by Neesa Hart
“Uh . . .” Scott took another step backward. “I think maybe you should help Ryan with his homework, and let me handle this.”
“What is with you?” Maggie advanced toward the sink.
“Mom, don’t. Don’t look.” Ryan pulled on her hand.
“It’s just a clog,” she said. “Good Lord, you’d mink you two had burned the house down or something.”
Scott winced. Maggie stared at him. “What’s going on?”
Scott gave Ryan an apologetic look before he stepped away from the sink. Maggie hesitated, then stepped forward. Her eyes widened. The sink was half-full of a sticky white sludge. Eggshells floated among burnt shards of indistiguishable origin. She stuck a finger into the white goo. “What is this?”
“Sugar,” Scott said.
“Flour,” Ryan answered simultaneously.
“Sugar or flour?”
Scott looked over her shoulder at the mess in the sink. “Both.”
“What are those burnt things?” She pointed to an indistinguishable charred lump.
Ryan slipped beneath her arm to peer into the sink. “Cocoa Puff cookies.”
“Oh.” Maggie pulled a film-coated glass out of the sink. “Did anything get broken.”
“Uh,” Scott said, trying to pry her away from the sink. “Nothing big.”
“Nothing big?”
Ryan grinned at her. “Just the blue bowl. The one you said you don’t like ‘cause it’s too heavy.”
“Just the blue bowl?”
“Yeah,” Ryan continued, “and we burned a hole in one of the cookie sheets.”
Maggie had to swallow a giggle at Scott’s stricken expression. “How did you manage that?”
“Oh, it was really cool,” Ryan said. “Scott put the cookie sheet down on the burner and it melted all the way through. It got slimy and everything.”
“I think,” Maggie said, “that I will go upstairs and take a shower. If Lily is expecting us at seven, I’d better get dressed.”
Ryan stared at her. “You aren’t mad.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Scott rolled his eyes in relief. “Thanks, Maggie.”
“I have a feeling,” she told him, “that I’m very glad I didn’t come down here earlier.”
Scott nodded. “Yeah. You are. If you go take that shower, Ryan and I can finish cleaning up. The sugar cookies should be out of the oven by the time you come back down.”
“What?” she said. “We get to actually eat them? Aren’t you planning another structural masterpiece?”
Scott grinned at her. “One a day’s my limit. I don’t like to overstretch my creative capacity.”
Nine
Scott leaned back in his chair in Lily Webb’s kitchen. Maggie had seemed relaxed enough that afternoon, had even pitched in to help finish cleaning the kitchen, but almost the instant they’d set foot in the Webbs’ house, she’d been tense, anxious. He could see it in the tight lines of her face. Experimentally, he draped his arm across the back of her chair.
She jumped. Lily didn’t seem to notice. “So tell me, Scott,” she was saying, “how are the plans coming for the Cape Hope project?”
“Good,” he said, pulling his gaze from Maggie. “I finalized them this morning. I’ve just got a few details to work out, and I’m ready to submit them. The way I understand it, Max Wedgins should make a preliminary decision in the next two weeks.” He brushed his hand over Maggie’s shoulder. She shifted away from him.
“What about you, Maggie?” Lily asked. “Do you feel like you have a real shot at this?”
“I hope so.” She slid to the edge of her seat. “You know I need this project.”
Lily nodded. Her husband, Tom, returned to the table from the kitchen sink to finish clearing the dishes. “Why don’t we go into the living room?” he suggested. “It would be a lot more comfortable.”
Lily swatted his behind. “Are you trying to get out of doing the rest of the dishes?”
Tom grinned at her. “You were always wise to me.”
Lily looked at Scott and Maggie. “You just can’t find good help anymore. Why don’t you two go on into the living room? Tom and I will be there in a minute.”
“You just want to have your wicked way with me,” Tom said.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” Lily shot back.
Scott laughed as he pushed his chair back. “Come on, Maggie, I know how to take a hint.”
Maggie gave Lily a panicked look. “I’ll help you with the dishes. You shouldn’t have to do them by yourself.”
Lily raised her eyebrows. “Who said anything about doing the dishes?”
Maggie blushed. Scott tugged on her hand. “I think I saw a wad of mistletoe out here somewhere. Let’s see if we can find it.”
Maggie’s gaze flew to his. “Scott.”
“Go on,” Lily urged. She picked up a dish towel. “We’ll be right there.”
Scott guided Maggie through the kitchen to the living room before she could protest. He slid the kitchen door shut. “Why are you so tense?”
“I’m not tense.” Maggie moved away from him.
“Maggie.”
She walked to the piano, where she stopped to study the array of pictures. “I’m not tense.”
“You’ve been tight as a rubber band ever since we walked in here. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Maggie.” Scott walked up behind her. He placed his hands on her waist. She started. “You don’t normally tense up every time I touch you.”
Maggie evaded his embrace. “I don’t think it’s appropriate in front of my friends. That’s all.”
“What’s not appropriate?”
“This.” She looked anxiously at the door. “You and me.
“Could you be a little more clear? I’m afraid you lost me.”
Maggie frowned. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to have your hands all over me in front of my friends. Is that clear enough?”
Scott blinked. “My hands—for crying out loud, Maggie, I don’t have my hands all over you.”
“Oh, no? What was that bit at dinner with the rolls? You practically fed me one for God’s sake.”
“Geez, Maggie. I only wanted half the roll. I gave you the other half. It’s no big deal.”
“It was a big deal to me.”
Scott took a deep breath. “What’s really bothering you?”
She looked at the kitchen door. “It’s Lily and Tom. They think . . . You made them think we’re a couple.”
“Aren’t we?”
“Not like that.”
“Then what kind of couple are we?”
“Just not that kind.” She turned back to the piano. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. Ryan’s downstairs playing with Franklin, and I don’t want him to hear us arguing.”
“Maggie—”
“Not now.”
Scott frowned at her for several seconds. She was one complicated woman. “I think I deserve an answer.”
“I don’t have an answer. Why am I supposed to have an answer?”
“Because, everything was fine this afternoon until we got over here. What is wrong with Lily and Tom seeing us together?”
Maggie shrugged. “It just bothers me.”
“Why?”
She spun on her heel to stare at him. “It just does. Isn’t that enough for you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“So what do you want?”
“I want to know why the thought that your friends might think you’re attracted to me has you climbing through the roof.”
“It isn’t like that.”
“Then what is it like?”
Maggie blew a lock of hair off her forehead with an angry puff of air. “I’m just not comfortable with this. What are they going to think if they know I’m involved with someone so soon after Mark’s death?”
S
cott stared at her. “It’s been a year, Maggie. It’s not like he died last week.” He regretted the words the moment he’d said them.
Maggie looked stricken. “It feels like he did.”
Scott reached for her. “Oh, Maggie.” He pulled her into his arms. “I’m not trying to rush you into anything. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m just so confused. I . . .”
He rubbed his hand down her back. “What?”
“This afternoon. Why did you do that for me?”
“Do what?”
“You gave up your whole day for me. Why?”
So, Scott thought, we’re back to this. “Why wouldn’t I? You needed the time. I was in a position to help you.” When Maggie didn’t say anything, Scott gave her a tight squeeze. “Talk to me, Maggie.”
She curled her fingers into his shirtfront. “Mark wouldn’t have.”
Scott felt his heartbeat accelerate. “Wouldn’t have what?”
“He wouldn’t have done that for me.”
“Why not?”
Maggie shuddered. “I don’t know.”
“I think you do.”
She tipped her head back to meet his gaze. Her eyes were sad, hurting. Scott’s heart missed a beat. Maggie drew a deep breath. “I don’t think he would have thought that what I was doing was important.”
Scott framed her face with his hands. “But you know it’s important.”
“I . . .” she trailed off.
“Go ahead. It’s all right.”
A flash of guilt flared in her eyes. “I resented him for that. I still do.”
Scott exhaled a long breath. “It’s OK, Maggie.”
“But he’s dead.”
“Honey, listen to me. I know you loved Mark very much. I know it was incredibly painful for you when he died. But nobody said it wasn’t all right for you to be angry at him.”
Maggie’s lips trembled. “I didn’t want to come here tonight. I was afraid to face Lily and Tom with you.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid they might think I was being unfaithful to Mark’s memory.”
“Is that the truth? The honest-to-God truth?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you sure it’s not because it’s easier for you to pretend what’s happening between us isn’t important if you can hide it? If no one knows, it doesn’t make it real.”
She started to shake her head, then looked away. “I’m sorry. I’m acting like a fool.”
Scott tipped her chin up with his thumb. “You’re hurting, Maggie. Nobody said you had to make every decision right the first time.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled again.
Scott decided he couldn’t wait any longer to kiss her. It was meant to be a quiet kiss, the comforting type, but no sooner did his lips meet hers than he felt the familiar rush of blood in his head. His body tightened, his pulse accelerated, his toes curled inside his shoes. “Ah, Maggie,” he whispered, and pulled her close against him, “I need you.”
She leaned into his embrace. Scott didn’t need any further encouragement. He rubbed his lips over hers in a slow, hungry caress. Maggie’s arms stole around his neck to hold him close to her. A groan tore from his throat.
A cough sounded in the doorway. Scott reluctantly raised his head. “Uh”—Lily pointed to the stairwell— “the mistletoe’s that way.”
“I guess they made do without,” Tom drawled.
Maggie blushed crimson. She buried her face against Scott’s shirt. He laughed. “Guess we did,” he said. “Are the dishes all done?”
Lily studied Maggie with a calculating look. “We could always wash the silverware again if you, ah, wanted a few more minutes.”
Maggie poked Scott in the chest. “We’re done.”
“Could have fooled me,” Tom said.
Lily jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Shut up, Tom.”
“Yeah, Tom,” Maggie said, stepping away from Scott. She ran her hand through her hair. “Quit while you’re ahead.”
Two days later, Maggie adjusted the hem of her skirt as she shifted in her chair in Pete Sherban’s conference room. Pete was one of the top investors in the Cape Hope development project. He had called this Thursday meeting for all the bidders. Maggie stole a surreptitious glance at her watch while she idly listened to Pete explain the bid and selection process, and wondered why Scott was running late. She hadn’t seen him since their dinner at Lily’s. She was still uncomfortable, and unsure, at the way their relationship was proceeding.
She had been forced to admit the truth when he’d suggested that she didn’t want people to know about their relationship. She had been trying to pretend it didn’t matter. The last two days had taught her the folly in that line of reasoning. Everything about Scott Bishop mattered.
It mattered what he wore. It mattered where he was. It mattered what he said or didn’t say to her. She had begun to think she was acting like a teenager again. It had taken every ounce of willpower she possessed not to call his hotel the previous night.
He’d told her when they’d left Lily’s that he wouldn’t see her again until this meeting. She knew, of course, that he had work to do, but still, it hadn’t helped any that he hadn’t called. She was beginning to feel like the universe had been permanently turned inside out.
As if she’d conjured him up with her concentration, the door to the conference room opened and Scott glided into the room with Irene Fussman. Maggie frowned. What was he doing with her? Scott met her gaze across the conference table as he slipped into his seat. There was nothing in the warm look he gave her to suggest that anything was amiss.
“Glad you could make it, Irene, Bishop,” Pete said, pausing to let them get settled. “I was just finishing my summary on the selection process.”
Scott nodded. “I’m sorry we interrupted you.”
Maggie lifted an eyebrow. Scott’s apology insinuated that he and Irene had arrived together, not as a matter of coincidence, but as a matter of choice. She felt like an idiot for jumping to conclusions, especially when Scott had told her how he felt about Irene. It was the other woman’s cool sophistication that got to Maggie. Her elegant suit, her meticulously coifed hair, her impossibly perfect fingernails, made Maggie feel like a country cousin trying to make her way in the big city. Forcibly, she turned her attention back to Pete. But her thoughts kept straying across the table.
“And that does it,” Pete was saying. “Does anyone have any questions?”
Irene shifted forward in her seat. Maggie watched as Scott’s eyes rested briefly on the other woman’s profile, then returned to Pete Sherban. “What about cost estimates?” Irene said. “I can’t do an interior estimate until I know the complete scope of the project.”
Pete nodded. “We know that, Irene. Maxwell Wedgins is the developer for this project. He’s got very specific ways of doing things. We’re just trying to accommodate him.”
A look of irritation flashed on Irene’s flawless features. “This is highly unusual. How can I possibly do a comprehensive bid if I don’t know what Wedgins wants?”
Pete looked uncomfortable. “I think that’s the whole idea, Irene. Max wants you to be creative. He wants to know what you want. Not tell you what he wants.”
“Well, we can’t read his mind,” Jason Challow said. “If this project weren’t so big, I’d never have agreed to bid on it.”
Carl Fortwell, Pete Sherban’s partner, shot Jason a wry look. “No one’s twisting your arm, Jason. I’m sure any of your competitors would be glad to see you pull your plans.”
There was a general murmur from the small group in the conference room. Jason gave Carl a bitter look. Maggie lifted her pen to get Pete’s attention. “I have a question, Pete.”
“Shoot, Maggie.”
“Is Wedgins looking for conceptual ideas only, or does he want something more concrete?”
Irene’s lips turned down at the corner. “Your inexperience is showing, Maggie. I re
alize By Design has never handled a project this large, but you should know that preliminary bids are always limited to conceptuals. You can’t possibly give the man room layouts and color charts if you don’t know what the structural design is going to be.”
Maggie just resisted the urge to squirm under Irene’s barely veiled attack. Carl frowned. “Actually,” he said, “that’s an excellent question. I spoke with Max about the specific challenges of this project last night. I think he’d like to see as much as you feel you can give him, Maggie.”
Pete Sherban pulled on the knot of his tie, as if suddenly finding it too confining. Irene slanted him a dark look. She leaned back in her chair, an unpleasant scowl on her red lips. Maggie just barely caught Carl Fortwell’s sly smile. It made her feel better.
Pete cleared his throat. “Anyone else?” When no one moved, Pete nodded. “OK, then. That covers it. Make sure you pick the addendum to the bidding packet on the way out. We’ll expect to see plans by close of business tomorrow. Max has agreed to review everything by the end of next week.”
Maggie scooped up her briefcase and rose, intent on bolting for the door before Scott had a chance to intercept her. She simply wasn’t ready to deal with him yet.
“Maggie.”
She was relieved to hear Carl Fortwell call her name. She liked Carl enormously. Had, in fact, first met him because his grandson played on Ryan’s hockey team. Carl was tell, very distinguished, in his late sixties, and scared the hell out of almost every one. Every one except Maggie. He had reminded her so much of her own father, she’d immediately seen beyond his austere bearing and poker-faced expressions to find a heart of gold. She smiled at him, making her way in his direction. “Hi, Carl.”
He tipped his head in acknowledgment, his version of a smile. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you before, but I’m really glad you’re bidding on this project.”
“I am, too. If nothing else, I could use the experience of a bid this size.”
Carl frowned beyond her shoulder. Maggie knew he was looking at Irene. “Don’t let anything that woman says get under your skin. She’s a class-A bitch.” He returned his gaze to Maggie. “And I didn’t say I’m glad you’re bidding because I think you need the experience. I meant I’m glad because I think Max is really going to like your style.”