Ma. I love you.”

  “One more thing, Madison dear. I’m Episcopalian, and I’ve always believed in birth control. Except for that brief stint where your father corrupted me into being a Catholic.” A pause, her lips would be pursed. “So take your brother’s condoms just to be sure.”

  Oh. My. God. Her mother had succeeded in shocking her.

  Madison put the phone down, then shrieked, suddenly seeing ZZ Top standing right in front of her desk.

  “How did you get there?” And how long had he been listening? What embarrassing things had she said? Not that it mattered. Except to T. Larry, of course. T. Larry hated to be embarrassed.

  ZZ didn’t answer her question. “Mr. Hobbs told me to tell you not to leave until he’s done with his meeting.”

  “Mr. Hobbs?”

  “T. Larry.”

  “I know who he is. I just can’t figure out why you’re calling him Mister.” She cocked her head. “Are you all right, ZZ?”

  Something flickered in his somber eyes. “Do you believe in ghosts, Madison?”

  She let her eyes wander left to right, then back to him. “Uh…yes.”

  “Can you see them?”

  She quirked her mouth to the side. “Uh…no.”

  “Well, I think you’re gonna start seeing them real soon.” He blinked. “Do you have any Reese’s cups?”

  “Uh…yes.” Whatever was going on in that man’s head? She pulled a bag from her drawer and held it out to him.

  Taking one, he undid the wrapper, sucked the chocolate thoughtfully, rolled the foil into a ball and handed it to Madison. Then he walked away.

  FIVE MINUTES TO FIVE. If he didn’t cut off Jeremiah’s fourth refrain on the theme of we-won’t-pay-a-dimeand-don’t-involve-our-lawyers-until-absolutely-necessary, Madison would be gone despite the message he’d sent through Zach.

  He wouldn’t be able to tell her about his decision on the new dress code. On second thought, if he didn’t tell her until tomorrow, that would be one more day of short skirts.

  Unfortunately, some things just couldn’t be put off. The firm’s reputation—not to mention his own—was at stake. “The problem’s taken care of, gentlemen. By this time tomorrow, Harriet will have withdrawn her suit.”

  Zach would be punching Bill, Anthony and Mike’s collective lights out for numerous ribald remarks made at Harriet’s expense. It would be an object lesson in becoming men for them all, Zach included.

  The boy had failed with Harriet the first time because he hadn’t developed a plan. Laurence had now supplied him with a foolproof one.

  Enough patting himself on the back. He had to see Madison before she left. Despite the pleasant thought of one more day regarding her tight sweaters, he had a company responsibility to carry out. He rose and turned, stopped by Ryman Alta’s hand on his shoulder.

  Ryman’s face resembled a wizened old apple. Many a client, auditor, employee or partner had confused his slow, quiet, thoughtful manner for Alzheimer’s. That’s when Ryman went for the bare throat. The man was a pit bull, and Laurence felt the bite of his bony fingers.

  “Get rid of the two of them as expeditiously and quickly as possible. I don’t like troublemakers.”

  “It will be difficult and extremely unwise to terminate Harriet. It will only give grounds to her suit.”

  “Then make sure she doesn’t have a leg to stand on. Make sure neither of them do.”

  He didn’t like what lay sunk in Ryman’s dark eyes. “How do you propose I do that?”

  “If you’d covered your watch a little more closely the first time…” Ryman let Laurence draw his own conclusion. “Perhaps you’ll be more vigilant a second time.”

  “A second time? Are you saying I should encourage them to have sex in the office so I can catch them at it, then fire them?”

  “I’m suggesting you get rid of them with the least backlash against the partnership. If you value your voting status in this partnership, that is.”

  “I don’t like to be threatened, Ryman.”

  “And I don’t like a mess.”

  Neither did Laurence, and Ryman was only adding to it.

  “And while you’re at it, get rid of that sexpot secretary of yours, too. We don’t want any more suits due to her attire.”

  Now that made his blood boil. “Madison isn’t a sexpot.” And that fantasy about the conference table was really only a fantasy. He’d never act on it. “I’m not firing her.”

  “Then at least get her to stop wearing those clothes.”

  As much as he would miss those skirts, Laurence had already made that decision. “I’m handling all the issues, Ryman.”

  “See that you do.”

  The “or else” was in there. But Carp and Alta wouldn’t vote him out of the partnership. They needed him. He managed the office, the audits, the staff, and took care of a plethora of small details they couldn’t be bothered with. Laurence washed his hands of the threat as Ryman shuffled dow
n the hall to his office.

  Then Ryman turned back. “Laurence.”

  Damn, he didn’t have time for this. Almost five o’clock, he didn’t want to miss Madison. “Ryman?”

  “Have you looked at Stephen’s file?”

  Tortelli. Laurence kept his voice low for the sake of the hallway conversation. “I looked at it, and I put it aside.”

  “What did you think?”

  “It’s all very neat and squeaky clean.” Too clean, every line item complete with explanation. Clients just weren’t that well documented. It wasn’t in their nature. Unless, at one point, they’d come under close governmental agency scrutiny. With the recent rash of accounting scandals, which were due not only to negligence and fraud, but, in his opinion, an overcomplicated rules base, the firm couldn’t afford even the slightest hint of impropriety. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about Tortelli screamed misconduct.

  “He appears to have a perfectly adequate accountant, Ryman. Why would he want to change?”

  “It’s our job to get him to change. It’s called courting. That’s how we grow the business, Laurence, by bringing in new clients with large holdings who need your amazing expertise.”

  Was that Ryman sucking up to him, flattering him? Laurence generally disregarded the idea of gut instinct, but his gut had been prodding him ever since Tortelli had first appeared on the scene. It went into overdrive with Ryman’s flattery. “I’m not prepared to take him on without further extensive investigation.”

  “Why?”

  Laurence, not one to use his size to intimidate, took a step closer to Ryman’s shrunken form. “I don’t trust him.”

  Ryman narrowed his gaze. “He’s legitimate, Laurence.”

  “You’re seeing billable hours, Ryman, nothing more.”

  They didn’t need questionable clients. They weren’t a large firm, but they were by no means straddling the edge, either. Ryman’s net earnings alone were in the mid-six-figure range last year. As a partnership, they were comfortable, secure and very clean. Laurence didn’t intend to jeopardize their reputation. Yet the older Ryman got, the less he cared about reputation and the more about money. Carp just went along.

  Somehow reading the determination in Laurence’s stance, Ryman put a fatherly hand on his arm. “Take another look. I’ll answer any questions you have, reassure you.”

  Laurence was about to tell him to stuff his Tortelli file and remove his goddamn hand, but they were still in the hallway, separated from staff by mere cubicle walling. It wouldn’t do for the partners to be heard arguing. “I’m late for an appointment.”

  “We’ll talk at the end of the week then.”

  He gave neither a yes or no answer, simply turned his back to Ryman and set off for Madison’s desk.

  One minute to five. Madison’s desk drawers slid open and closed. Her papers rustled. Her computer beeped. He rounded the end of her cubicle to find her purse already out on the desk.

  Her fingers stilled on the mouse. “How did it go? With Zach? With the partners?”

  “Fine.” Residual anger with Ryman made the word sharper than he intended.

  Madison, however, didn’t notice. “Just fine? Give me details. I’ll find them out later anyway when you ask me to type up your meeting notes.”

  “There will be no meeting notes.” His teeth clamped down on the sentence.

  “All right, fine. You don’t want to tell me…” She spread her hands, raised a pretty brow and twitched her lips.

  That’s when Laurence noted her lips and forgot all about Harriet, Zach, Ryman, dress codes and Tortelli. “Where’s your lipstick?”

  “I just put a little lip gloss on instead.”

  Panic seized his heart, sending its beat into triple time. “But you always wear lipstick. It’s unwomanly not to, you said.”

  “It’s okay as long as you’ve got lip gloss. Now, since you’re refusing to tell me anything about your mysterious afternoon meetings, I’ve got to go or I’ll be late.”

  Screw Zach. Screw the partners. “You’re only half-dressed without lipstick.” She’d had it on all day. Until now. Because she’d wiped it off.

  “You had something you wanted to say to me, T. Larry?”

  He couldn’t quite remember and didn’t care. Only one thing careened through his boggled mind. Madison without lipstick.

  “Well, then, if the cat’s got your tongue, I really do have to go.” She brightened. “We can talk tomorrow morning. First thing.” She backed away from him, turned and skedaddled through the front door, her gauzy skirt swishing about her calves and highlighting her strikingly petite ankles.

  Damn. The dress code. That’s what he’d wanted to tell her.

  Today’s skirt had an appropriate length, but her vest revealed too much delicious skin. At least she’d taken off the damn candy necklace. Or eaten it. The idea of Dick getting a taste of her candy was unthinkable. As it was, Laurence decided he’d have to kill someone because, Christ Almighty, Madison had wiped off her lipstick because she was planning on kissing Dick the Prick.

  The image burned low in Laurence’s belly long after Madison left. It ate a hole through his stomach lining as the traffic piled up in front of him. He leaned on the horn with a vengeance only to realize he was the one who’d done the cutting off.

  Really, what was he worried about? He could compete with a man five years younger even if the wimp did have a full head of hair and twenty-twenty vision. He sure as hell knew he kissed better than a puppy like that.

  Trapped in another staggering image, this one of Madison on a soft blanket, her hair all around her, and that bastard leaning over her, Laurence slammed on his brakes when the bumper in front suddenly loomed too close.

  But it wasn’t the kiss. It was the date Laurence wasn’t sure he could compete with. How was he supposed to do a one-up on a picnic in Golden Gate Park? It was romantic, it was impetuous, and while Laurence was a whiz with numbers and tax codes, he didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. He didn’t even know what women really wanted on the romantic level.

  What would it mean if she wore lipstick for him tomorrow night? He wouldn’t worry about it now. He’d worry about his driving instead, sliding into the slow lane. There were road sharks out tonight.

  To the task at hand. Think romantic. Five-star restaurant? Too ordinary. A show at one of San Francisco’s premiere theaters? Was Beauty and the Beast still playing? He didn’t keep up on these things, the last time he looked having been…five years ago? Besides, the romantic Beauty and the Beast wouldn’t work. She’d think he was auditioning for the role of the Beast. He’d already lost the hair on the top of his head, and he wasn’t about to turn into a prince at the end of the night.

  Then Laurence saw it on the left-hand side of the freeway, rising like a phoenix in the suburban landscape. It was perfect, inspirational. It would show her he wasn’t a stick-in-the-mud.

  He’d take her miniature golfing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  POOR T. LARRY. Things were bad.

  “Have a chicken wing?” Richard offered.

  And poor Richard. All Madison had done since she’d met him at the arboretum entrance was moan about T. Larry. Richard had provided such a beautiful meal, too. He’d smoothed a soft blanket over the grass in a spot resplendent with the last of the afternoon sun. They’d watched Frisbee throwers, joggers and two old women scattering birdseed to the pigeons, whose iridescent feathers caught the sun’s rays. He’d served her on bone china with real silver and poured champagne into crystal glasses. They’d dined on roasted chicken. Then he’d tantalized her taste buds with white chocolate mousse. She’d do just about anything for white chocolate mousse. This was a fairy tale and Richard was Prince Charming.

  Except that Madison couldn’t stop thinking about T. Larry. About his problem.

  “I don’t know what to do to help him.”

  “Help who?”

  “T. Larry. I should have a talk with Harriet, see if I
can fix this whole thing.” A perfect idea. Woman to woman. Except that she wasn’t quite clear on what “this whole thing” was, and she hadn’t been victorious helping Harriet in the past. No matter. For T. Larry’s sake, she had to give it another try.

  “Is there something I should know about your boss?” Richard pushed a lock of gorgeous thick hair from his forehead.

  “Like what?”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  She choked on her mousse and forgot Harriet. “T. Larry?”

  Richard’s lips thinned.

  The sun dipped below the trees. She pulled her sweater over her shoulders. “It’s hard to explain about T. Larry—”

  “Then you are in love with him.”

  “T. Larry’s a lost soul who needs my help.” She’d never said it that way, but as the words came out, she knew it was true. “I’m like his fairy godmother, shocking him out of his safe, secure little plans.”

  Richard’s eyes darkened. “I thought you were his secretary.”

  “That’s such a label, Richard. I’m more than that.”

  The lines of his face softened. “You’re very special.”

  Her heart fluttered. “And so is T. Larry. Which is why I have to help him. He thinks he’s old—”

  The softness vanished. “He’s bald.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s old. But if I don’t help him, he’s just going to slip right into this awful mold he’s picked out for himself. I can’t let that happen to him.”

  “But he’s just your boss.”

  She cocked her head, closing her eyes to savor the scent of freshly mowed grass. “Sometimes people forget life is about touching people along the way.”

  Richard turned her hand over in his and squeezed. “That’s so profound.”

  She laughed. “T. Larry would puke if he heard me say that.” Her own mother would puke. But Richard brought the profundity out in her with his sympathy, his empathy and his romantic dinner.

  “More champagne?” He held up the bottle.