An apology coupled with a hearty let’s put that unfortunate night behind us, dear, shall we? was heading her way. She could feel it.
It was going to crush her like a brick dropped on a bug.
She and Sara and Chloe had stayed home on Friday, so Monday was Olivia’s first day back. It felt good to be at work, good to be busy, good to talk to people about the normal, everyday minutiae of life. After spending the first hour or so of the workday being very quiet and low-key out of deference to the family’s loss, Ilsa was, by midmorning, chattering away about her baby and her upcoming maternity leave, to which she was looking forward very much. Everyone Olivia talked to was pretty much the same way, from the people delivering supplies to the clients on the telephone: a few minutes of respectful decorum, and then business as usual.
Looking unbelievably slender in a navy-blue skirted suit, three-inch heels, and pearls, Mallory came breezing in about fifteen minutes before lunchtime, carrying an embossed white folder in one hand. Her presence was not unusual, or at least it hadn’t been in the weeks before Callie’s death. Mallory had always stopped in to see Seth nearly every day for one thing or another. But things had changed since then.
Or, at least, things had changed for Olivia since then.
She’d sooner see a rabid polecat than Mallory, she discovered.
‘‘Hello, Olivia! Hi, Ilsa!’’ Mallory greeted the two women in the outer office with a breezy smile. As she was wrestling with the balky computer at the time, Olivia reasoned that she had a perfectly acceptable excuse for not returning Mallory’s greeting with much enthusiasm. Undaunted, Mallory stopped by the workstation where Olivia was trying everything she could think of to get the stupid machine to display the data she had loaded into its memory bank only two weeks before, leaned a hand on the desk, and asked confidentially, ‘‘How’s he doing?’’
Knowing that he referred to Seth, Olivia smiled with as much affability as she could muster, which wasn’t too much. ‘‘As far as I know, he’s doing fine.’’
‘‘I’m glad to hear it. The invitations finally came in, and I wanted him to take one last look at them before I have them addressed and sent out. I know the timing’s a little insensitive, but the wedding’s in six weeks. We’re running late as it is. And Callie did say she didn’t want us to postpone it or anything because of her.’’ Mallory straightened with a smile, opened the folder, and scooted it across the desk so that Olivia could see. ‘‘What do you think?’’
Mallory Bridgehampton Hodges and
Michael Seth Archer
Request the Honor of Your Presence
At the Celebration of Their Marriage . . .
Olivia couldn’t stand to read any more. ‘‘They’re lovely,’’ she said, looking back at the computer. The invitations were lovely, with black engraving on thick white vellum paper—but they made Seth’s approaching nuptials seem hideously real.
He’s mine, she thought fiercely, but of course it wasn’t so. It was written right there in front of her nose in black and white: Seth belonged to Mallory.
And she’d better get used to it.
Getting sexually involved with her big cousin had been the biggest mistake of her life. She’d known it was stupid from the beginning. But she’d gone ahead and done it like the heedless fool she was, and now it was too late to take it back. She needed to accept that night for what it was, nothing more or less than a desperate reaching out for comfort on Seth’s part. She’d been present, and willing, and female, and that was all it had taken. The sensible thing to do now was to pretend, to herself and Seth and everybody else, that it had never happened; to go back to being loving cousins, and good friends.
But when had she ever done the sensible thing?
She was in love with Seth. The knowledge jumped out at her without warning, and as Olivia absorbed it she became physically ill. She felt light-headed, short of breath. She didn’t want to be in love with Seth. She refused to be in love with Seth.
Being in love with Seth when he was going to marry Mallory was the quickest route she could think of to a broken heart.
Oh no, oh no, oh no, Olivia thought in a panic, pushing her chair back from the desk. Its ancient casters moved with a protesting squeak, but Olivia barely heard it. Jumping to her feet, she managed a tight smile for Mallory, who was watching her with some bewilderment, and a glance for Ilsa.
‘‘I’m going to the rest room,’’ she announced, and fled.
When she came back, having bathed her face and held her wrists under cold running water until the lightheadedness subsided, Ilsa was alone in the outer office.
Thank God. Olivia wasn’t up to any more of Mallory at the moment. Or Seth, either, for that matter, although she had hardly seen him all day.
‘‘You okay?’’ Ilsa asked with concern. Olivia nodded, sitting back down in front of the computer screen. Ilsa seemed to take her at her word. Still, Olivia was glad of the distraction when Phillip and Carl walked into the office together moments later.
Tall, dark-haired and stocky, dressed almost identically in the gentleman’s uniform of navy sport coat and khaki slacks, they could have passed for twins. They were scowling at each other, their bushy black eyebrows meeting over nearly identical pugilistic noses, and it was obvious that brotherly relations were not at their warmest.
‘‘Not before June fifteenth,’’ Phillip said to his brother in a firm tone. ‘‘It’ll take us at least that long to finish it up.’’
‘‘But I promised him April first.’’ Carl looked belligerently at Phillip.
‘‘Well, unpromise him. Archer Boatworks doesn’t make promises we can’t keep. That’s why we’ve been in business so long.’’
‘‘You sound like a paid advertisement,’’ Carl groused. ‘‘This is an order for a five-million-dollar yacht we’re talking about. I don’t see why we can’t hurry things up.’’
‘‘Because it is a five-million-dollar yacht, you dummy.’’ Phillip sounded exasperated. The two brothers paused by the desk where Olivia worked at the computer, glaring at each other.
‘‘Boys, boys,’’ Ilsa said mock-reprovingly from across the room. ‘‘Why can’t we all just get along?’’
‘‘Because my brother’s an idiot,’’ Phillip and Carl said at the same time. They looked at each other in surprise, then burst out laughing.
Even Olivia had to smile.
‘‘He in?’’ Phillip asked, nodding toward Seth’s closed door.
Ilsa shook her head. ‘‘He and Mallory went to lunch.’’
‘‘Speaking of lunch.’’ Carl grinned down at Olivia. ‘‘How about letting me buy you a sandwich? Chicken salad’s on special at the inn today.’’
Carl had been asking her out for approximately as long as she had been back in LaAngelle. Olivia just as regularly turned him down. Automatically she started to refuse again, but then she caught herself.
If she was going to cure herself of her hankering for Seth, she was going to have to find somebody else to hanker after. Carl wasn’t exactly the man of her dreams, but he would do in an emergency. And this qualified as an emergency.
‘‘Sounds good,’’ she said, smiling warmly up at him. He, Phillip, and Ilsa looked equally surprised as Olivia got to her feet.
CHAPTER 43
BY THE TIME OLIVIA RETURNED TO THE OFFICE, it was fifteen minutes until two o’clock and she was seriously considering Carl’s invitation to go dancing in Baton Rouge on Friday. After all, she was fond of Carl, even if she wasn’t wildly attracted to him. Every date didn’t have to be a deathless romance, after all. There was really no reason at all why she shouldn’t go out with him. If Belinda didn’t like it, too bad.
Of course, going out with Carl would encourage him to like her more than he should. He’d already, during the course of a single lunch, sat beside her in their booth, draped his arm ‘‘casually’’ about her shoulders, and held her hand. In other words, he had made it abundantly clear that his interest in her was sexual, and t
here, she feared, lay the problem.
She had absolutely no intention of sleeping with Carl, and he seemed to have every intention of sleeping with her.
So going dancing on Friday was probably out.
Seth was seated in Olivia’s chair behind the computer when she and Carl walked into the outer office. Wearing a button-down blue shirt with a yellow silk tie and navy slacks, his long legs sprawled out in front of him, his hands folded on his chest, Seth looked thoroughly put out about something. If he was trying to operate the blasted computer, Olivia thought, she could certainly understand his ill humor. Or maybe—and this was cheering—maybe Mallory had done something to make him cross.
Ilsa, who was filing papers on the other side of the room, looked around and widened her eyes at Olivia in silent warning.
‘‘Did you two have a nice lunch?’’ Seth asked, too politely, his gaze raking Olivia before moving to fix on Carl.
‘‘Very nice.’’ Choosing to ignore Ilsa’s signal—if Seth was in a bad mood, she for one didn’t care—Olivia smiled brightly at him as she slipped her nubby gold blazer off her shoulders and hung it in the closet near the door. The gold T-shirt that she wore beneath had not come with the blazer, but the color was close and the pair made a nice outfit when worn with a slim black skirt and heels. Certainly it was nowhere near as expensive, or as chic, as the outfits Mallory habitually wore, Olivia thought, as she moved to take possession of her desk, but it suited her budget and her just fine. ‘‘So nice, in fact, that we’re going to Baton Rouge on Friday to go dancing.’’
‘‘Oh, really?’’ Seth’s eyes narrowed at her as she came around the desk toward him. Olivia met his gaze with a challenging look of her own, and pointedly stopped beside her chair, which he occupied. She was putting him on notice that she, too, could put their brief romantic interlude behind her.
Whether she really could or not.
‘‘Hey, hey, hey, that’s great! I could’ve sworn you were gonna say no.’’ Carl was all affable charm as he grinned at Olivia from the opposite side of the desk. Olivia, still standing, smiled back at him, knowing that she was probably making another mistake by encouraging Carl and, at the moment, not particularly caring. Seth, still seated in her chair, did not smile.
‘‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you have a meeting with a client at one?’’ Seth’s gaze was fixed on Carl now, and there was a definite edge to his voice.
Carl’s expression changed ludicrously. ‘‘Oh—my— God!’’ He slapped his forehead, glanced at Olivia, and looked guiltily back at Seth. ‘‘I completely forgot.’’
‘‘I gathered that.’’ Seth, too, glanced at Olivia, as if he knew precisely where to place the blame—on her. He stood up, his attention shifting to Carl again. ‘‘Apparently Mr. Crowell waited for about thirty minutes, then stormed out. I don’t think we’ll be building a boat for him anytime soon.’’
‘‘Oh, man, I’m sorry.’’ Carl groaned. He leaned both hands against the desk and shook his head. ‘‘I don’t know how I came to forget about it. That meeting’s been in the works for two months.’’
‘‘I know how you forgot about it. You were out chasing around after Olivia.’’ Seth’s gaze shifted to Olivia again, his expression grim. His next remark was addressed to her. ‘‘There’s a reason lunch is set for an hour, from noon until one.’’
‘‘Does that time limit apply to everyone?’’ Olivia asked, sweet as pie. If Seth was going to be unpleasant, she was going to give as good as she got. No matter how busy they were, he always found plenty of time for chasing around after Mallory. ‘‘Obviously you weren’t back from lunch until after Mr. Crowell had left, or you would have taken care of him yourself.’’
Seth’s eyes narrowed on Olivia’s face. Carl looked horrified. From behind Seth’s back, Ilsa shook her head in a frantic no. Olivia didn’t care if she was antagonizing Seth. She had finally reached the point where she was well and truly mad at him. Her heart was breaking, it was all his fault, and he didn’t care. Worse, he’d obviously taken a long lunch with Mallory. During the course of which eating lunch was probably the least of what they’d done.
Carl rushed hurriedly into speech before Seth could say anything. ‘‘I’ll call Mr. Crowell back right now and apologize. I’ll tell him—I’ll tell him—I’ll think of something.’’
‘‘You won’t reach him today. He’s already checked out of his hotel. Face it, lover boy. You’ve blown this one big-time.’’
Olivia glared at Seth. Carl, clearly more concerned about the lost sale than Seth’s uncharacteristic nastiness, headed toward the door.
‘‘I’ve got his cell phone number in my office. I’ll tell him I had a flat tire.’’ His voice dropped to a mutter. ‘‘In LaAngelle? Hell, I could catch a ride from anyone in town. That won’t wash.’’ It was obvious that Carl was now talking to himself. As he exited he called over his shoulder in a louder voice, ‘‘Thanks for lunch, Olivia! I’ll get back to you with the arrangements for Friday!’’
There was a moment of silence. Then Ilsa ostentatiously turned back to her filing. Olivia, with a fulminating glance at Seth, sank down in her chair. Seth, after returning Olivia’s look with an equally charged one of his own, headed for his office.
At the door he paused. In a carefully neutral voice he said, ‘‘Would you come into my office for a minute, please, Olivia?’’
Olivia looked up from the blue glow of the computer screen. Oh, yes, she would come into his office. She positively welcomed the chance to speak her mind to him without any witnesses.
‘‘Certainly,’’ she answered as coolly as he had spoken. In the corner, Ilsa rolled her eyes in silent sympathy. Olivia lifted her chin, and straightened her spine. Seth was politely holding the door open. She sailed by him without so much as a sideways glance. He closed it behind her.
His office was an advertisement for the Boatworks’ expertise with fine materials. Teak paneling, hand-rubbed to an expensive glow, shone in the sunlight admitted by the single large window. Built-in bookshelves, also of teak, rose floor to ceiling behind his desk, and to chair-rail height around the rest of the room. His desk was large and impressive, a polished mahogany antique, with a brass desk lamp and leather accessories. The black leather chair behind it was large and authoritative. Clustered around a gleaming brass and glass coffee table, a couch and two more chairs upholstered in black leather completed the room’s furnishings. Scale models of yachts were everywhere. Paintings of ships at sea hung on the walls. The carpet was a tasteful charcoal gray. The smell of Lemon Pledge and Armor All hung faintly in the air.
‘‘I don’t want you dating Carl,’’ Seth said abruptly, leaning back against the closed door as Olivia turned to face him. Olivia noticed, and wished she hadn’t, that his shoulders were almost as broad as the door frame. His blond hair was longer than he usually wore it, and she guessed that, with all that had happened, he had not found time for his usual haircut. His face was drawn in the aftermath of his mother’s death, with the lines around his eyes more pronounced than they had been before. The eyes themselves were a deep, penetrating blue as she met them. His mouth was a straight line.
‘‘Oh, really?’’ she asked, her eyebrows lifting. Resting a hand and her hip on his desk, she gave her head a toss so that one glossy brown wing of her hair swung away from her face. ‘‘And why is that?’’
‘‘Because it will only cause trouble. A lot of companies have policies that prohibit employees from dating each other. So does Archer Boatworks.’’
‘‘We do not! Since when?’’
‘‘Right now.’’
‘‘You can’t do that!’’
‘‘Sure I can. I’m the boss. I can do any damn thing I please, if I think it’s for the good of the company.’’
Olivia simply stared at him for a moment as words failed her. When she could talk, she asked carefully, ‘‘And just how is my going dancing with Carl going to harm Archer Boatworks?’’
Seth’
s gaze moved slowly over her, from the top of her head to her high-heeled shoes. Bosom swelling with indignation under the thoroughness of that look, Olivia was nevertheless thankful that she’d taken time to brush her hair, powder her nose, and put on fresh lipstick before returning from lunch. She might not be as chic as Mallory, and her clothes might shriek Kmart rather than Saks, but she was, at least, minimally well-groomed.
‘‘To begin with, it’s going to piss me off, and I have enough on my plate right now without worrying about what’s going on with you and Carl.’’
‘‘I can’t go dancing with Carl because it’s going to piss you off?’’ Talk about dog in the manger! Olivia couldn’t believe it. Her temper heated, and she glared at him. ‘‘Well, guess what? I don’t care if it pisses you off! Too bad, so sad!’’
‘‘I broke up with Mallory today,’’ he said mildly, catching her by surprise.
Olivia’s eyes widened as his words penetrated. Her indignation fizzled out like a deflating balloon. ‘‘You broke up with Mallory? You broke your engagement?’’
‘‘That’s what I said.’’ He came away from the door, moving toward her.
‘‘But—she had the wedding invitations with her.’’ It was stupid, she knew, but she was having a hard time grasping the reality of what he was saying. ‘‘They were all printed up.’’
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