by Robin Wells
Matt took another cautious sip. “What did you do to it?” he repeated.
“Actually, nothing.” Hattie picked up a manila envelope and flattened the fastener on it. “Ali made it.”
Matt rolled his eyes.
Hattie shot him a disapproving look. “I thought it was delightful,” she said. “It’s a flavored blend—Amaretto Mocha Cherry Cordial Creme.”
“What kind of coffee is that for an office?” Matt demanded. “It tastes like it ought to have one of those little umbrellas floating in it.”
“I think it’s a pleasant change,” Hattie replied.
“Who said the coffee needed to be changed?” Matt groused.
Hattie’s expression told Matt she was clearly exasperated. “I’ll make you a separate pot for you if you like.”
The offer made Matt feel petty. “Don’t bother,” he muttered. “You’ve got more important things to do.”
“Sometimes a little change is good for the soul, Matt.” She leveled a knowing look at him and sauntered out of his office.
Matt expelled a heavy breath the moment the door closed behind her. If that were the case, his soul should be in prime condition, he thought glumly. Pushing back his chair, he stood and strode to the window, shoving a lock of hair away from his forehead.
Ali had been here less than a month and her “little changes” were driving him crazy. A new surprise confronted him everywhere he turned, and he hated surprises. He’d had enough of those to last a lifetime when he was a child, and he placed a high value on order and consistency and reliability.
It wasn’t that the changes were all bad ones, he thought begrudgingly, but they sure weren’t necessary, either.
Ali had rearranged everything from the stacks of paper by the copy machine to the pens and pencils in the supply closet. Robert’s old office was completely unrecognizable with its new rugs and lamps and pictures, and the break room now had a vitamin water vending machine that Ali had convinced a local vending company to install. The reception area boasted water-grown bamboo, the telephone played music whenever the hold button was pressed and the conference room sported a palm tree in the corner. She’d even managed to make the men’s room smell like baby powder.
The most maddening aspect of it all was that the staff seemed to love it. In fact, her decorating zeal seemed to be contagious; work areas were being spruced up throughout the office building and grounds. Yesterday he’d even caught Big Jim Bentmore hanging air freshener in the storage shed.
Matt frowned. He didn’t like it—-not one little bit. It was bad enough he had to act like a hermit, hiding out in his office to avoid her. His body had become a traitor; just seeing her set him on edge, interfered with his ability to concentrate and sent his thoughts down distinctly lustful paths. Not seeing her didn’t eradicate the condition, but at least it kept it from escalating.
Well, he might have to temporarily put up with having her at the office, but he didn’t have to put up with total upheaval. Each change she’d made had seemed so benign at the time that he’d let it go unchallenged, but they’d added up to the point where he felt like a stranger in his own place of business.
Matt’s jaw settled into a determined line. The situation was completely out of control. It was time he had a talk with her, Matt thought firmly. She needed to know exactly who was in charge here.
He strode purposefully down the hall to Ali’s office only to find the door open but the room empty. Matt looked around at the new sofa, the grouping of paintings on the wall, the patterned rug and the flowers on the credenza, and shook his head. It was hard to even remember what this room had looked like before.
Where was she? Matt had no idea what she was actually working on. For all he knew, today’s project might involve stenciling daffodils on the ceiling. He’d start with the conference room; maybe she was arranging lace throw pillows on the leather chairs.
Matt thrust open the door to the conference room and stopped dead in his tracks. Gathered around the table was the oddest assortment of people he’d ever seen.
Two identical elderly ladies in identical pink flowered dresses sat on opposite sides of the table. Matt looked at one, then the other, then back again, thinking they were some kind of mirror trick. They were both as plump as roasting hens and had brightly rouged cheeks that bobbed like apples above their mutiple chins.
A thin, sour-faced man with a waxed handlebar mustache sat next to one of them, and a bearded gentleman dressed like Abraham Lincoln sat beside the other. To his right was a young woman with spiky pink hair and a nose ring.
At one end of the table sat the mayor of Hillsboro, and at the other end, looking as if she were presiding over a meeting of Fortune Five Hundred executives, sat Ali.
“Oh, uh, excuse me.” Matt started to back out of the room, anxious to beat a retreat and close the door on the lot of them.
“Matt, come in,” Ali said. She fixed him with a smile of such blinding intensity that he froze like a frog in a flashlight beam.
Matt kept his hand on the doorknob as Ali turned to the motley group. “I’d like to introduce Matt Jordan, the president of our company. Matt, I’d like you to meet our showcase committee.” She nodded her head toward one of the rosy-cheeked women. “This is Fay Hawthorne, and her sister, Gay. They own the local bed, bath and fabric store, Suds ’n Duds. They’re going to loan us bed and bath furnishings. They’ve also generously agreed to custom-make the draperies at cost.”
“Oo-oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” one tittered in a high-pitched voice as she batted her eyes at him.
“I’m sure,” the other simpered.
Matt shifted uncomfortably and tried not to stare. “Nice to meet you,” he mumbled.
Ali stretched a hand toward the Lincolnesque character. “This is Charles Goodson. He owns Good Ole Time Antiques. He’s going to loan us some of the furniture for the show homes. He’s also offered to provide us with period costumes for the hostesses to wear.”
“Uh, great,” Matt said. Hostesses? Costumes? What the hell was she talking about?
“This is Nathan Bradley of Bradley Furniture. He’s going to loan us appliances and the rest of the furnishings.”
Matt forced himself to smile in response to the man’s curt nod.
“And this is Jamie Zumwaldt. She runs the Starving Artists Art Gallery and she’s offered to provide artwork.”
The pink-haired girl raised two fingers of a gloved hand. “Yo.”
Matt swallowed hard. “Um… yo,” he repeated.
“And I believe you know the mayor, Aaron Moxie.”
“The Victorian Village will be a fine addition to our fair city,” the mayor intoned, mopping his bald crown with a handkerchief. “Just the ticket to put Hillsboro on the map. Nice to see you again, Matt.”
“Uh, good to see you, too, Mayor,” Matt said.
“Why don’t you pull up a chair and join us, Matt?” Ali asked.
“No.” The word came out fast and harsh. Matt tried to modulate his voice. “I mean, I have another appointment and I’m running late.” He curled his lips and hoped it would pass for a smile. “Nice to meet all of you. Have a good meeting.”
Matt ducked out the door before anyone could protest and rapidly strode down the hall to his office. He grabbed his jacket from a hanger on the back of the door and stopped by Hattie’s desk.
“I’m going to the job site,” he told her.
Hattie looked up in surprise. “Is something the matter there?”
“No,” Matt said. “Why?”
“Because you’re a creature of habit, and you never visit the job site at his time of day.”
The comment sent a ripple of surprise through Matt. His life was orderly, yes, but was he really so predictable? His mouth tightened into a frown. He didn’t like that “creature of habit” label. It made him sound staid and stuffy and stuck in a rut—like an old man.
Hattie was giving him a searching look. “Will you be gone long?”
&nb
sp; Matt jerked his head toward the conference room. “Depends. How long do you think Ali’s little tea party in there is likely to last?”
“So that’s it.” Hattie gave an amused grin. “They’ll probably break up in less than half an hour. The Hawthorne sisters never miss a meal and it’s getting close to lunchtime.”
Matt drummed his fingers thoughtfully on Hattie’s desk. He needed to approach Ali carefully. He’d learned the hard way that simply demanding she do things his way didn’t work. Maybe he should try to catch this fly with honey. “Do you happen to know if Ali has any plans for lunch?”
“I know she put a carton of yogurt and half a sandwich in the refrigerator this morning,” Hattie replied.
Matt straightened and buttoned his jacket. “When her meeting breaks up, would you please ask her to join me at the Mexicali Cafe?”
“For lunch?”
Matt scowled. “Why else would I invite her there?”
Hattie raised her eyebrows till they were visible over the rim of her glasses. “I don’t know. Judging from the look on your face, it might be to bite her head off. Besides, it’s not like you to make a lunch date on the spur of the moment.”
Matt shoved his hands into his pockets and deepened his frown. “Just because I like to plan things out doesn’t mean I’m not capable of an occasional spontaneous gesture.”
Hattie gave him a complacent smile. “Tm glad to hear it. I’m sure Ali will be, too.”
Matt eyed her warily. “Just give her the message, will you please?” he said tersely, marching toward the exit.
Boy, he missed Robert! He was surrounded by people who seemed to prefer reckless change and pandemonium to an orderly existence. Robert had liked a well-ordered life nearly as much as he did, and Matt missed having an ally.
How had a rational, logical person like Robert ended up with such an unruly creature for a sister? Matt wished he knew how Robert had dealt with her. Probably the same way he’d handled architectural problems, Matt thought—with creative solutions. If one way didn’t work, he’d try something different.
Matt unlocked his car door and slid behind the steering wheel. Well, that was exactly what he intended to do—approach Ali from a new angle. He’d buy her lunch, pay her a few compliments, and try to convince her that all of her future actions on behalf of Cimarron Homebuilders needed to be cleared through him.
How hard could that be?
Ali squinted as she followed the hostess to Matt’s table, her eyes trying to adjust to the dim restaurant lighting after the brilliance of the noonday sunshine.
“Hello,” Matt said, rising to pull out her chair. “Glad you could join me.”
Her vision cleared enough to see his eyes scan her legs as she seated herself. Her heart picked up speed as a surge of attraction rushed through her, the same attraction she felt every time she saw him. Aware that he was still eyeing her legs, she tugged at her pencil skirt. “Thanks for inviting me,” she said.
She busied herself unfolding her napkin, trying to figure out what Matt was up to. Inviting her to lunch in a dimly lit restaurant in the middle of a workday was certainly out of character. Especially since she was certain he’d been deliberately avoiding her. He’d taken to keeping the door to his office closed and he was always in a hurry when she passed him in the hall.
All of which was fine with her, she reminded herself. She didn’t need the distraction of a physical attraction in the workplace—an attraction that even now was making her palms grow damp.
“What’s the occasion?” Ali asked.
Matt rested his forearms on the table. “Does there have to be a special occasion for me to invite you to lunch?”
“I suppose not. But it’s not in keeping with your regular schedule.”
Matt knit his brows together. It was the second time today the topic of his regular schedule had come up. Was he really such a creature of habit? “What do you know about my regular schedule?” he asked.
Ali answered by glancing at her watch. “It’s now twelve-thirty—precisely the time of day you head out the door for the Cattlemen’s Cafe, where you order the blue plate special. Since this is Friday, that would be fried catfish with hushpuppies.”
Matt stared at her. “And just how would you happen to know a thing like that?”
“I had lunch there earlier in the week and got into a conversation with the waitress. She asked where I worked and I told her.” Ali grinned at him. “She told me you were her best customer.”
Matt scowled. He didn’t like the idea that his habits were suddenly a topic of conversation everywhere he turned.
“I was with Lauren,” Ali continued. “She and Justin are back from their honeymoon. They had a wonderful time.”
“Glad to hear it.” His thoughts were stuck on the earlier topic. Was he really such a fuddy-duddy? Ali made him sound as stuffy as a taxidermist’s parlor. Was that how she saw him?
Ali picked up a tortilla chip and dipped it into a bowl of salsa. “Lauren looks terrific. Marriage really seems to agree with her.” Ali took a bite and cast an inquisitive glance at Matt. “How long were you married, Matt?”
The question caught him off guard, and he answered it without thinking. “Less than a year. That was seven years ago.”
“What happened?”
Matt shrugged in a display of nonchalance, still smarting from her uncannily accurate account of his noontime schedule. It wouldn’t hurt to let her know that parts of his life weren’t so staid and predictable. “We didn’t want the same things out of life—so she left me for someone who could keep her in the style to which she wanted to become accustomed.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ali murmured. “I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”
Matt was surprised at the depth of concern reflected in her soft eyes. “It’s not painful. Not anymore. It’s nothing but a mistake in my past I don’t intend to repeat.” He eyed her speculatively. “How about you? Why aren’t you married?”
Ali toyed with the corner of her cloth napkin. “I came close a couple of years ago—until he started trying to make me over. He didn’t like my car or my clothes or the way I wear my hair.”
“I like your clothes and your hair just fine.” The words surprised Matt as much as Ali. He watched a rush of color flood her face, and felt a corresponding rush of pleasure at having caused it. “I don’t know about your car.”
Ali plucked a piece of lint off the tablecloth, a smile playing on her lips. “Trust me, you wouldn’t like it, either. But those things weren’t really the issue. They just made me realize that he wasn’t looking for an equal partner. I saw that sort of lopsided relationship up close in my parents’ marriage, and it’s not for me.”
Matt looked at her in surprise. “But Robert always talked about your dad like he hung the moon.”
“Robert thought he did. He patterned himself after him.” Ali propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands. “Don’t get me wrong—Dad was a great guy. But he was nearly twenty years older than Mom and he kept her in the dark about a lot of things. Mom didn’t even know how to write a check. He doled out an allowance to her. When he died, there were a lot of debts Mom didn’t know about, and we ended up losing our home.”
“Robert told me about that. It must have been rough.”
Ali nodded. “I was nine and Robert was fourteen. Thank goodness Mom was a fast learner. She was able to pick up the pieces and build a new life, but it wasn’t easy. She started babysitting children in our apartment and eventually opened her own day-care center. But we were on food stamps for a while there. I determined then and there that I would never again take charity, and I swore I’d never be dependent on anyone like my mother was.”
Ali toyed with her flatware, carefully lining up the knife and spoon with the edge of her plate. Matt watched her thoughtfully, realigning his perception of her.
She’d been serious when she’d told him earlier that she didn’t want to take half the proceeds from
the development without doing half the work, he realized. She hated the idea of taking something she hadn’t earned or being dependent on someone else. Hell, even the changes she’d made at the office were probably the result of her need to feel like a contributing partner.
The realization put all of her efforts into a different perspective. It made her seem likeable, understandable, rational.
And more appealing than ever. There was a whole other side to Ali that he hadn’t known about.
He was still trying to process this new information when Ali looked up to meet his gaze. “What about you?” she asked. “What was your childhood like?”
“Well, I was an only child,” he found himself saying. “Dad had a sales job that kept him on the road a lot, and Mom was a teacher.”
“Were you close to your folks?”
“I was close to Mom, but Dad wasn’t around much.”
“I bet he hated being away from you.”
“Nah. When he was home, he was more interested in drinking with his buddies than spending time with Mom or me.” A bitter taste filled his mouth. “He was always making promises he didn’t keep.”
“What kind of promises?”
“That he’d come home early and play catch with me, or make it to my Little League games, or help me build a model car.” Matt took a long drink of water. That model car kit had still been in its box when he’d gone away to college. “One of my earliest memories is waiting for him to come home and take me to the circus. When he was late, Mom said we should go without him, but I insisted on waiting. I stood by the door, looking out the window, from noon until bedtime.”
“Oh, Matt.” Her hand was warm as it landed on his, her eyes warmer still. He should feel embarrassed at having revealed so much; he never talked about his childhood—never!— and yet, oddly, he just felt comfortable and warm and understood.
“That had to be so disappointing,” she murmured.
“Yeah, but Mom had it a lot worse. Dad left her for another woman when I was sixteen. We got word a year later he’d died of a heart attack.” Matt exhaled a hard breath. “It was the first word we’d had of him since he’d left.”