2 Busy 4 Love

by Lucy Hepburn

  Toni had been standing very still, further back at the entrance of the courtyard, taking in the scene. Quietly he moved forward, toward the girl.

  The transformation that took place when she set eyes on him would have been laughable if Christy had been in any mood to laugh. Which she wasn’t. The woman’s face softened. All of the terse smugness melted away and was replaced with a coy, girlish simper. Slowly she ran her hands down the sides of her skirt, smoothing out creases. Her right hip dropped and her left heel lifted a little, until she was adopting a killer pose that showed off a generous hourglass figure. She was evidently extremely proud of it.

  “I, Toni,” he said, clutching both of his hands together at his chest. Then he spread his arms out to her, entreating her to tell him her name, as though her doing so was a matter of life and death to him.

  “Oh…uh…Brigitte,” she simpered. “Hey, Toni, nice to meet you. Um, nice shirt.”

  Toni had caught a strand of Brigitte’s stringy, bleached hair and tenderly tucked it behind her ear. “Brigitte Bardot.” Then he leaned in even closer, bent his knees, and closing his eyes, sniffed the top of her head. “To smell it is to love it, Brigitte Bardot…”

  Christy raised her eyebrows at Toni before turning away so that he didn’t see the tear that had just escaped and was rolling down her cheek. Quickly she wiped it away. Desolate and utterly deflated, she peered upward at the lovely building, shiny and painstakingly refurbished. She could pick out the windows of the apartment that was to have been hers, could practically make out the silhouettes where the soft, silk drapes would have been, in that rich cranberry shade. Her mother had promised to make them up for her, and Christy had been going to help. And, oh, the cute, retro chandelier she’d earmarked for the living room—it would have to go back to the shop. And there, the slightly smaller window that would have been her office—her very own designated office. No more working from her bedroom. She’d picked out the perfect swivel chair in gorgeous dove grey velvet, destined for just in there, behind that glass. What would happen to all those dreams now?

  She sighed. How did everyone else’s priorities become more important than hers? But then, wasn’t that how life was supposed to be: putting others before yourself? She couldn’t imagine living for the moment, living for herself, living for the day. She wasn’t Annie, after all. She made plans.

  And they’d just blown up in her face.

  “You have got that New York look!” Toni was assuring Brigitte, who, judging by the blissed-out expression on her face, agreed wholeheartedly.

  “You’re quite cute yourself,” she replied, looking up at him from underneath furiously fluttering lashes, before cocking her head in Christy’s direction and narrowing her eyes. “That your woman?”

  “I’m just a friend,” Christy sighed, going over to join them.

  The news obviously made Brigitte’s day. She planted her hand on her hip and looked hard at Christy for a moment. “Look, Ms. Davies, here’s what I can do for you.” Unzipping her bag, she pulled out a large, pink leather diary. “I’ll add you to the list of potential buyers for the general release auction tomorrow. I shouldn’t do it…” at this point, she paused, bit her lip, and shot a sultry look at Toni that was laden with meaning, “the list closed two days ago as you probably know, but, well…”

  Christy sighed and forced a rueful smile. “Thanks, Brigitte, I appreciate the gesture.”

  “Sure.” Brigitte handed her the diary and a pen for her to add her details, all the while smiling coyly at Toni.

  “Brigitte Bardot, not perfumed, not colored, just kind.”

  Christy managed to keep a straight face at this, but only because she was coming from such a miserable starting point.

  “I’ll put my name in, but there’s no way I can compete at an open auction,” she said, almost to herself. God knows Brigitte didn’t seem to be listening. Glumly she wrote her contact details at the bottom of a terrifyingly long list. There would be little point in her even showing up for the event; she knew precisely the sort of figures city people were prepared to pay in order to secure an address in such a cool part of town. But she didn’t want it because it was cool. She wanted to come home.

  “You from Italy?” Brigitte was asking Toni.

  “Italy, yes, Milano,” Toni replied. Then he pointed at the ground. “New York—today.”

  “You just got here?” Brigitte’s eyes were suddenly huge. “Today? Boy, you’re gonna need some friends, aren’t you?”

  “Toni, we should go,” Christy said gently. “Thank you, Brigitte…”

  Brigitte finally dragged her eyes away from Toni and back to Christy. “Y’know, Uncle Dan has lunch at Clint’s on Ninth in Manhattan most days. One o’clock.”

  “He does?” Christy’s heart skipped a little.

  Brigitte nodded. “He should be done with his family business by then.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Brigitte looked astounded as Toni gently took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Brigitte Bardot, I’m lovin’ it,” he crooned.

  Christy and Toni left Brigitte starry-eyed behind them as they walked from the courtyard back out to the sidewalk.

  “Thank you so much, Toni,” Christy said once they were at a safe distance, taking his hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “She’d never have told me about Mr. Simpson’s lunch plans if you hadn’t been charisma-bombing her. I couldn’t have pulled that off without you.” She began to walk at a terrifyingly quick pace, the heels of her long boots beating a staccato rhythm on the dusty sidewalk. “We’ll have to fit in a trip to Clint’s by one o’clock if it kills us, okay?”

  Toni looked a little confused, but shrugged and picked up the pace.

  “We’ll need to get Mrs. Dallaglio’s dry cleaning first, I guess, which means we’ll need to get there, like, an hour ago if we’re going to make it. So we can’t get to your modeling agency just yet…” she tailed off and looked up guiltily at her friend.

  He patted her arm. “Is cool, Christy,” he said, giving her a devastating smile that would have sent most women’s hearts fluttering, but Christy was too busy for a fluttery heart right now, so she just grinned and turned her attention back to her schedule.

  She stopped and looked around. “Okay,” she said, more to herself than to Toni, “how do I get to the dry cleaner’s at warp speed? Oh, why was I so stupid about my phone? I’m going to have to phone that guy Will again.”

  At this thought, her heart did flutter, a confusing mix of nerves and excitement. What was that all about?

  Chapter Seven

  WILL

  Noon

  “I knew you’d drive a novelty car,” Will said as he swung into the passenger seat of Nina’s elderly yellow VW beetle. “Nice Bug!”

  “What do you mean, novelty car?” Nina started the engine and screeched out into the leafy New Brunswick suburbs.

  Furtively Will clutched the door handle. “Nothing much—just the boho, free spirit thing you’ve got going on. I’m surprised there aren’t any daisy stickers.”

  “Oh, it’s covered in daisy stickers,” Nina deadpanned, “but they’re only visible to free spirits. And it’s good for the planet, to keep a car going rather than scrap it and buy new ones all the time.”

  “Who could argue with that?” Will said with a cheeky tone.

  “Besides,” Nina said with her chin stuck out, “I like the noise it makes.”

  “It does make some noise,” Will agreed. The rattle and growling of the engine made more of a racket than a twenty-year-old tractor.

  “You’re quite the character judge, aren’t you, Will?”

  “Fair enough,” Will nodded. “I’ll take your chastisement like a man. Guess I’m kind of used to evaluating people from first impressions. It comes with the territory: I work as a human resource consultant.”

  Nina nodded. “I know what you do. Your dad told me.”

  Will was surprised
. “He did?”

  “Don’t look like that. Of course he told me what his only son does for a living.”

  Will shrugged. “Well, I bet he made it clear how hacked off he is at having a mercenary wage slave for a son.”

  Nina, looking as though she was fighting back an urge to say something, diplomatically remained silent and continued her white-knuckle progress toward the center of town.

  It had never occurred to Will that his father ever gave him a thought. Funny to think that he’d talked about him to Nina. He felt a stab of something—was it jealousy?

  “He just makes me so mad. How can you deal with him all day long? It’s like trying to communicate with a child.”

  Nina’s fingers fluttered on the steering wheel. “He’s not that bad.”

  “He’s a dictator.” Will was suddenly angry again, as his encounter with his dad came flooding back. “A one-man, silent dictator. It’s his way or no way at all—”

  “Hey, that’s a little unfair,” Nina soothed. She was making occasional eye contact while keeping just enough eye on the road to stay safe. “Lighten up. Seems to me you two are both kind of used to getting your own way.” She giggled. “Now, I wonder where you get it from, hmm?”

  “I’m not like him!” Will cried, thunderstruck at the notion.

  “Okay, okay.” Nina made a gesture of surrender. “You’re not like him—I get it.”

  “Did you see what he did with the papers? Signing ‘Ronald Reagan?’”

  “I saw,” Nina sighed. “Well, I’m sure he had his reasons.”

  “Like what, a political coup?”

  “Other reasons, Will.” She shifted the gear roughly into fourth, ignoring the beetle’s noisy protest. “Have you taken a moment to think that there may be a motive for his apparent madness?”

  Will opened his mouth to defend himself, but at that moment, Christy’s phone rang in Will’s pocket.

  “I’ll need to get this,” he muttered. “Excuse me.”

  “Hey, nice ringtone.” Nina wore a confused expression on her face. But Will wasn’t surprised she looked confused; there weren’t very many male Dolly Parton fans in the world. Not many straight ones at least.

  “It’s not my phone,” he explained.

  But that explanation didn’t change Nina’s expression.

  “Yup?” Will’s head was spinning. He scrunched his eyes shut and tried to focus on the call.

  “Will, it’s Christy. Um, I’m sorry, but I need your help.”

  “Shoot,” he barked, more sharply than he intended.

  “I need to find the fastest way to the dry cleaner’s. The one you read out to me earlier, in Manhattan.”

  “Okay…so why’d you call me?”

  There was a short, pregnant pause at the other end of the line. “Um, well, yes. You see…”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m on the bottom edge of Prospect Park in Brooklyn, and I need to get to the dry cleaner’s, and my iPhone has a map application.”

  “In Manhattan?” Will interrupted.

  “Yes.”

  Will thought he knew the one she was talking about. He used to work in Manhattan and took his suits there to be cleaned on his lunch hour. “That should be easy,” Will interrupted again. “I’ll make this quick, so make sure you take notes. I’ve got a lot to do today.”

  “Do you talk to everyone like that?” Christy asked.

  That caught him off guard. He didn’t realize he was speaking like anything. “Come again.”

  “Do you always speak to people like they’re your staff?” Christy replied. “It was bad enough this morning, but I understood it wasn’t a good time to call. Now you’re doing it again.”

  “What’s this all about?” Will exclaimed. “I’m trying to help you out here.”

  “You sure? Well, could you please try a little harder?”

  “Huh?” Will could hardly believe what he was hearing. He was doing this girl a favor…but maybe he was being a little on the brusque side. Maybe he should be spending more time with Mr. Manners. He sensed her impatience.

  “Will, you know I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t really important.”

  Her voice was sexier when she lowered it like that. Will adopted a more reasonable tone. “You know, for someone who seems to run a business helping people out, you’re not very good at asking for it yourself—bit of a control thing, maybe?”

  Christy laughed bitterly. “You been talking to my sister?”

  “Who? Does she sell newspapers outside Penn Station? Big girl, mustache?”

  “Funny. No, it’s just she makes these sorts of comments all the time. Never mind…okay. Listen, I’m sorry for ringing and making demands of you in a less-than-polite way. I’m having a bad day—”

  “I gathered.” She wasn’t the only one.

  “Yeah, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “I didn’t apologize.”

  “You did, actually.”

  “Oh, so I did. Sorry.”

  Will smiled.

  “I guess I am a little out of practice when it comes to asking for help. Normally my phone and I are perfectly capable of managing my life—and lots of other lives, too.”

  “And you don’t do threesomes?” Will teased. “You and your phone? Let me take a moment to reassure you that your phone and I have done nothing to be ashamed of during our time together.”

  “Funny again. Now, can I please tell you how to access the GPS function?”

  “What, to get to Manhattan? You don’t need GPS!” GPS was not Will’s thing, but getting around Manhattan quickly—that he could do. “Just head on down Flatbush past the University, cross the Brooklyn Bridge—”

  “That way doesn’t work for me,” Christy said.

  “How do you mean?” That was the fastest way; he’d done it a million times. “Don’t tell me—you’re a mermaid, and you need a sea route?”

  Listening in, Nina snorted with laughter as Will rolled his eyes.

  “No. I am not a mermaid.” Will liked the way her voice was betraying the fact that she was keeping laughter in check. “My phone has a function that picks out the fastest route, and it gives precise street names and the time it’ll take to get there. I don’t do landmarks and galleries, Will.”

  “Shame. You’d love MoMA.” What a stupid thing to say! How could he know whether she would like MoMA? He didn’t even know the woman.

  “Cut it out. That’s not what I meant. I don’t find my way around using landmarks, that’s all! And of course I love MoMA. Everyone loves MoMA. Okay? Now, would you please hit the bottom right-hand button? Not too hard.”

  “Now who’s sounding like she’s instructing her staff? Although I have to say you sound like you’ve got more of a schoolteacher thing going on.”

  “Well, it’s straight to the naughty step for you.”

  Green eyes and a great sense of humor. “With pleasure. Okay, I’ve hit the button. Whoa! It’s like a whole new galaxy inside this little guy. Why would you ever surface into the real world when you’ve got this? Can it cook?”

  “Will, I need to get going.” He heard a smile in her voice. “Do you think we could start over?”

  Will painstakingly tried to tap in the locations. “Start over? I think so,” he replied as his own cell phone began ringing in his jacket pocket. “Probably…hang on, that’s The Brick.”

  “Pardon?”

  Nina shot him a confused glance as well. She was obviously listening in.

  “My cell. I call it The Brick. It’s older than the sun.” He checked his phone. It was Mark Anderssen, his grandfather’s lawyer. “Look, I’ve got to take this. Hold on.”

  “No!” Christy sounded desperate.

  “Give me just one minute, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Are you serious? I can’t go anywhere until you tell me where to go.”

&
nbsp; “I’ll call you right back.” He hung up, laid Christy’s iPhone on his lap, and took the call from the lawyer. “Hello?”

  Mark Anderssen was approaching retirement. Old-school and meticulous, he always gave the impression that he had all the time in the world to chat; it was one of the secrets of his success. As he and Will exchanged pleasantries about the weather, part of an elaborate lead-up to whatever it was that needed to be said, Will was using his other hand to attempt to locate the map function on Christy’s precious phone so that he could send her the directions to the cleaner’s. His brain was struggling to keep up.

  “Need any help?” Nina hissed, leaning across, taking her eye off the road for a fraction too long and making the car swerve.

  “Careful!” Will yelled. She only narrowly missed an oncoming truck.

  Nina grinned across at him. “It’s okay. Everyone drives like this in Europe. It’s like a game.”

  But he wasn’t listening. Too much else going on. In between regaling Will with stories about his trouble trying to fit golf into his hectic schedule, Mark Anderssen finally got around to telling Will the reason for his call: he’d organized replacement documents for the house sale and some other items to do with Sloane Thompson’s estate for his father and him to sign.

  “If your dad can remember his own name this time,” he chortled. “Ronald Reagan—I tell you, Will, that father of yours is a case, and no mistake.”

  “Yeah, a nutcase,” Will muttered.

  Nina shot him a disapproving look, which Will ignored.

  “Please, watch the road,” he hissed.

  “I got it covered,” she grinned back.

  “Okay, so what do we do from here? Can I pick up the documents from your office?”

  “Sure,” Mark Anderssen agreed, “but did you know we’ve relocated? Anderssen Harvey finally moved into the fine surroundings they deserve.”

  “I knew we were paying you guys too much,” Will joked. “Congratulations. Okay, where do I find you?” Swiftly he memorized the new address. “Got it. Listen, Mark, I’m going to have to organize a courier to collect these today. Do you think you could have them ready at reception, please?”