MICHAEL WAS WAITING for Krista in the suite. She realized she was catching him in midpace near the sun-drenched patio doors. All at once he looked tense and so very happy to see her, as only a co-conspirator can.
“How did it go?”
She took a deep breath. “I think I need a drink.”
He followed her to the wet bar. “Do you have good news or bad news?”
She unscrewed the cap of some ginger ale and took a gulp. “My news is up for interpretation.”
“What does that mean?”
“They agreed to leave, if that’s what we really wanted.”
He watched her warily. “That sounds like good news.”
“But while we were in the lobby discussing this good news, Mr. Stewart came ambling by.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“I spoke to him,” she said heartily.
“Did he ask about me?”
She set down the bottle. “We sure talked about you, oh boy.”
He grasped her arms. “And…”
“The result was a dinner invitation for tonight.”
“Us? With Gerald?” His voice surged with joy and he twirled her around.
Krista hadn’t been twirled by a male in twenty years, since kindergarten. Once she grew older, boys found her too imposing to handle. But not so here and now in the role of Simona. Michael spun round and round, sharing the victory with a laugh. It felt marvelous and freeing, nothing like the way she felt in her Ms. Big persona—the one she’d inadvertently carved in stone back at the office.
He finally put her down, tapped her nose and asked for details.
Her voice was breathless. “We’re to meet him downstairs around six-thirty. Nothing was mentioned about dress. No doubt we’ll be safe with semiformal wear. Something suitable for a floor show.”
“That was an inspired maneuver, I must say. You were really on the ball, the way you juggled him and your aunts in a matter of an hour.”
“All in a day’s work.”
He gave her a lip-smack on the mouth, which swiftly deepened to a sweet lingering kiss. They broke apart, mildly self-conscious, slightly shaken by the small current running between them. He was the first to recover. “I don’t understand how you could have worried that I would see this as bad news.”
She lifted her eyes to his hesitantly. “The aunts had agreed to leave, before Gerald came along with his dinner invitation. But now all that has changed.”
“Are you saying he included them in the invitation?”
“Yes.”
“And they accepted.”
“Right again.”
“Gerald is always the gentleman.”
“He was most insistent. The three of them clicked, partly, I imagine because they are so close in age.”
“Well, Rachel is a bit of eye candy, I imagine, for the older male.”
“So, are you fine with it?”
“Honestly, no. They—they say all sorts of stuff! It’s one thing for doting aunts to run some interference, but this pair takes a linebacker approach to the game.”
“I’m sure they will be on their best behavior in front of Gerald. They like you and understand his importance to you.”
He regarded her with boyish hope. “Any chance they might leave tomorrow?”
Krista remained sympathetic. “Gerald might think we’re mistreating them if they do. He knows they intend to stay for four days. Hinted that he plans to keep an eye on them.”
“He actually went so far as to say that?”
“Afraid so.”
Michael sighed resignedly. “Guess I have no choice but to play this out Gerald’s way.”
“Look on the bright side, you now have the opportunity to engage Gerald in a little one-on-one conversation away from all other distractions.”
“I do, thanks to you. I am very proud of you, Krista. An opportunity fell into your hands and you handled it with the cunning and diplomacy of an executive.”
“I always say we make our own luck.”
“So do I. Still, I can’t help but feel that maybe some of the Vegas charm may be rubbing off on me. Have you considered the lucky twist of fate that put you in the right place at the right time to connect with Gerald?”
Krista was noncommittal, thinking of a string of ironic twists of fate instead. After forcing Krista to play Simona against her better judgment, the aunts were now feeling a rare wave of remorse, wanted to fess up to being Simona. And despite Michael’s devotion to Decadent Delights, its corporate owner didn’t know him for dirt. This would most likely change due to the two nosy women that Michael desperately hoped to shoo away.
A part of her hated keeping him in the dark, the part that hoped they might have a future. After all, good relationships were built on a foundation of trust. But then again, it did seem wrong to make him stumble over dodgy facts when he was on a winning streak. If he were any more pumped up for the contest, she’d have to tie a string around his neck to keep him from floating off.
Chapter Eleven
Krista emerged from her bedroom at six-fifteen, dressed in a pale-blue knit dress that gently clung to her curves. Her jet hair was loose and flowing, without the wild Simona ripples. Her makeup was subtle with just an extra flash of green eye shadow. Silver jewelry adorned her hands and throat.
Michael was appreciative. Being a Taurus didn’t seem an issue this round. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you, sir.” She inspected his off-white linen jacket and navy slacks, moving closer to smooth the collar of his light blue cotton shirt. “You look pretty gorgeous yourself.”
“Hope we’ve dressed well. To Gerald’s taste.”
“Relax, Michael. Gerald has no taste.”
He exhaled. “You’re right. It’s getting tougher to defend that colorful western wear the more I see of it. And that rug on his head is a sight. Not that you should’ve sketched him topless on that napkin. If a man doesn’t want to come out of the bald closet, it is his right.”
She patted his cheek. “I wish you’d stop worrying about that napkin.”
“At least you didn’t sign it. Did you?”
“So what if I did?”
He took her by the arm and steered her to the door. “C’mon, we’re going to be late.”
Gerald Stewart and the aunts were waiting in the lavish lobby near one of the fountains. Gerald was wearing a gray suit with a red shirt and figured string tie, toupee puffed to attention. Beverly’s gray hair was curled tight against her head. She was dressed in a dark-green sheath that concealed her stomach. Rachel’s blond ringlets were fluffed around her chin. She wore a flouncy gold lamé dress short enough to show off firm thighs encased in black stockings.
Michael grasped Krista’s arm at the sight of them. “Good lord, Rachel and Gerald would be a mini carnival if they stood side by side. Beverly is nothing short of color relief, standing between them as she is.”
Krista figured the positioning was no accident. Rachel was such a flirt, and it would be like Beverly to keep their trio platonic.
Gerald welcomed them to their group. “Here they are,” he proclaimed. “We’re going to the hottest show in town,” he announced, hustling them all to the door. “Siegfried and Roy at the Mirage.”
A white limousine awaited them at the entrance. Gerald pushed aside the driver—his full-time employee, as it turned out—to help the ladies into the back. He then climbed aboard, leaving Michael to fend for himself.
The interior smelled of cigar smoke, which worsened when Gerald lit up a Cuban. He puffed contentedly as the car rolled through the gaily lit night, remarking that it was a relief to once again smell subtle perfume intermingling with his smoke. It was Krista’s Chanel, but the aunts kept mum about it.
Unusually demure under the mogul’s gaze, Beverly commented on the show tickets. “A hundred dollars a pop seems a foolish extravagance.”
“I can well afford it,” Gerald assured her gently.
“Especially as there i
s no meal included.”
Rachel elbowed her sister sharply. Gerald didn’t notice, however, as he threw back his head, roaring with laughter. “We will have a late supper. Anything you like, Beverly.”
“She had some cheese and crackers up in the suite, Gerald,” Rachel reported. “Don’t mind her.”
“Don’t mind her,” Beverly scoffed in return fire.
Gerald leaned forward sagely. “I intend to mind you both very carefully. Mind all of you,” he added, as if in afterthought.
Krista wondered if Michael had any inkling as yet to the amorous older man’s motives. After years stuck on the business fast track, Michael seemed pathetically oblivious to the wiles that went on around him. Judging by his broad smile, she figured his being Gerald’s afterthought suited him pretty damn well for the time being.
The Mirage was set apart on the Strip by its fifty-five-foot volcano. Gerald halted the party outside the entrance to watch it erupt on the half hour.
The interior proved to be a tropical haven with lush greenery and polished bamboo. The group stood taking in the atrium rain forest while Gerald explained that it was the hub leading to all areas of the hotel.
Spotting a gigantic aquarium behind the front desk, Krista distracted the aunts in an effort to give Michael a moment alone with Gerald. But it didn’t work. Gerald followed, eager to point out the tropical fish in the tank, as well as stingrays and smaller sharks.
The Siegfried and Roy production proved to be on a grand scale, with state-of-the-art lighting, sound and special effects. Dancers and acrobats supported the magicians, as did a fire-breathing dragon, white tigers and an elephant that magically disappeared during the act.
Afterward, Gerald led them to the hotel’s Samba Grill. Ushering them inside he explained that it was a newer place, and, for Beverly’s benefit, added that it charged moderate prices. When Beverly looked flustered, Gerald moved in to give her a fond peck on the cheek.
The eatery had a Brazilian theme, and was decorated in vibrant colors. Gerald was known by the staff and was led back to a spacious table in a corner.
Michael opened his menu, then looked over at Gerald, seated across from him. “Maybe you can make some recommendations.”
Gerald turned to the waitress and ordered a variety of appetizers, coconut prawns and duck tamales among them. Everyone expressed appreciation for his offer of drinks. Michael showed off by remembering that Rachel enjoyed a martini with two olives and Beverly a gin and tonic, no ice.
Once the drinks arrived, Michael politely steered the conversation away from Beverly’s knitting club to the convention’s contest.
Gerald responded eagerly. “Wait until you see the contest area in the basement of our hotel. There are deluxe stations set up for the bake-off, with convenience in mind, not to mention privacy. Everyone has a right to his or her own space. No room for chatter among contestants in a race, I always say.”
Michael gave Krista an I-told-you-so look before turning back to Gerald. “I’ve heard about state-of-the-art ovens you’ve shipped in. Been looking forward to having a look. As you know, however, the area has been off-limits to contestants thus far.”
“True. Practice sessions start tomorrow morning. Suppose we could have a look tonight, if you like.” Gerald then glanced at the aunts. “You ladies cook?”
“We get along,” Beverly assured.
Michael smiled. “That’s an understatement, if you’re half the cook Krista is.”
Krista shifted uneasily on her chair. “Oh, Rachel and Beverly are just as good as I,” she assured.
“We sure are,” Beverly agreed.
“As it is, we are simply too busy with our job to spend a lot of time in the kitchen,” Rachel said with a small hiccup.
Gerald rested an elbow on the table, leaning forward with interest. “What job is that?”
“Public relations, mostly,” Beverly hedged. “Nothing official. We help people around the community in various ways.”
Rachel laid a bangled arm on Gerald’s hand, her voice sweet as honey. “We love helping people. Especially old people. It’s our duty.”
Beverly humphed. “You sound like a beauty queen contestant with that line. We are old people. Helping all kinds of people.”
“Still young enough, Bev,” Gerald objected, “to cause the men some real damage.”
Beverly glowed. Rachel pouted. Krista fretted. The aunts were beginning to get competitive and it was bound to grow worse.
Bottomless bowls of Samba salad followed, along with some of Gerald’s favorite wines. Eventually the table was crowded with marinated meats, fish, Cuban-style potatoes and baskets of Brazilian breads.
Gerald did most of the talking for some time, expounding on his spacious mansion in a tonier suburb, the loss of his wife Gloria a few years back, the dreams he perpetuated with his family-oriented shops.
Michael took advantage of gaps—mostly during Gerald’s chewing—to speak of his Chicago turf, his relation to the Larkins, his interest in the company as a growing entity. Krista was proud of his attempts to stake his own claim.
To that end, Gerald asked about Michael’s doughnut entry. Michael explained the Kris Pineapple Kringle, its upside-down cake basis.
Krista meant no harm when she suddenly mentioned that years back, her aunts had been fond of making a pineapple upside-down cake of their own.
Beverly paused vacantly. Rachel admitted to not remembering.
“Oh, c’mon you two. There were pineapple rings, bordered by maraschino cherries.”
“We have so many recipes,” Beverly claimed. “It is sometimes hard to remember every one. Especially with the passage of time.”
“I can just imagine a prized recipe box in your kitchen,” Gerald said. “My late wife had such a box. Called it her treasure chest.”
“Oh yes,” Beverly assured. “Ours is carved in wood. Right, Rachel?”
“Teak,” Rachel confirmed with a sultry toss of her head.
“I imagine your cake is delicious,” Gerald praised. “You must make it for me. Heaven knows, I have the oven space.”
If looks could kill, the aunts would have broiled, baked and grilled Krista on the spot. They adjourned to the rest room for a brief hot powwow.
“What’s this nonsense about we Mattsons being cooks?” Rachel demanded.
Krista shrugged. “It all started when you kept pestering me with those phone calls at the newspaper. Remember, I pretended we were discussing a recipe? Then Judy added to the illusion at my place.”
“I don’t remember that pineapple recipe,” Rachel said. “Do you, Beverly?”
“I don’t even care to remember.”
Krista clenched her hands. “But Gerald wants the cake!”
Rachel preened into the wall mirror over the sinks, then took lipstick from her handbag. “Surely you don’t expect us to bake it.”
“We can’t risk you disappointing Gerald right now. You must do it for Michael.”
“Michael is expecting too much.”
“Michael doesn’t know he’s expecting too much because he believes Gerald only has eyes only for him. When, in fact,” she admitted begrudgingly, “it is you two Gerald seems to care about.”
Beverly gawked at her niece. “Let me get this straight. Michael believes Gerald is being nice to us for his sake, when the situation is the other way around?”
“Yes!”
Rachel applied her lipstick. “Maybe he isn’t as smart as we thought.”
“He is too smart! He’s just too anxious to see all the facts. Now that you’ve stubbornly stayed on, it’s only fair you cooperate. We must come up with a recipe for you to make for Gerald.”
“We probably hated making that cake and botched it up good every time,” Beverly declared flatly.
“As a child I remember it as very tasty.”
“That makes you out to be as gullible as your new boyfriend.”
Rachel struck a thoughtful pose. “Krista, I imagine you enjoye
d the fun of preparation more than the result. It’s a bit like sex, dear—oftentimes the foreplay is more memorable than the actual act—”
“Everything is like sex to you,” Beverly cut in.
“Forget about sex,” Krista beseeched. “We have to come up with a recipe before tomorrow if we hope to continue impressing Gerald.”
“Maybe we’d have a chance with our original one,” Beverly conceded.
Krista dug into her purse for her cell phone. “I’ll call Judy. She can run over to the house. Where might she find it?”
“All the recipes are stashed away in the pantry.”
“All this trouble for a bad toupee.” Rachel looked unsure.
“All this trouble for Michael,” Krista corrected. “Who I happen to—”
“To what?” they chorused.
“Like very much.”
Smugly, the aunts marched out of the bathroom. Krista raised a brow and punched Judy’s number into her cell phone. Within minutes she had Judy on the run, headed for the aunts’ house and the key they kept hidden on the front porch.
The limo ride back to the hotel was quiet and companionable. It was late as they strolled into the lobby of the Imperial Majestic.
Gerald dipped into his pocket to check his pocket watch, and confirmed it was well after midnight. “Anyone care for anything else?” he asked.
Michael spoke up. “We were going to have a look at the contest site.”
Krista gave his sleeve a quick tug, whispered near his ear. “Look, there is your little gang, inside that lounge to the left.”
His gaze swept past the marble and gold terrain to a gated lounge flanked by palms, where Allan and Norah Larkin lingered with Randy and Beth Norquist. “Damn. We were invited to join them tonight. So excited about our dinner, I never did give them an answer.”
“I bet the Larkins did some math when they couldn’t locate you or Gerald, and have been stationed at a table just inside that lounge for some time. Seems no other explanation for their timing.”
“Well, not a one of them would have turned down the chance for a one-on-one with Gerald.”
“Of course they wouldn’t, Michael.”
Norah performed some overdone pantomime, expressing shock at their arrival, reporting it to the others. With a clatter of heels and chorus of greeting, the foursome made tracks to Gerald’s party of five. Both Norah and Beth attempted to sidle up to Gerald, but he was light on his feet and got away. Probably not as cleanly as he’d intended, as his cheek was now branded by Norah’s tangerine lipstick.
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