The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels

by Girard, Dara

  She shrugged, mollified by his apology. "What for? It was my mistake for coming here."

  "No, it wasn't. It was bold of you to come and I haven't made it easy for you." He stared at the floor. A tiny frown formed between his brows. He was trying to be gentle. She found the attempt endearing. The soft whisper of a Jamaican lilt accented his words. "Talking about money is always difficult. It represents much more than our financial status; it reflects our habits, our personalities, our fears, our goals... It takes a lot for my clients to be as honest with their spending as you have been. People feel more comfortable talking about their sex lives than debt."

  "Would you rather talk about sex?"

  His eyes captured hers. "Are you offering?"

  Her heart began beating an odd rhythm. He was quick for a nerd. "No."

  He pushed himself from the door and took her arm. The grip was loose, but she knew escape was impossible. "Sit down. Let's see if we can come to an agreement."

  Adriana sat and stared at him in wonder.

  "What?"

  She rested back, impressed. "You're very good."

  He frowned.

  "I was prepared to storm out of here, bristling with indignation, and somehow you convinced me to stay. Amazing."

  "It's because you realized—"

  "No, you're just very good at reading people." She tilted her head to the side, trying to read his dark eyes. "Pull any cons when you were a kid?"

  He gathered some receipts. "About the spa—"

  She sighed. Why did she even try with him? "I like to go," she cut in. "I like being pampered." She looked at him. The poor man was trying, but he still didn't understand. Before he could argue she said, "Isn't there something you like to do? Something that relaxes you and makes you feel so good that you couldn't imagine life without it because it's part of who you are?"

  His dark eyes flickered with genuine amusement. He nodded. "Good argument. Okay, once a month."

  She let out a breath in relief, then frowned. What hobby couldn't he do without? She couldn't even picture him with a hobby. What would he find entertaining? Business Week, CNN, a scientific calculator? She knew it was no use asking him. What he didn't offer he wasn't willing to share.

  He wrote something down on a Post-it. "Let's see what other adjustments we can make to this budget."

  The phone rang. Eric glanced at his watch and answered. "Henson."

  Adriana watched in amazement as his face softened. Not into a smile, but something close. She knew at once who was on the line: her best friend, Cassie.

  "Thank you. Yes, I got them." He nodded and glanced at her. "Yes, she's still here. Would you like to speak with her?" He nodded again, then handed her the phone. "It's Cassie."

  "Hi," she said as she watched Eric discreetly leave the room. Once he closed the door she asked, "How do you do it?"

  "Do what?"

  "Get the statue to soften."

  Cassie sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you that your opinion of him is all wrong?"

  "Until I believe you, I suppose."

  "He is one of the sweetest, most gentle men I know."

  She reached for the Post-it note he had written, but his handwriting was too illegible to read. "You're just biased because he's your brother-in-law."

  "If he's so horrible, why did you ask for his help?"

  She pushed the pad away and toyed with his pens. "I didn't ask for his help, he offered and I accepted out of desperation. Believe it or not I would really like to get my finances in order."

  "Well, Eric can definitely help you do that."

  "So why did you call?"

  Cassie hesitated. "He didn't tell you?"

  Adriana straightened. "Tell me what?"

  "I guess it's his business. He doesn't have to share if he doesn't want to."

  "Share what?"

  Cassie sounded annoyed with herself. "Never mind, it's not important. I'll call you tomorrow to find out how everything went."

  "Cassie, are you going to let me die of curiosity?"

  "You won't die. Besides, you'll figure it out soon enough."

  "Cassie—" she began, but her friend hung up.

  Eric came into the room soon after. Adriana briefly wondered if he had been listening by the door, but quickly remembered he wasn't the type.

  She watched him walk to his desk, her mind brimming with curiosity. What was Cassie talking about? What wouldn't he want to share? There didn't seem to be anything different about him. "Are you feeling well?" she asked.

  "I'm fine, thank you." It was a nice polite response that offered her nothing. She pushed her curiosity aside. Why Cassie had called him was none of her business. It was probably something dull anyway.

  After another half hour of debating, they finally settled on a budget.

  "It's going to be difficult at first," Eric said as he handed her the final plan. "But the end reward will be worth it."

  Adriana folded it and pushed it in her handbag. She hated it already. She felt as if the fun and freedom that were an integral part of her life had been taken from her. Eric wouldn't understand. He wasn't the sort to indulge in simple pleasures. Unfortunately, he was to be her saving grace. She had come to him for help and she would do what was necessary to get out of debt. It was difficult to fly on the wings of fun and freedom with debt chained to your ankle.

  "Thank you." Her voice came out muffled.

  "Sometimes the word 'budget' scares people."

  Or makes them ill.

  "Try to think of it as a spending plan. It is not set in stone and is flexible for your needs. It's just a guide to help you achieve your goals. For example, money for your parents' care."

  She had given him that financial goal just to impress him. She knew that if she had told him the truth he would have scoffed at her.

  He rested his arms on the desk and clasped his hands. "However, we still have one thing we need to address."

  Oh no. "What?"

  "I want you to write down everything you spend for an entire week."

  "No."

  "Either that or only use a checkbook."

  No plastic? "Why?"

  "Because even though you gave me a detailed list of your expenditures I know that money is running through your fingers. We need to know where it is going."

  She swung her foot, annoyed. "You don't need to put it like that."

  "I find honesty very helpful. You're an impulsive shopper."

  "I like to shop. I wouldn't call it impulsive."

  "You could make shopping an Olympic sport."

  She grinned bitterly. "Thank you. I always go for the gold."

  "You would have a lot more in your savings or more to invest if you would use only cash in stores and wait a day before you purchase something that catches your eye. Especially sales."

  Time out. He'd overstepped the line. Sales restrictions were off-limits. "You've helped me with my budget. I don't need any more of your advice."

  "If you buy it on sale and you don't need it, it's not a bargain."

  Adriana tapped her foot and blinked.

  Eric leaned forward, his voice lowering to a coaxing tone. It had an unsettling effect on her. Only he could get excited over money like this. "Give me just a thousand to invest for you and I can show you how it will grow."

  She grabbed her bag, ready to leave. "No, thank you."

  "Listen, Adriana—"

  He stopped when the door flew open. A young woman dressed in a dark winter coat with hood and blue knit scarf entered the room.

  "Are you Eric Henson?" she asked in a high New York accent.

  His reply was flat. "As it says on the door. Why?"

  "Because I've got a message for you." She turned to Adriana. "Don't worry, this won't take long." She pulled a music player from inside her jacket and place it on the desk. Suddenly, raw, raunchy strip music filled the tense air. A light flashed; the woman's clothes dropped to the floor. She began dancing in front of Eric, dressed in a red, sequine
d bikini that glittered and shook with each gyrating motion.

  Adriana managed to pull her eyes away from the display to stare at Eric. Her mood went from shock to amusement to dismay. The poor woman was wasting her time. Eric wasn't even impressed. He rested his elbow on the desk and watched her with the same interest as a scientist observing a research participant. Even as the woman wrapped a scarf around his neck and let her blond hair cascade around him he didn't even flinch.

  Her dismay turned to disgust. Wouldn't he even smile at her? Cool the stone in his gaze or soften that hard mask on his face? He was completely inhuman. Any healthy male would at least show some interest in a beautiful woman dancing solely for his pleasure. Even she, as a female, was amazed by the woman's shapely form and awe-inspiring moves. She glanced at his granite profile, waiting for even the barest of emotions.

  She was about to look away when he turned and winked at her. Adriana gasped, the soft sound drowned out by the music. In that one fleeting moment she knew that he was very male and could be very dangerous to any woman who underestimated him.

  She pushed the thought away. Her flare for the dramatic was taking over her common sense. Eric was a dull, ordinary intellectual. She must have imagined his wink. She stared at him again. His impassive mask was firmly in place, confirming her suspicions.

  When the music stopped, the woman kissed him, leaving bright red lipstick on his cheek. "Happy birthday," she whispered. She gathered her clothes and left.

  Adriana stared at the closed door, then said, "I guess we all splurge once in a while."

  He wiped his cheek and frowned at the red smudge on his fingers. "I didn't pay for that." He grabbed some tissues and wiped his hand. "My sister will, however."

  "Jackie sent her?" She turned to him and laughed.

  He began to clear up his desk.

  "So today's your birthday, huh? How old are you?" She held up a hand. "No, wait, let me guess. You're not a day over a hundred and four."

  He disappeared behind the desk. "A hundred and ten." He peeked at her, his serious eyes teasing. "The lack of gray tends to fool people."

  Adriana smiled. The guy was definitely quick. She wanted to see how he would respond to a few more harmless taunts. "So how are you going to celebrate? Dust off a couple of dictionaries, read the financial expenses of a nineteenth-century household, or organize the soup cans in your kitchen?"

  She heard the sound of the bottom drawer closing. He straightened. "Actually, at the stroke of midnight I'm going to ask Lynda to marry me."

  She dropped her handbag, spilling the contents on the floor. She didn't notice. "I don't believe you."

  He came from behind the desk and began gathering her things. "It's true."

  She kneeled down and stared at him as if he were a Gucci bag marked 85 percent off. Why was it just when she thought she had him figured out, he did or said something unexpected? "But that's so romantic."

  He picked up her bag and flashed a wicked grin. "Surprised? Don't be. The reason is practical." He handed her the bag. "It has to do with midnight and when I was born."

  She clutched the bag, her eyes never leaving his face. "What about it?"

  He hesitated.

  She shook his shoulder. "Go on. Tell me."

  "I was born dead. They were going to bury me when my grandmother took me and dunked me in ice water. I let out a yell just as the clock struck midnight. So I always thought midnight on my birthday meant a special change." He suddenly frowned and bit his lip, annoyed with himself. "But don't let me bore you."

  She grabbed his arm before he could stand. "You're not boring me. It's absolutely fascinating and wonderful." The story was as beautiful and haunting as a myth. "I just never thought of you as romantic. It's hard to believe you're going to ask her to marry you tonight."

  He looked down at her hand clutching his arm. She pulled away. "I told you I'm not being romantic. However, I do have proof that I'm going to ask her." He reached inside his jacket pocket, pulled out a small velvet box, and held it out to her. "Go ahead and open it."

  She looked worried. "Shouldn't she be the first one to open this?"

  "No. Why?"

  "Something to do with luck."

  "Don't worry." He sensed her hesitation and opened the box for her.

  Adriana gazed at the diamond ring, gleaming against the blue interior of the box. "It's lovely."

  He studied her face. "You're not impressed."

  "Of course I'm impressed."

  A smile played with the corners of his mouth. "It's a little too traditional for you, isn't it? You'd probably prefer a large sapphire surrounded by rubies or the brilliant blue of a lapis lazuli."

  She offered him a small grin. "Perhaps. It is beautiful though."

  Her ex-husband had given her one similar to it when he had proposed to her in their sophomore year of college. It was on the banks of the Tidal Basin. She had been so ready then to be what her family wanted. Stable, educated, married. Laurence had been the perfect traditional man for a young woman searching to be the perfect daughter. He knew the right things to say, do, be, and he eventually suffocated her. She remembered the sense of relief when she had taken his simple diamond ring off her finger. "My ex-husband gave me one like it."

  Eric met her eyes. "I didn't know you had an ex-husband."

  And a daughter, but he didn't need to know about that. "Yes, one of my many accomplishments in life."

  "You didn't mention alimony."

  "I'm not getting alimony. I don't deserve it. Poor Laurence."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "I tried, but I didn't make a very good wife. Actually, he was a lot like you, except..." She trailed off.

  "Except what?"

  Except that he was what he seemed while Eric, though undoubtedly cerebral, seemed to have a wild energy that he kept well tamed. Any time she was near him she felt somehow threatened by his controlled isolation in a purely feminine way. It both annoyed and intrigued her.

  "Except that you're both different," she finished lamely. "So how are you going to do it?"

  "Do what?"

  "Ask her to marry you?"

  He scratched his head, confused. "Isn't there just one way? The man holds out the ring and says, 'I think we should get married.'"

  Her shoulders fell. She grasped the front of her shirt in dismay. "Oh no! Don't say it like that!"

  "Why not?"

  "Because that's horrible and boring. You must put some heart into it. Some passion. Say something like..." She glanced at the ceiling and tapped her cheek. She suddenly held out both hands. "I've got it! Listen to this." She lowered her voice and rested a hand on her chest. "Lynda, you make me the happiest man in the world. I can't imagine going on without you." She grabbed his hands and pulled them to her. "I love you with all my heart, mind, and soul. Will you be my wife?"

  She looked at him. He looked at her. They burst into laughter.

  He had a wonderful laugh. It wasn't awkward or forced, but deep and true, waking something within her.

  "All right," she said, sobering. "I admit it's a little corny."

  "Corny? I couldn't even imagine those words coming out of my mouth."

  "But you have to have some romance, some words that will have lasting sentimental value."

  "I think 'will you marry me?' is sentimental enough."

  She nodded. "Simple and straight to the point. You can't go wrong there. Just don't get down on one knee. Or if you do, make sure to watch where you land. Laurence kneeled on a rock and it led to a few awkward moments. He ended up limping."

  "I'll remember that," he said sincerely.

  She wished his eyes weren't so intense. At such a close range their cool glow sent a shot of heat up her spine. How could something so cold be beautiful at the same time? To combat her wayward thoughts she began to ramble. "Are you going to pick her up at her apartment? Does she know you're coming? I hope so. There is nothing worse than having an unexpected visitor arrive when you have a mud mask
hardening on your face."

  "You speak from experience?"

  "I was scarred for life when my high school crush arrived on my doorstep to sell Girl Scout cookies for his little sister. I think I bought thirty dollars' worth just to make up for my face."

  "Caramel Delites and Thin Mints."

  "How did you guess?"

  "You seem the type."

  "And I bet you're a shortbread cookies man."

  He raised a brow, but said nothing.

  She snapped the velvet box closed. For some reason the sight of the ring was beginning to annoy her. "So are you madly in love?" He looked blank. She had used the wrong words. Eric, she reminded herself. She was speaking to Eric. "I mean do you feel a warm affection for her?"

  His brows furrowed. "I wouldn't be asking her to marry me if I didn't."

  She smoothed out her skirt. "You'll fall violently in love eventually. It will come as a shock to you one day. You'll look up from your Newsweek and see her pounding away at the calculator with a pencil stuck lovingly behind her ear."

  His eyes twinkled. "Are you an expert?"

  "On love? No."

  "How do you think it will be for you?"

  She glanced out the window, no longer able to meet his gaze. "It will fall on me like a load of bricks."

  "Sounds painful."

  "Love is painful."

  "Did you love your ex-husband?"

  "I tried." She looked at him, ashamed. "Sounds awful, doesn't it, not loving your husband?"

  He shrugged. "It sounds honest."

  She abruptly stood. Kneeling on the floor together had become too intimate. He stared at her with such intensity her knees began to shake. She knew she was going to start babbling again. She went to his desk and stared at the picture there—a portrait of Lynda.

  She had a pleasant, intelligent face. The type of face that spoke of belonging to the right family, going to the right schools, and having the right career. She imagined that's how she had looked on Laurence's desk in the early days.