Sweet Dream Lover

by Karen Sandler

  “How about tonight? Dinner?”

  She nearly blurted out a yes, then remembered her tête-à-tête with George. Garth? “I have a date tonight.”

  Kat had to wait so long for a response, she thought the call had been disconnected. Mark finally spoke, so softly she could barely hear. “Not tonight, then. Lunch tomorrow?”

  She knew that tone. He was ticked. Tough patoots if he didn’t like her dating other men. Besides, there could only be other men if he was the man, which he wasn’t. For all he knew, her date was the man, which would relegate Mark to the position of other. Her back molars twinged at the thought of Garth, the gruesomely tedious estate attorney, as her one and only.

  With impatient stabs of her thumb, she scrolled forward in her calendar. “I can do lunch at one.”

  She imagined Mark flipping through his smart phone. Dueling iPhones. “Works for me. That Thai place downtown?”

  “Sure. Fine.” Suddenly her mind whirled with the aphrodisiac qualities of Thai food. “See you then.”

  The moment she hung up, her heart sang a joyful aria and her libido did a happy dance. Disgusted with herself, she grabbed the desk phone, intending to call Mark back and cancel. When the phone burbled in her hand, she startled, whacking the phone’s base over the edge of her desk.

  She reeled in the base by its power cord, wincing as it clattered and clunked on the modesty panel. She heard the buzz of conversation when she brought the handset to her ear again. “Hello?”

  Another mutter of sound, then her father snapped, “Kat? What the hell was that?”

  “I’ve got fantastic news. It changes everything, Dad.” She gave him a quick rundown of the triumph in R&D.

  She expected his immediate agreement and her heart stuttered at the silence on the other end of the line. The muted exchange that followed, no doubt filtering through his hand covering the mouthpiece, increased her alarm. She could have sworn she heard Mark’s name mentioned more than once, certainly not a good sign.

  Finally her father came back on. “You’re absolutely right. It changes everything.”

  After a quick assurance that he’d begin exploring bridge loans, he signed off, leaving Kat with the nagging sense she’d missed something in their brief exchange. And had she truly heard Mark brought into their discussion? Unease settled in her stomach.

  Then she reminded herself that Chocolate Magic was an easy hurdle away from complete success and her spirits rose again. Her life was on the right track again. Damned if she’d let doubts or ex-husbands knock her off her stride.

  * * * * *

  As Phil Roth hung up the phone, his expression worried, Fritz had to shake off the urge to take Norma’s hand for moral support. When he’d been brought into Phil’s office to strategize about the Mark and Kat situation, Fritz had cajoled Norma into coming with him, using the excuse that they made such a great team. Now he just wanted the reassurance of a connection with her. God, he was such a wimp.

  Phil relayed Kat’s message about Chocolate Magic and Fritz felt doom gathering overhead again. He looked over at Norma and her sweet face showed none of the anxiety burning inside him. Her gaze went from him to Phil. “I don’t understand.

  What’s the problem with a Chocolate Magic success?”

  Phil gestured at Fritz to answer Norma. “First, when Kat’s feeling cocky, she’s that much more certain she doesn’t need anyone, let alone Mark. Second, it makes the excuse of the company’s failing fortunes that much less believable.”

  Norma’s soft brown eyes widened. “You mean Roth isn’t failing?”

  Phil cleared his throat. “We’re in trouble, sure enough. We do need a quick infusion of capital and a merger would be the most cost-effective way to do that. However, our straits are not quite as dire as we’ve led Kat to believe.”

  Ideas bounced like popcorn in Fritz’s mind, but he couldn’t sort the crazy notions from the sound concepts. If there was anything but junk floating around in his brain, that is. He wished again for the anchor of Norma’s hand, wished he had her steadiness to clear the clutter in his head.

  But he had to stand on his own two feet. Take responsibility, his father had lectured him time and again. Be a man. If only he knew what that meant.

  The most insistent notion rattling around in Fritz’s mind elbowed its way out of his mouth. “Let’s do an end run,” he told Phil. “Force Kat’s hand.”

  Phil’s brow furrowed. “Meaning?”

  “Put the Roth-Denham merger into motion. Don’t tell Kat until it’s finalized.”

  “I don’t know, Fritz,” Phil said doubtfully. “Kat won’t like us dealing behind her back.”

  “It’s for her own good,” Fritz said, then winced when he heard his father’s autocratic tone in his voice. Damn, when did he start sounding like his father? “She’ll thank us later.” God, that sounded even worse.

  Norma’s worried look almost had him recanting his suggestion. It suddenly seemed crucial that he convince her, even more than Phil Roth.

  “The merger is a no-brainer.” Fritz focused on Phil, but was all too aware of Norma beside him. “The Roth and Denham businesses complement each other perfectly and Kat knows that as well as you do, Phil.”

  “But to force her hand...” Phil said.

  “Present Kat with a fait accompli and her emotional objections to a Denham merger vanish. They’re no longer a stumbling block to rekindling a relationship with Mark.”

  He sounded like his father again, cold and businesslike, and the realization put a nasty taste in his mouth. Ned Nichols didn’t believe in love, thought marital alliances could be negotiated like business deals. No wonder Fritz’s mother left him five years ago.

  And yet, a tiny little grain of instinct buried deep inside told him this was exactly the correct course of action. Not because it was logical or sensible, but exactly the opposite. It felt right.

  Fritz turned to Norma. “Kat’s so mixed up right now, I don’t think she knows herself what’s best for her. This might just clear the way for her.”

  Norma’s expression turned thoughtful. “You know, I think you’re right.” Her smile warmed Fritz clear to the core. “You’re brilliant.”

  “I agree.” Phil rose from his desk and thrust out his hand to shake Fritz’s. “I’ll set the wheels turning with the Roth executive board. We already have a detailed proposal the Denham folks submitted two years ago. I’ll talk to Ian Denham about an update.”

  As glad as Fritz was for Phil’s vote of confidence, Norma’s admiration puffed him up until he felt ten feet tall. Success was at his fingertips for the first time in his life and he owed it all to Norma.

  As they left Phil’s office and headed for the elevator, the flush of triumph still across his shoulders like a mantle, Fritz got another incredible idea. Norma had been such an essential part of this coup, it was time he trusted her with the one secret in his life he’d kept from everyone. He’d once had the temerity to reveal to his father the slimmest sliver of his aspiration and had been slammed so hard he’d never mentioned it to another soul.

  But maybe it was time he shared it with Norma. He risked her disapproval, even her derision, but it was time he took that chance. To be a man. To stand on his own two feet.

  They reached the twelfth floor and headed toward Kat’s office. Before Norma could open the door, he put a hand on her arm to stop her. “Are you busy tonight?”

  She blinked in surprise. “I’m taking my grandkids out to dinner.”

  Sudden doubt seized Fritz and he felt like a complete coward. “Never mind then.”

  “Travis and Brittany have to be home early, so I won’t be out late.” Color rose in her cheeks and he realized she was embarrassed. “But I guess you can’t come later.”

  He squeezed her arm to reassure her. “I’d like to come by.” His heart winged skyward when she smiled. “I’ll probably be home by eight.”

  He shouldn’t touch her, had no reason to, but somehow his hand lifted and laid itself
on her cheek. Her hazel eyes softened in response and he wanted desperately to kiss her, almost couldn’t hold himself back. It would have been crazy, stupid, even without the witnesses roaming the busy hallway.

  He dropped his hand and stepped back. “See you tonight.” He turned and headed toward the elevator, his mouth stretched in a smile impossible to quell.

  * * * * *

  As Norma watched Fritz step inside the elevator, she tried to quiet the excitement bubbling up inside her. She’d been allowing her imagination far too much free rein lately when it came to Fritz. Just now, for instance, when he touched her cheek, she was sure he was about to kiss her.

  Her fantasies had gotten entirely out of hand. An attractive young man like Fritz would never contemplate smooching a middle-aged lady like herself. She had to put an end to such nonsense.

  But she’d be seeing him tonight. No doubt to discuss their next move in bringing Kat and Mark together. If she had secret hopes there might be a more personal reason for them to meet, she’d just sweep those wishes into a dark corner. And drat her heart if it insisted on pulling those dreams back out from under the rug.

  Chapter 13

  Mark felt twitchy all afternoon long and as explosive as a lit stick of dynamite. He’d be seated at his desk, struggling to focus on a sales report or contractor’s drawings of Denham’s latest build-out, and he’d suddenly lunge to his feet to pace his office. The sandwich he’d picked at random from the vending machine sat vilely in his stomach and the Diet Coke he’d washed it down with left him with an edgy caffeine high.

  This afternoon was just the culmination of five days of madness since Kat’s crazed admission last Wednesday night. I want you. I’m burning for you. Her words had rolled around in his mind, thrummed in his body, sang along his veins. She might as well have dropped a live grenade in his lap.

  Now as the clock crawled toward five, he’d completely abandoned any pretense at work. With reports and folders and rolled-up drawings littering his desk, he sat rigid in his chair clutching his cordless phone, battling the urge to call her. The litany that had haunted him all afternoon rolled through him.

  Kat had a date. Kat was having dinner tonight with some lecherous gigolo who would sweet-talk her into a compromising situation. Of course, the last person she let talk her into something was the doctor who’d sworn to eight-year-old Kat the tetanus shot wouldn’t hurt. The MD had been lucky to escape without any broken bones.

  So her date tonight wouldn’t persuade her to do anything she didn’t want to do. The thought of that was even worse, Kat going willingly to another man’s bed. That precious gift of Kat’s cataclysmic climax in another man’s hands, another man swallowing her cries of passion.

  He hurled his phone across the room and it smashed against his office door. He stared unbelieving at the wreckage, the cordless phone in pieces against the wall. He’d committed phonocide in a fit of jealous rage. He was one sick puppy.

  A rap on the door brought him out of his daze. “Yeah?” he called out, his voice raspy.

  The door opened and Rod stuck his head in far enough to check for another possible missile attack. “You okay?”

  Not even close to okay. He felt ready to kill someone. His volatile state probably merited a two-rosary penance at confession.

  Rod slipped inside, got a good look at the rubble strewn on the carpet. “I’ll order you a new phone.”

  “Whatever.” He still had his cell in his jacket pocket. Kat’s number was still programmed in the number two spot. “Can I be done for the day?”

  Rod bent to pick up the scattered pieces. “Considering you blew off the two-thirty sales meeting and the four o’clock interview with the chemist you flew in from Denver, leaving early sounds like the perfect follow-up.”

  Mark pushed his chair back and grabbed his leather bomber jacket. “Forward calls to my cell.”

  “I’ll send them to voice mail,” Rod said as Mark walked past him. Mark was nearly out the door when Rod added, “Except for Kat.”

  Rod might as well have slammed him in the chest with a fifty-pound box of bittersweet chocolate. Kat wouldn’t call. She would be too busy being wined, dined and charmed by her mystery suitor.

  Rod followed him from his office, dumping the trashed phone on his desk before dogging him to the elevator. “Since when did you become such a damn wuss?”

  Mark reached for the elevator call button. “Did the chemist go home?”

  Rod slapped a hand over the button. “Not yet. I told him you took sick.”

  Mark tried to wedge his hand under Rod’s square, blunt- tipped fingers. “Reschedule the interview for tomorrow morning.”

  Rod’s hand stuck like a tick. “You going to have your brain back by then?”

  Changing tactics, Mark used Rod’s hand to call the elevator. “I’ll be in by nine.”

  Rod scowled as Mark stepped into the elevator. “Just call her, you idiot.”

  Mark let the doors shut without comment. His cell sat like a lead weight in his pocket, taunting him. Instead of pulling it out, he grabbed a Coffee Buddy from his other pocket and unwrapped it with methodical care. As he let the hazelnut mocha cube melt in his mouth, the chocolate seeped into his wounded being, rejuvenating him, anointing him with a flash of brilliance. Was he the idea guy, or what?

  Fishing his cell phone from his pocket, he dialed a familiar phone number. She answered after one ring. “Roth Confectionery, Norma Wilson speaking.”

  His incredible idea hit a snag. He couldn’t extract the information he wanted from Norma without a plausible excuse. He could throw himself on Norma’s mercy and admit he wanted to spy on Kat, but he had a little more pride than that.

  “Hello?” Norma prompted. Then she lowered her voice to a surprisingly intimate tone. “Fritz, is that you?”

  Norma and Fritz? As he rolled that little tidbit around in his mind, brilliance struck again. Why not recycle the excuse he’d given to Kat?

  “Norma, sorry. Mark Denham. I’m up to my ass in alligators today.” Holding the cell at arm’s length, he barked at an imaginary minion, “Give me twelve copies of that!” just as the elevator door opened on the third floor. A pair of young administrative aides sidled inside, keeping their distance.

  He brought the phone back to his mouth and tried to look like a busy executive. “Kat and I have a lunch date tomorrow to discuss the kayak race, but something more pressing came up. I’ll have to talk to her sooner.”

  “She’s still in her office,” Norma said helpfully. “I’ll put you through.”

  “No, no, no!” Hell would become a winter wonderland before he’d beg Kat for her dinner destination. “I’m on my way out right now, shouldn’t even be making this call.” When the elevator opened on the ground floor, he stepped aside to let the admins out. “She mentioned a dinner date tonight. I don’t suppose she told you where?”

  He prayed his rushed query would translate over the phone as harried, preoccupied CEO instead of desperately jealous ex- husband. Then pure panic hit him when it occurred to him Norma might have to go ask Kat at what restaurant she’d be meeting her stud du jour. No way would Kat simply answer the innocent question; she’d press Norma for why.

  “Ma Petit Aubergine at seven-thirty,” Norma finally said. “Took me a bit to find it. She had password protection on that calendar entry.”

  It crossed Mark’s mind to wonder first why Norma had Kat’s password and, second, why she was so cavalier about using it. He decided it was better not to look too closely at that particular nag’s teeth.

  He thanked her for the information as the elevator doors slid open on the parking garage level. Now he knew the when and where, he’d have to devise an appropriate disguise. Something unobtrusive, subtle yet impenetrable. There was a funky little costume shop downtown that catered mostly to the theatre crowd; maybe he’d find just the right thing there. He’d slip in and out of Ma Petit Aubergine and Kat would be none the wiser.

  * * * * *


  Kat nestled more deeply into the sinfully comfortable bucket seat of Garret Neidenmeier’s Mercedes E320, the rich notes of Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 1 in D Minor drifting from the Blaupunkt. She still tingled from her bath, the pale rose silk of her dress yummy against her skin, the ribbon-thin strap of a minuscule purse looped over her shoulder. She could spend the rest of her life gliding around in this car carrying nothing but a credit card, the key to her condo and, God love her, one foil- wrapped prophylactic.

  That is, if Garret Neidenmeier didn’t speak. He’d been kind enough to keep mostly mum when he’d picked her up at her condo, had let Rachmaninoff do the talking for him as he navigated his Mercedes through the downtown traffic. Once they arrived at the fussy French restaurant he’d selected, he’d probably expect them to converse. But in the interim, his silence afforded Kat ample opportunity to gaze in undisguised admiration at his truly stunning profile, his impeccable features.

  When he pulled up to Ma Petit Aubergine, Kat sighed with regret that the blissful interlude had to end. She considered locking the door so the parking valet couldn’t open it, but that would just arouse Garret’s curiosity. He’d probably want to know why she preferred to stay alone in his Mercedes rather than spend the evening with him. Lawyers were nosy that way, always asking questions.

  So she let the valet open her door, even took Garret’s hand when he offered it. His palm was damp and his grip was too tight; she thought her fingers might pop off if he didn’t let go soon. Just as she was considering a karate self-defense move to extricate herself, Garret seemed to realize his transgression. He dropped her hand as if she’d burned him.

  He choked out an apology, then put a tentative hand on her shoulder to escort her to the restaurant door. A wet spot formed at the point of contact. His other hand shook as he reached for the door handle.

  As they stepped into Ma Petit Aubergine’s tastefully subdued lobby, she smiled up at him. “Hey, nothing to be afraid of, Garret. I consumed my mate just yesterday. Won’t need another for at least a week.”