His fingers flew across the keyboard. She could tell he was hitting the backspace key a fair amount, but it didn’t slow his pace. There was no tension in his neck and shoulders, just alertness and focus. He leaned forward slightly in the ergonomic chair, with his legs bent and his feet flat on the ground. If she’d wanted to give a lesson in how to sit properly at a desk, she could use Gavin.
She was dying to ask him if he was working on the Christmas story, but she didn’t want to interrupt his spurt of productivity. So she returned to her own work. Soon the sound of Gavin’s rapid typing became soothing white noise just like the muted roar of the ocean. Out of the corner of her eye, Allie could see Pie curled up in a swath of sunlight that fell across the deep cushion of an armchair. Contentment wrapped around her like a warm down comforter, and she had to remind herself of the warning she’d given the cat earlier that morning.
The typing halted. She swiveled to see Gavin stretching luxuriously in his chair before he ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it, as he scanned the screen in front of him.
“You’re a speed demon on the keyboard,” she said.
He didn’t respond, and she realized he was reading whatever was on the screen. He reached for the mouse and began scrolling. It must have been a full minute later when he swiveled toward her. “Did you say something?”
“Nope. Carry on.” She smiled.
“I know you spoke. I was just so engrossed in—” He stopped and slowly turned back to the screen to stare at it. “Jesus H. Christ, that’s eleven pages.” He stood up, his gaze still on the computer screen. “That’s eleven new pages. Of Julian.”
Allie wanted to cheer, but she decided to keep it low-key, as though his output was perfectly normal. “Are they good pages?”
When he turned, he looked as though he’d shed ten years. “Who the hell cares? I wrote them.” In three strides he was beside her, taking her shoulders and pulling her up to kiss her with more gratitude and relief than passion. He lifted his head, and his eyes were the green of the sea with sunlight filtering through it. “You! You did this.”
“I was just lucky enough to be here when it happened.” She didn’t want to be held responsible for his creativity. Nor did she want his overriding feeling toward her to be gratitude.
His grip did not ease. “You loosened something, so the knots came unraveled.”
“That’s what any good physical therapist would do.” She smiled and kissed him lightly.
Gavin scanned her face, his gaze so intent that she felt it like a touch, as though his fingers were skimming over her skin, drawing her thoughts to the surface for him to read. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you’re involved in this.”
Allie had a sudden thought. “Should you let Jane know that you’ve broken through your block?” That would stop any plans for ghostwriters and put her mind at rest about relaying Troy’s news.
“No. I want to keep the pressure off for a while.”
So he didn’t quite trust his muse yet. “You could ask her to keep it confidential.”
He paced back to his desk. “I would still feel the weight of her expectations.” He swiveled the chair back and forth a few times before he sat down and positioned his hands on the keyboard. “Back to the grindstone.” But he said it with a buoyancy that belied the words.
Now Allie had a new reason to worry about the potential ghostwriter. It would crush Gavin’s joy and might stop his writing if he found out about the prospect. She couldn’t bear to see him plunge back into his dark pit again. She needed to talk to Troy, to find out how definite the idea was.
“Mr. Gavin, Ms. Allie, is lunchtime.”
Allie jumped at the sound of Ludmilla’s voice coming from the doorway. She had gotten absorbed in one of her favorite Julian Best stories to distract herself from worrying about her dilemma.
Gavin continued to type, so Allie smiled at the housekeeper. “Thank you. Do we eat lunch in the dining room?”
“Wherever Mr. Gavin want to eat.” Ludmilla walked over and tapped him on the shoulder, as though she had done it many times. “You try to starve Ms. Allie?”
He nodded and kept typing. Ludmilla winked at Allie and stood waiting. Finally, Gavin reached for his mouse, clicked a couple of times, and leaned back in his chair. He grinned at Ludmilla. “What’s for lunch? I could eat a horse.”
“No horse meat, that’s for sure,” the housekeeper said. “Germaine make delicious soup with clams and crabs and mussels. And I bake delicious bread.”
They ate in the casual dining area off the kitchen at a small whitewashed table. Pie sat in one of the two empty chairs, her gaze fixed on the tureen of seafood chowder steaming in the center of the table. Gavin fished out a chunk of crabmeat and offered it to the cat.
“Leave me some fingers,” he said as the cat seized the crab and wolfed it down. He looked at Allie. “I thought she’d eat more delicately.”
“Don’t let her dainty looks fool you. She has a hearty appetite.” Pie put one paw on the table before Allie removed it. “No. You stay on the chair or you get shut out of the room.”
“You’re very stern.” Gavin fed Pie another piece of crab.
“She’ll dive right into the soup if you give her half a chance. And no more crab for her. I don’t want Ludmilla to deal with any more cat upchuck.”
Gavin shrugged at the cat, who was giving him her best hungry-kitty look. “Sorry, but I’m not arguing with your mistress. I owe her.”
Allie snorted, and they dug into the meal, which was as delicious as Ludmilla had promised. When Allie laid down her fork after eating much too large a slice of chocolate-pecan pie with freshly whipped cream, she said, “Back to work?”
Gavin swallowed the last of his cappuccino. “No, we have an errand to run.”
“We?”
“It requires your participation.” He stood up.
“If you think I’m going to meekly go with you, you’ve got another think coming. What sort of errand?”
He sighed and sat down again. “You’ll enjoy it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it involves shopping.”
“Since you’re dancing around it, you must believe I’m going to object.”
Gavin looked skyward before meeting her gaze again. “There’s a charity ball here in Southampton on Saturday night to which I would like you to accompany me. It requires a dress, which I don’t believe you brought with you. In fact, a dress is included with the very expensive tickets I purchased. But I look better in a tux, so the dress option was going to waste before I decided to persuade you to come with me.”
“A ball? Out here in the middle of winter? I thought this was a summer place.” Allie was torn between the thrill of going to a fancy party and the knowledge that she had no business doing so, especially since she was pretty sure that whole dress-with-the-tickets line was a lie.
“That’s the gimmick. It’s called the Barefoot Ball. Unless there’s a nor’easter coming, it’s held on the beach under giant tents with even larger heaters. Shoes are not allowed, but guests must wear black tie and ball gowns.”
“And you just remembered it?”
“No. I just worked up the nerve to invite you.”
That made Allie laugh, but she shook her head. “I’d be as out of place as . . . as Pie.”
Gavin looked at the cat, who had given up on getting any more seafood and gone to sleep on the chair seat. “Pie has no difficulty making herself at home in any environment. And you are equally adaptable.”
Allie hesitated, her conscience battling with her yearning.
Gavin put his hand over hers. “It would make me happy to treat you to this.”
“Well, as long as I’d be doing you a favor, I guess I can go along with the plan.” He looked happy, and he believed it was because of her. Emotions tangled in her chest, tightening around her heart.
She knew it was only going to make the stroke of midnight more painful, but she wanted to be C
inderella for one night. Although at this ball, there would be no glass slippers.
Chapter 23
When Gavin said they were going to a yacht club, Allie expected it to be elegant and clubby. Instead, the place looked like a bargain-basement sale, with rolling racks stuffed full of dresses scattered around the large entrance hall.
An immaculately groomed older woman rose from the desk set just inside the door. “Ah, Gavin, dear, so nice to see you.” She glided up to Gavin to give him an air-kiss before turning to Allie. “I’m Petra Willoughby, the vice chairman of the Barefoot Ball. How lovely to have you as our guest, Allie.”
Petra waved a hand at the racks. The huge diamond on her ring finger sparked in the sunlight. “We have a marvelous selection of dresses this year, donated by all the top designers. Letitia, darling, will you help Allie, please?”
Letitia was young, tall, stick thin, and dressed in black. Her smile, however, was sweet, and made endearing by one slightly crooked canine tooth. “Let’s go find the perfect gown for you to wear.”
“I’ll be in the bar,” Gavin said.
Allie felt a flutter of panic. She knew nothing about what to wear to a fancy Hamptons shindig. “Don’t you want to help choose the dress?”
He looked surprised and dismayed, then pleased. “Why don’t you show me the one you think is best, and I will exercise my power of approval . . . or veto.”
Letitia nodded and walked with Allie into a large room that looked like the beach had been moved indoors. Green-and-white-striped cabana tents were lined up on the wooden floor in rows, some with their flaps tied up, some with them rolled down. Women of all ages, shapes, and sizes carried ball gowns, inspected ball gowns, and paraded around in ball gowns. Allie had to close her eyes for a moment against the sensory overload of colors, fabrics, and glittering sequins and beads. The symphony of female voices was low and well modulated, but the overpowering scent of competing perfumes made her cough. She opened her eyes, blinked a couple of times, and followed Letitia to an empty cabana. Inside stood a three-paneled full-length mirror, an empty clothes rack, and a cushioned stool.
“Did you have a particular designer in mind?” Letitia asked.
Allie tried to recall who designed the dresses she had admired at the Oscars but came up blank. “Um, not really. Nothing too revealing, though.”
Letitia’s face took on a calculating edge as she scanned Allie up and down. “I’ll bring a few selections in to get an idea of what appeals to you. If you’re thirsty, there’s a bar set up at the far end of the room. Feel free to have some champagne.”
Allie sank onto the stool and watched two women come out of the cabanas across from her to assess each other’s dresses. One was dressed in a silver sequined number that highlighted her gilt blonde hair. The other wore a deep fuchsia chiffon that made Allie’s eyeballs hurt.
She pulled out her phone to check her e-mails. Still no job offers. She’d thought for sure that Dr. Cavill would have one by now. There wasn’t much more to do on Gavin’s series bible, so she would be out of work and out of income soon. Now that he was writing once more, there would be no compelling reason for him to keep her around.
Maybe she’d swig some of that champagne after all.
“Let’s see what you think of these,” Letitia said, bustling in with plastic-bagged dresses draped over her arm. “There’s only one of each style, so you don’t have to worry about seeing your twin at the party.”
Letitia hung six dresses face out on the rack and closed the cabana flap for privacy. “You can’t tell much from seeing them on the hangers, so unless you hate one on sight, you should try them all on.”
Allie made a concerted effort to shove aside her fit of the dismals and enjoy this last gasp of her fairy tale. Trying on beautiful designer dresses was an experience to be savored, not suffered through. So she stripped down to her panties because her bra straps didn’t work with evening attire. Not surprisingly, Letitia had conjured up a strapless bra for her.
The first dress had pale blue lace appliquéd over an illusion-net bodice and a full lace skirt. It was exquisite, but Allie felt as though way too much skin showed through the netting, so she was relieved when Letitia shook her head. “Too fragile and indoorsy for a beach party.”
The second was a sheath of green sequins that made Allie feel like a Las Vegas version of a mermaid. Letitia rejected that one as well.
As she was peeling it off, someone scratched on the canvas. “Allie, are you decent? It’s Miranda Archer.”
“Two seconds.” Allie pulled on the robe provided in the dressing room and hauled open the flap.
Miranda stood outside in jeans and a T-shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She gestured toward the activity around her and said, “Can you believe this? It’s like a giant slumber party.”
Allie’s nervousness melted away. “I could use a girlfriend right now.”
Miranda’s warm smile lit up her face. “Shall we share a tent?”
“Come on in!” Allie stood aside to let Miranda enter, introducing her to Letitia. “Can you handle dressing two of us?”
“It will be a pleasure,” Letitia said, giving Miranda the same scan she’d done on Allie.
“I can help you get into one of your dresses while Letitia goes in search of mine,” Miranda offered.
As soon as their assistant left, Allie lowered her voice. “Tell me the truth. Are the dresses really included in the cost of the tickets?”
Miranda nodded. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? But Gavin is a huge donor to the gala since he lives out here, so I’m pretty sure he gets the best of everything.”
“What does huge mean?”
Miranda quoted a number that made Allie’s jaw drop. “I don’t really understand how rich he is,” she said.
“It’s hard to comprehend. You’d think I’d be used to this since I’ve been a concierge for the very wealthy for several years.” Miranda unzipped the plastic bag over the next dress on the rack. “But it’s different when you’re the one making the donations and riding in the helicopters and wearing the designer clothes. Speaking of which, this Valentino is gorgeous.”
She slipped the dress over Allie’s head and tugged the gossamer layers of fabric down into place, running the zipper up the back.
When Allie turned toward the mirror, she sucked in a breath. The dress had an underlayer of pale pink chiffon and an overlayer of translucent ivory silk organza embroidered with glittering golden starfish of varying sizes. The puff sleeves were unlined, so her arms were visible through the sheer silk, and the full skirt swirled around her legs. She tugged at the plunging V of the neckline, which revealed a large swath of her bra.
“You’ll have to wear stick-ons with that,” Miranda said, unzipping the dress again. “So let’s ditch the bra for now.”
Allie unhooked the bra and pulled it off. She swallowed hard. “That’s a lot of cleavage.”
Miranda fastened the matching fabric belt around Allie’s waist and grinned. “When you’ve got it, flaunt it. You look stunning.”
She felt stunning, even though she had the urge to cross her arms over her exposed chest. The pale pink lining picked up her skin tone and made it look almost as though she wasn’t wearing anything under the sheer organza. The fabric drifted and swirled with her every movement.
“You’ll need a necklace,” Miranda said.
Allie put her hand to her bare neck with a sigh. “I don’t have any jewelry with me. Gavin said it was just a casual weekend at the beach.”
“He didn’t tell you about the ball?”
“He was afraid I wouldn’t come to Southampton at all, I think.”
Miranda raised her eyebrows. “Then he’ll just have to provide the accessories to go with it.”
“Here we are.” Letitia carried another armful of dresses in before she turned to inspect Allie’s latest gown. “That’s a winner, in my book. How do you feel in it?”
“Like I’ll catch pneumonia from th
e draft across my chest.”
“You’ll feel better with the proper undergarments,” Letitia said. “I’ll get those before you model the dress for Mr. Miller.”
The thought of Gavin seeing her in the dress made Allie cross her arms over her chest again.
“Trust me.” Miranda’s voice had a dry note in it. “He’ll love it.”
“I figured I’d find you here.” Luke Archer slid onto a bar stool beside Gavin.
“Which here?” Gavin casually turned over the pad of paper he’d been scribbling on. “Southampton, yacht club, or bar?”
Luke ordered a beer. “Bar.”
“You have a low opinion of my character.”
“Nope. I just couldn’t think of any place farther away from the dress craziness than here.” He held up the frosted glass the bartender set in front of him. “To swift decisions by our women.”
Gavin lifted his glass of water to tap it against Luke’s beer. “Off the training regimen already, I see.”
“I forgot how good it is to have a beer whenever you feel like it.” Luke licked his lips in appreciation.
“Is Nathan showing up here, too?”
“Later,” Luke said. “He had some business calls to make.”
“How’s the studying going?”
Luke unleashed the grin that had made a thousand camera flashes go off. “Miranda’s a good teacher.”
“I know damn well that you don’t need any tutoring. You just use it as an excuse to have your lovely new wife bend over your shoulder.”
“So it works on all levels.” Luke gestured to the pad of paper Gavin had hoped he wouldn’t mention. “You writing something?”
The casualness of Luke’s tone didn’t fool Gavin. The other man’s eyes were focused like lasers. Strangely, he found himself telling the truth. “Yes. Julian’s back in action.”
“That’s good news, man. I’ve been missing his adventures.”
The VIP Doubles Down (Wager of Hearts Book 3) Page 25