“Did you read my mind?” Imogene asked, smiling smugly.
“Why can’t people get this straight? I am a medium, not a clairvoyant,” Mimi said.
“Isn’t that convenient?” Imogene said, opening one sardonic eye.
“Yes.”
Imogene laughed and Mimi gave Sarah a “get out of here” jerk of her chin.
Sarah rose, clearly relieved. “I’ll be back as soon as I find Dad.”
“No hurry,” Mimi said.
“No hurry,” Imogene echoed, both eyes now open. “Run along, Sarah, my dear. I might as well stay for this woman’s act since the band isn’t playing anymore.” She leaned toward Mimi. “If you’re any good, I’ll tip you.”
Chapter Twenty
Joe networked his way around the room, but his heart wasn’t in it. The conversations seemed a little stale, a sense of déjà vu attending every exchange. When fifteen minutes had elapsed and Mimi hadn’t returned, he assumed she’d found some friends—Congressman Popitch’s comments about no one knowing her well notwithstanding.
He couldn’t imagine Mimi was that much of an enigma. For him, yes, but she had a huge extended family and was obviously a fixture at Fowl Lake, so obviously she was well known to them. On the other hand, he knew this wasn’t necessarily true. Like the neighborhood curmudgeon who never leaves his house, you could be somewhere without anyone knowing you.
He’d just decided to thank the Werners and take his leave when he spotted Mimi sitting next to a portly older woman against the far wall. They were engaged in a heated discussion. The old woman was shaking a finger a few inches under Mimi’s nose, and Mimi, her expression obstinate, had crossed her arms over her chest. Both women looked like they were enjoying themselves immensely.
He stood back in the crowd, watching her, charmed. More of her hair, he noted absently, had come undone. She roused conflicting impulses in him: he wanted to personally place her in the hands of a good hairdresser, and at the same time being with her made him want to buy a pair of jeans. He hadn’t had jeans since he was nineteen.
“Here. I remember you like Scotch. Single malt, right?” Mary Olson, the Werners’ older daughter, appeared at his side with a highball in each hand. She pressed one of the glasses into his hand.
“Chin-chin!” She clinked the top of her glass to his with a little too much force, sloshing liquid over her hand. She frowned, traded her glass to her free hand, and shook the drops from the wet one, at which point he realized the young woman was blitzed. From what he knew of Mary Werner, she was normally fastidious in the extreme.
Joe glanced toward Mimi. Mary followed his gaze. Her coquettish smile overturned into a disapproving frown.
“Oh, Joe. Don’t tell me you’ve succumbed to the charms of my loosey-goosey”—she drew out the vowels—“older sister.” She took a swig of Scotch and smiled coyly. Oh, dear.
“Well, lookee there. She’s even got Grandmother Werner twisted around her little finger. Ha!” Mary said, her eyes on Mimi and the old woman.
“Tell me about Sub-Surfer, Mary,” Joe said, trying to divert her attention. “My company is always interested in software security applications—”
“She’s not all that, you know,” Mary said matter-of-factly.
“All what?”
“Anything.” Mary ran her fingertip along the rim of her glass. Her cheeks were flushed. “That whole ‘live for the moment’ thing? Pfbbt. And her ‘I don’t want anything but my freedom’? Double pfbbt. I mean, that’s fine as long as it isn’t an out-and-out lie.” A look of offended innocence turned Mary’s cheeks an even brighter pink. “I never would have pegged Mimi as a liar.”
“Liar?”
“Well, look at her. They don’t wear designer dresses and pearls like that on Central Avenue. For someone who claims she doesn’t care about worldly possessions, she sure has some nice ones.”
Joe looked at Mimi. He’d noticed the dress and necklace earlier. And both did fly in the face of the impression she’d given him up at Fowl Lake.
“How can she afford a dress and jewelry like that?” Mary was muttering. She downed another swig of her drink. “Mom refuses to give her a cent. And she doesn’t have a job. Not a real job.”
Mimi had said that all of the Olsons—and she’d certainly given the impression she included herself in that category—were too poor to move the family compound from Chez Ducky. But when he’d seen the expensive way she was decked out tonight, he’d discounted that impression, thinking she had been talking about only the Olson side of her family, not herself. Apparently not.
“Mary, I’m not really comfortable discussing you—”
“Or maybe taking advantage of people pays better than I thought. I gotta say, from the looks of things, she must be pretty good at her job,” Mary went on as if she hadn’t heard him. She lifted her glass in Mimi’s direction in a toast.
“Mom always said Mimi had more potential than anyone. She coulda been anything. Done anything. And that’s what she chose to do with it.”
Despite a certain sympathy for Mary’s feelings—after all, her sister was a charlatan—he found himself wanting to defend Mimi, find excuses for her. Ridiculous. He didn’t even know her. If her own sister thought she was a charlatan, chances were she was a charlatan.
“You really don’t like her very much, do you?” Joe asked.
Mary looked at him, startled. “Huh?” she said, scanning his face as if she thought he’d been joking. Her surprise melted and she shook her head. “Nope. I’m just as big a sucker as the rest of you. I love her.” She looked around. “I need a drink,” she said and waded into the crowd.
Surprised, Joe watched her go before turning his attention back to Mimi. She was still talking to the older Mrs. Werner, her unvarnished, piquant face animated, surrounded by more escaped tendrils of coiling black hair. She didn’t look like a vulture, feeding on people’s unhappiness. She looked like a handsome, humorous woman with no access to a beauty salon who, despite or because of this, and he really did not know which, was very appealing.
He wanted, very much, to figure out which image was closer to the truth. True, he was going to be in Minneapolis only another couple weeks. True, they’d likely never see each other after he left. Chances were he’d be halfway across the world for the next three to six months. It didn’t matter. Until he left, he wanted…ah, hell. Did he always have to know exactly what he wanted or why he wanted it? No.
He made his way toward her. As he drew near he heard Mrs. Warner demand, “I insist you use a Ouija board.”
“Fine,” Mimi said, looking around. She spied an empty serving tray resting on the table next to her and moved it to her lap, then upended a clean glass ashtray from the same table. “Here,” she said. “Rest your fingertips on the edge of the planchette.”
The old lady didn’t move. “That’s not a planchette; it’s an ashtray. And that’s a serving tray.”
Mimi blew out a deep breath.
“You’ll never get very far in your chosen profession with such obvious gimmickry.” The old woman sniffed. Suddenly, her face contorted in pain.
At once, Mimi slid the tray from her lap. “Are you all right?”
Joe started forward.
“Mother?” Tom Werner came hurrying from the corridor, Sarah beside him. Joe stopped.
The old woman looked up at Tom. “Tom, I’d like to go to my cabin. Could you…”
“Of course.” Tom turned and gestured to someone in the hall. “I’m sorry, Mother. This has been too much for you.” He looked over his mother’s head at Mimi. “Thank you, Mignonette.”
There was sincere affection in his gaze. A fresh wave of pain contorted Mrs. Werner’s face, but she still managed a tart smile. “What are you thanking her for, Tom? She tried to convince me that tray is a Ouija board. Whoever hires the acts for these ships ought to vet them more closely.”
Mimi sighed. “No tip?”
The old lady’s lips twitched with amusement, but she m
astered the impulse, pinching her mouth into autocratic lines. “No tip.”
Aided by Tom, she lumbered to her feet, wincing, and limped away supported on either side by her son and Sarah, her nose high with disapproval.
Mimi was still smiling when she saw Joe. She rose to her feet, her expression surprised and pleased, without the least trace of guile.
“I take it social disaster has been averted?” he asked, taking two wineglasses from the tray of a passing server and handing her one.
She shook her head. “No, thanks, and no disaster. Just keeping Tom’s mom company for a little while.”
He didn’t believe her.
She looked around and her expression grew crafty. “But now would be a good time to make my exit. The dutiful daughters are all otherwise engaged, so I can slip out unnoticed. You may have to stay and mingle, but I don’t. Do me a favor? If one of my sisters or my mother asks, tell her you saw me on the other side of the room. If I play this right—and you play this right—I can get brownie points for having been at the party for a three full hours rather than”—she craned her neck to see the Rolex on his wrist—“one and a half.”
She was close enough so that he could smell her soap. He wondered whether her hair was as silky as it looked. The few other times he’d seen her it had been wet, either from a lake or from a shower. Now it looked unbelievably soft and lustrous. Maybe she didn’t need a hair salon after all. He wondered whether she wore a lace bra beneath the expensive dress or if all the surface sophistication was just that. He wondered whether she would still seem such a cipher in his milieu, amongst the rich and powerful, as she had been in hers, amongst the odd and not so powerful. But most of all he wondered who she was. Really.
“I’d rather you let me come with you,” he said before he realized it. This, he thought, is a mistake. He didn’t mix business with his personal life. He wasn’t going to. He was giving her a ride on his way to the Grand Hotel.
Her eyes widened with feigned shock. “But, Mr. Tierney, your absence will definitely be noted.”
She was right.
“Do you have a car?” he asked.
“No, I took a taxi here.”
“I have a car.” He dangled the bait temptingly.
She laughed. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-one
While grappling with Joe in each others’ arms in the hallway outside her apartment, their mouths locked in another passionate kiss, Mimi lost her balance and stumbled. Arms tight around her, Joe toppled backward, his shoulders hitting the wall with a bone-shaking jar. He didn’t stop kissing her, however, and Mimi, impressed by his single-minded focus, laughed breathlessly against his lips.
Abruptly, he broke off their kiss and pushed her gently away, holding her at arm’s length. He was breathing heavily. Unbelievably, he looked even better with his dark hair rumpled and his brilliant white shirt collar unbuttoned and the black silk tie loose around his throat. She liked his dazed expression even better. She had an inkling Joe Tierney was seldom dazed.
She felt a little wobbly herself. She melted toward him, linking her hands behind his neck to draw him down. He held her off, gripping her upper arms, crouching slightly so they were at eye level. He swallowed visibly. If it had been someone less sophisticated than Joe, she would have called it a gulp.
It was surprising, the effect she had on him. It was also a potent turn-on. Oh yeah, she’d been told often enough that power was the ultimate aphrodisiac—hell, it was practically the Werner family motto—but until this moment she’d never fully understood it. She tilted her face, inviting him to kiss her.
He blew out a gusty breath. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
“That,” he said and bent forward to kiss her, a favor she immediately returned.
Once more, he pulled back first. “This is not good business,” he said, sounding a little shaky. “You’re Tom Werner’s stepdaughter and I’m in town to determine if one of his companies would be a good investment for my employers.”
“Determine away. I won’t stop you.”
“I don’t want to confuse the issue.”
“I’m not confused,” she whispered, ducking a shoulder and slipping within the circle of his arms. She flattened her hands against his chest. His heart hammered under her palms. He groaned. “I won’t try to pry any state secrets out of you. Promise.”
“It’s not that.”
“You don’t think I’ve been sent to keep you occupied while Tom’s CPA flunkies break into BioMedTech and cook the books? Dang.”
Her hands followed a leisurely path over his tuxedo jacket, paying particular attention to the area covering his pectoral muscles. The material was warm with his body heat, supple and well cut and rich. Like him.
“Well?” she prompted, deftly trailing the tip of her tongue along his jaw. His skin carried the slightest fragrance of citrus and sandalwood. Her lips, sensitized by all the preceding kisses, not to mention all the hormones flooding their nerve endings, read the hint of his nascent beard like a blind woman reads Braille.
“I never allow business to overlap with my personal life. I always keep…ah…” He tilted his head back so she could keep going down his neck to the hollow above his clavicle. She obliged. He looped one arm around her, swinging her around and pushing her against the wall, his arms cushioning the impact.
He pinned her, his forearms bracketing her face, his hands tangled in her hair, angling her head gently so he could kiss her more fully, more devastatingly, when she was already plenty devastated. She felt light-headed and primed with sexual anticipation.
“This is nuts,” he said, breaking away. He stared down into her upturned face and looked like he might groan again. He bent forward until his forehead pressed against hers. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, like a guy who’d just finished a marathon and might collapse. “Look at us.”
Unwillingly, she glanced around. They were in a public hallway, and yes, it was a little smarmy, but they were alone. Mostly. She had a sudden image of the neighbors opposite her apartment with their eyes pressed to the peepholes. Critiquing.
“You’re right.” She came to a quick decision: she was in no state to pretend she had any outcome in mind other than that she and Joe end up horizontal and quickly. Then they could slow things down a bit. Or not.
Yes, yes, it was impulsive. Yes, yes, she had an object lesson in where such impulses could lead to. But right now hormones were doing the talking, and her body was willing to listen.
She disengaged herself with businesslike brusqueness, smoothing her dress and briefly touching her hair before digging into her purse and coming up with the key to her apartment. She jammed the key into the lock and flung the door open, reaching back and snagging Joe’s sleeve—there had to be cashmere somewhere in there—and pulling him in after her. But he didn’t pull. Startled, she looked around.
Joe stood in the open doorway, straight-arming himself against the jamb. He was not following her in. Was not scooping her up and storming around the apartment like a testosterone-maddened maniac looking for the bedroom. Why not?
She flashed on a sudden image of glum, plump, thirty-five-year-old Jennifer Beesing across the hall, one eye pressed to the peephole as she dolefully stirred the batter for some delicious caloric nightmare, unsurprised that Mimi Olson couldn’t lure a man into her apartment. Jennifer might even call her tomorrow, brownies in tow, to commiserate. Mimi had seen her bring such presents to other single women on the floor. Mimi wasn’t one of them. Sure it had been a while since a man had been here, but that had been her choice.
“Come in!” Mimi whispered urgently.
“I’m sorry, Mimi.” He sounded a little frantic. “The rules work only if you abide by them.”
She couldn’t believe this. She didn’t give a rat’s right ass cheek about his wacked-out rules. Jennifer Beesing had been joined in her imagination by the Gertzes next door, trading spots at the peephole as they hurled invectives at each
other (the happy couple were always sniping), yet thinking, “At least we have each other.” Even the decrepit and evil Widow Dinwiddie had made it to the peephole by now and was clucking to herself, “Poor old Mimi Olson. Can’t even get one to cross the threshold anymore. Not surprised. She’s no spring chicken, after all.”
“Get in here,” she commanded in a low voice. Joe’s rueful smile gelled. He took an awkward step back. She could read his thoughts: Fatal Attraction time.
She leaned back against the jamb in a retro-fifties siren slouch. She whispered through what she hoped was a sultry smile, “I promise you’ll leave with your virtue intact in twenty minutes.”
“Huh?”
“My neighbors. They’ve probably been watching me trying to drag you bodily inside my apartment and they’ve just as probably seen you resist. Strenuously. I have my dignity, you know. Or should I say, ‘had’?”
Understanding dawned. “Oh, shit.”
“My thoughts exactly.” By now, all earlier thoughts of seduction had vanished. She was fighting for her pride here.
“It would really help me out if you would just enter my lair without being physically forced—”
He scooped her up in his arms, catching her so off guard she let out a whoop and flung her arms around his neck. He bent his head, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “Is this better?”
Her heart hammered in her chest. Her ebbing physical excitement rushed back in a tidal-wave surge. Where’s your pride, Mimi? she chided herself. She wasn’t going to be resisted twice in one night.
“Only if you don’t drop me,” she managed to grumble. “I would never live it down if your knees buckled under my weight.”
“Oh, come on,” he said. “I’ve managed it before.”
“Let’s face it, Joe. You’re not exactly the Adventure Travel type, so there’s a distinct possibility both of us will end up in a pile on the floor here if you don’t get a move on.”
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