Receptionist Under Cover

by C. J. Carmichael

  ALTHOUGH SHE WAS ENJOYING the story, Nadine dozed fitfully through the second half of the movie, the soundtrack proving as soothing as a lullaby. Then suddenly, there was no more talking, only music. Dimly she realized the movie was over and the credits were rolling.

  The next thing she knew there was sudden silence and the room was very dark.

  “Sorry. I should have turned on a lamp before I shut off the TV.” Patrick groped in the dark for a few seconds before he located a lamp switch. An amber light pooled over his face.

  He was smiling indulgently at her. “You didn’t like the movie?”

  “I did,” she insisted. “I guess I was just tired.”

  Slowly Patrick’s smile faded. His eyes seemed to grow bigger, his breathing louder. The room felt very small at that moment. The bed seemed very big.

  She wanted to tell him that she wouldn’t hold him to his promise. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to be touched.

  Most of all, she didn’t want him to leave. Yet, she could see that he was about to move off the sofa. She touched his arm.

  “Was June Stone the love of your life?”

  His sucked in a breath. “Why do you ask that?”

  It was something she’d longed to ask him for a long time now.

  “I suppose I should say yes.” He twisted his body and placed an arm along the sofa back, so he was facing her. “June was my first girlfriend. The first woman I made love to. And, as it turns out, the mother of my son.”

  “That’s quite a list.”

  “No doubt she was an important woman in my life. But was she the love of my life? I’d have to say no.”

  “Well, then. Someone else?” She settled with her back against the sofa’s arm, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knees. It was a classic yoga pose, but she did not feel relaxed in the slightest.

  “Always asking questions. Don’t you think it should be my turn now? Who is the love of your life?”

  She should have guessed he’d turn the tables and been prepared with an answer. But—there wasn’t one. Thinking over the list of men she’d dated—most of them casually—no one stood out.

  In fact, until she’d been with Patrick, she’d assumed she simply wasn’t a very passionate person. He’d proved her wrong on that assumption, thankfully.

  “I’m still waiting…”

  She shrugged. “So am I.”

  He took a second to process that. “You mean, you haven’t met him yet?”

  “That’s right,” she said.

  But that was a lie.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PATRICK WAS JOLTED OUT of sleep as the plane rocked left, right, left, suddenly dropped elevation, then recovered.

  Over the intercom, the pilot sounded unperturbed. “Folks, we’ve encountered a little turbulence. Please make sure your seat belts are fastened.”

  Patrick glanced at Nadine beside him. Her belt was properly in place, but she was gripping the magazine she’d bought at the Toronto airport as if she was afraid it was about to be ripped from her hands.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded tightly. “I’ve never been a fan of rough air.”

  He’d traveled enough to be inured to all but the most hair-raising of rides. He held out a hand and she accepted it with a grip that made him cringe.

  “This is nothing. Want to hear about an experience I had on Iran Air once?”

  “Oh—I don’t think so.”

  He ran his thumb along the length of her fingers. She liked long dangling earrings, and he’d seen her wear bracelets and necklaces. But she never wore rings.

  He wondered what it would be like to be the man to give her a diamond. To slide the ring over her slender finger, then to look into her eyes and to know that she would be his….

  The plane jostled again, and her fingers crunched his hand. He winced and tried to think of something to distract her.

  “Give me another one of those questions,” he said. “You know, the Proust game.”

  “Um, okay…” She took a deep breath, thought for a bit, then asked, “What is the quality you admire most in a woman?”

  Once upon a time he might have answered courage, or adventurousness, honesty or strength. But his understanding of himself and what he appreciated had changed since he’d met Nadine and he struggled to put a word on that one, most beguiling characteristic.

  And then he saw her tuck her hair behind her ear with her free hand, and he knew.

  “Grace.” That one word went beyond her movements to encompass the essence of her personality. The way she treated strangers and tackled her work…and made love.

  Ever since they’d left Kicking Horse Resort this morning, he’d been trying to convince himself that this would be their last day together, that when the cab dropped her home tonight, he would be waving farewell for good.

  But all the while he’d known that he was fooling himself. He wanted her in his life. He had to find a way to make it happen.

  BY THE LAST LEG OF THEIR journey, Nadine was exhausted. When Patrick gave the cab driver her address, she didn’t have the strength to object. Her eyes burned and her head ached, but she couldn’t doze off now any more than she had been able to do on the two flights they’d taken today.

  It wasn’t just the turbulence that had kept her awake.

  There was so much unsaid between her and Patrick and it was driving her crazy. She knew he was as attracted to her as she was to him. At the same time, she guessed he had the same doubts about starting a relationship as she did. After all, they had very little in common.

  But maybe it was those differences that were the big attraction.

  Patrick waved away the doorman and carried her bag up the stairs, stopping outside the vestibule to say farewell. It was very late, past midnight, and her ears still felt blocked from the change in air pressure. She put her hands on his arms to steady herself. Even through the thickness of his jacket, she could feel the unyielding hardness of his muscles.

  “I guess this is goodbye,” she said. The city was uncharacteristically quiet. She could hear his breath drawing in, then out. The streetlights were bright enough that she could see signs of struggle in his expression.

  “Maybe it should be goodbye. But that’s not what I want.”

  She almost laughed with relief. “Me, either.”

  She let her head sink to his chest. His arms engulfed her, holding her close as if he couldn’t stand to let go.

  “When can I see you again?”

  Dinner out, or a movie. Both would be safe choices. But Nadine thought they were already beyond safe choices. She tipped her head up so she could see his eyes. “Would you like to come to dinner at my parents’ next Sunday?”

  He swallowed. She could almost feel his panic. But before she could doubt the sincerity of his intentions, he nodded.

  “Dinner on Sunday would be wonderful.”

  It wouldn’t be. Her parents would make the situation uncomfortable and awkward. Yet, in her heart, she felt this was what she needed to do. She had no idea where her relationship with Patrick was headed, but he was important to her.

  And she knew she was tired of secrets, and half-truths and never feeling free to be completely herself.

  Patrick placed his warm hands on either side of her face. He kissed her gently, once, then pulled back to gaze at her.

  “Your parents are going to love me.”

  His bravado made her smile. The look in his eyes filled her with warmth. This was a moment she wanted to stamp into her heart forever—

  “Hey, you two. Remember me?”

  Nadine started and glanced back at the street. The cab driver had rolled down the passenger’s side window so he could call out to them. She supposed it was more considerate than honking his horn.

  PATRICK SPENT THE NEXT few days preparing for his book tour, and steeling himself for the occasion of meeting Nadine’s parents. She’d let him take her out for lunch once, but other than that, they hadn’t seen one
another since their trip to Kicking Horse.

  He sensed this was some sort of test. That having rushed into bed together so quickly after they’d met, Nadine was now pulling back, wanting him to prove that he wasn’t just interested in the sexual side of their relationship.

  Well, he had no problem with that. It was a test that he would pass with flying colors, because right from the beginning he’d known Nadine was something special.

  On Sunday evening, he had a cab drop him off at Nadine’s apartment. They’d agreed to walk from there to her parents’ home eight blocks away.

  Christmas lights sparkled against the fresh fallen snow, and Patrick thought he’d never seen the city looking so pretty. Nor Nadine.

  She looked lovely enough to be the angel on top of a tree, with her hair curled in waves around her face and her cheeks cherry-pink from the cold.

  When she stopped in front of a five-story mansion, his mood dampened. “This is it?”

  She nodded.

  Having recently purchased his own co-op apartment, Patrick knew real estate prices in Manhattan very well. This place, he guessed, would sell for around thirty to forty million dollars.

  He’d realized Nadine’s family was wealthy. They owned Waverly Hotels, for God’s sake. But this kind of money was insane.

  “You aren’t going to back out now, are you?”

  “Of course not.” But he wanted to. God, how he wanted to.

  “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  She’d looked so pretty and carefree as they were walking, but now as they entered her parents’ house, he could sense her trepidation, almost as strongly as his own.

  For a moment he was awed by the splendor of the foyer—with its vaulted ceiling, marble floor and an enormous oil painting placed for maximum impact as you stepped inside.

  A woman in a demure black dress, who looked about the right age to be Nadine’s grandmother, bustled toward them.

  “Martha.” Nadine hugged her warmly. “This is Patrick O’Neil. Martha runs this place,” she explained to him, and as he met the woman’s steely gaze, he realized that her approval was probably as important as Nadine’s parents’.

  He was glad he’d worn a shirt and jacket as he slipped off his winter coat. Martha immediately whisked it from his hands.

  “Go ahead, honey,” she told Nadine. “Your parents are already in the music hall.”

  Patrick had never been in a grander home. Mutely he followed as Nadine led him into a large room containing a huge fireplace with a stone mantel, the kind of uncomfortable-looking furniture you saw in antique shops and a magnificent grand piano.

  The setting only occupied his senses for a few seconds, before the people in the room drew his attention. A tall, portly man in suit and tie, and a lovely, petite woman with styled hair, pearls and a smile just like her daughter’s, only frosty and tight.

  Patrick took a deep breath and smiled. People were people, right? And he’d never had trouble getting along with anyone in his life.

  After introductions, he was offered a drink and then began a series of questions which turned out to be a polite version of a police inquisition. Where had he grown up? Where did he go to school? Who was his mother, and his father? What about his grandparents?

  Finally Nadine interrupted. “You should be asking about Patrick’s travels. He has so many amazing stories.”

  Her approving smile was as fortifying as the excellent Scotch in his glass. After a long swallow, he decided to launch into one of his no-fail stories.

  “The funny thing about balloons is you never have one hundred percent control over where the darn thing is going to land…”

  He’d told this story in school gymnasiums and church basements, at book signing events and fundraisers, for children and adult audiences alike.

  Without exception, everyone liked the ballooning story where, defying careful calculations, unexpected winds had him landing the balloon and his three passengers, in the midst of an outdoor wedding, at just the moment the bride and groom were about to say their vows.

  “That must have been very distressing for the family,” was Sophia’s only comment.

  “You do a lot of hot-air ballooning, do you?” asked Wilfred, pushing his glasses higher on his nose and frowning.

  “That was two years ago. I was researching a book on New Mexico. Albuquerque hosts an amazing hot-air balloon fiesta every October and I figured the best way to experience that was in the air, rather than from the ground.”

  “Tell me, Patrick. Have you ever had a real job?”

  Patrick polished off his Scotch. “Define real.”

  “Something that involves work. Not flying balloons and climbing mountains and all that nonsense.”

  Patrick glanced at Nadine. She was literally on the edge of her seat, her eyes begging him to…do what? How did she expect him to react to her father’s rudeness?

  He turned back to the older man and shrugged. “I earn a very good living with my books.”

  “Money isn’t everything,” Wilfred said.

  But Patrick suspected that money actually was everything, at least in this household. But it had to be a lot of money. And preferably some of it had to have been passed down by your ancestors.

  He was relieved when Martha returned to announce that dinner was served. This involved going up a massive circular staircase to the next floor, which housed a dining room large enough to accommodate twenty guests or more.

  The table had been made up for their smaller party, though. And as Patrick took his spot, he vowed to let his hosts do the talking for a while.

  He wondered how the Waverlys would respond to the Proust Questionnaire, but as if she could sense that he had mischief up his sleeve, Nadine quickly took control of the conversation.

  During the three courses of soup, salad and rack of lamb, she steered the conversation between topics that were obviously her parents’ favorites.

  With the focus off him, Patrick began to appreciate that both her parents were quite intelligent and actually did possess a sense of humor.

  But then Martha appeared again, this time to announce that coffee and dessert was ready in the library. Patrick was glad to have Nadine by his side for a bit. He placed a hand on the small of her back and leaned forward to whisper in her ear.

  “Another room? More food? I can’t believe this.”

  She jabbed him with her elbow. “Shh. I warned you about the usual routine.”

  “They really eat this way every single evening?”

  “Shh,” she said again as they entered the most amazing library he’d ever seen. Bookshelves lined all of the walls, even above and below the windows. In the center of the room were leather chairs surrounding a marble table, upon which was a silver coffee service, bowls of crème brûlée and a tray of cheese and dried fruit.

  It was hard to take in. How did they manage? Didn’t they ever want to put up their feet, order in pizza and watch a movie?

  Patrick was hoping to remain out of the limelight for this final course, but unfortunately for him, Sophia Waverly decided that it was her turn to direct the conversation.

  “So, Patrick, tell me how you met my daughter.”

  Oh, Lord. He saw panic in Nadine’s eyes and decided that brevity was the key here. “I met her when I retained the services of The Fox & Fisher Detective Agency.”

  “I thought you met at that rain forest gala?” her father asked.

  Oops. He glanced at Nadine, realizing they should have gotten their stories straight. “That was later on the same day,” he said.

  “Was your case the reason Nadine had to fly to Canada twice this month?” Sophia asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Sophie seemed to be waiting for him to say more. He cleared his throat. “She was helping me find my son.”

  “He’d gone missing? How old is he?”

  “Stephen is eighteen. And he hadn’t gone missing. I’d just found out that he existed. And I wanted to meet him.”

&nb
sp; Sophia pulled back in amazement and shock. She glanced from him, to her husband, then to her daughter. “How is this possible?”

  Patrick wanted to show Nadine’s parents the utmost respect. But these were details he simply wasn’t going to share. “It’s a long story,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

  The Waverlys refrained from inquiring further. But he could see they were judging him on the facts that they did know—and finding him irresponsible and promiscuous at best, amoral at worst.

  Nadine glanced at her watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I’m afraid we have to run. Patrick is leaving for a five-week book tour tomorrow.”

  “Well, then I suppose he had better be on his way,” Wilfred said. “But there’s no reason you need to leave so early, honey.”

  Patrick waited, almost expecting Nadine to give in to the obvious wishes of her parents. But she just laughed.

  “Don’t be silly, Dad. Of course I have to run, as well. I’ll see you both on Wednesday. Don’t have Martha see us out. I have my key. I’ll make sure to lock up.”

  “I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY, I’m sorry!” Nadine kissed him once for each apology she gave him. “They were dreadful. I’m so sorry.”

  Patrick accepted her kisses willingly enough, but she could see that it would take more than a few words and smooches to make this up to him.

  “Well, at least now I understand why you didn’t want to work for the family business,” he said, as they began to walk in the direction of her apartment.

  His comment stung, even though it was true. Her parents drove her crazy, but she still loved them and it hurt to know that Patrick couldn’t see beyond their faults.

  But then again, why should he?

  For me. He should do it for me….

  She blanked out the little voice inside of her. There would be other dinners. Lots of time for them to adjust to one another. She would talk to her parents. Make them understand that next time they had better be on their best behavior.

  At her apartment door, she went willingly into Patrick’s arms. When he kissed her, she felt a delicious heat that blocked out the winter wind. “I can’t believe you’re going to be gone for five weeks.”