No wonder she was so defensive. He longed to tell her she wasn’t alone. He’d seen plenty of Texas oil barons who had fallen on hard times.
“Mmm, is that breakfast I smell? Coffee in particular?”
“Uh, yes.” Adam found it difficult to switch gears. “But that coffee has been sitting since six-thirty.”
“That’s only an hour and a half. It’ll be great.” Holly had preceded him into the kitchen and emptied the pot into two waiting mugs. She automatically removed the grounds and began to measure out more for another pot.
“I’ll do that.”
“Good.” She relinquished the pot without argument. “I have a confession. I’ve already been here this morning and I left some boxes downstairs with the security guard. The travel agency wasn’t supposed to open until nine, but I talked them into coming in early.”
She was pleased with herself and had a right to be, she thought. How many cruises had that same agency arranged for her parents when they were alive? And the European “Grand Tour” she and Laurel had each taken the summer they turned nineteen—but Ivy couldn’t. It was a favor for old time’s sake.
“Better make a large pot,” Holly said as she scanned the refrigerator for milk or cream. “I was up until four this morning.” She found a white liquid in a cream pitcher, sniffed it and poured a generous amount into her coffee.
“Ah.” She took a sizable swallow. “It’s good. I’m glad you don’t make wimpy coffee. I can’t stand wimpy coffee.” She drained her cup.
Adam glanced at her and added two more tablespoons of grounds to the filter basket.
“I’ll be right back.” Holly smiled breezily at him.
“I’ll help you.”
His eyes were even bluer this morning than they’d been last night. “Making the coffee is help enough.”
When the elevator doors opened to the penthouse again, Holly had no trouble convincing herself to abandon the boxes and follow her nose to the source of the wonderful smells.
Adam heard her and had a cup of the milky coffee she liked ready for her.
“I could get spoiled,” she said, sighing as she leaned against the doorway to the kitchen. “I see we’re dining in state.” She nodded toward the settings on the smoked-glass top of the dining-room table.
“No room in the kitchen.” Adam handed her a bowl of strawberries.
“How decadent,” Holly said before popping one into her mouth. “Strawberries in December.”
“Imported from New Zealand. I got there just as they were unloading them.”
“Got where? New Zealand?”
“I might have. For you.” He met her eyes briefly before turning back to the stove. “As it was, I stopped by an all-night gourmet grocery not too far from here.”
The only all-night gourmet grocery in Dallas was twenty miles away. Holly set the bowl on the table with hands that suddenly shook. Caffeine jitters, obviously—and not the disturbing intimacy of sharing breakfast with an attractive man she hardly knew. In fact, it felt perfectly natural to be here for breakfast. That was what concerned her.
“Eggs Benedict?” Holly watched as Adam carried in the plates and presented them with a flourish. “We’ll have to do this more often.” The remark just popped out and in less than a heartbeat, Holly realized exactly how Adam was going to interpret it.
His black brow raised; a half smile deepened a dimple. “Certainly.”
Holly clutched her fork, determined to ignore all innuendos. It wouldn’t be fair to flirt with him now. “I’m impressed. But does it taste as good as it looks?” With Adam watching closely, she took a bite, resolving to be complimentary even if it tasted like sawdust. At this point, she didn’t trust herself to notice the difference anyway.
“I don’t cook often,” he warned.
Holly rolled her eyes and took another mouthful. “It’s wonderful. Beginner’s luck.”
When Adam returned to the kitchen for more coffee, he tossed the empty jar of ready-made hollandaise sauce into the trash.
Holly nearly collided with him as she brought the dishes into the kitchen. “Do you have time for more coffee? Don’t you have to get to work?”
“People can manage without me for a couple of hours.”
Glancing at her watch, Holly wiped her mouth on a napkin. “Good. I want to help with the dishes, but it’s nearly nine and I’ve got to get to a fabric store. Gus—he’s the photographer—and the magazine people will come about ten. They had another shoot before this one. I’ll probably have to beat on the shop doors, but I’m determined to have silver lamé for this tree.”
Holly kept up her nervous chatter as she shrugged into her coat and grabbed her purse. “Thanks for breakfast. And please, if you have to leave before I get back, dump the dishes in the sink and I’ll finish cleaning up later.” She punched the elevator button.
“I thought I’d stick around and watch.” The quiet words silenced her as she stepped inside the elevator.
The doors had already begun to close. Holly jabbed her foot between them and they shuddered apart. The look on Adam’s face might have been the beginning of a smile. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled to the elbows, revealing the fine black hair on his arms, and he had a dish towel tucked in the waistband of dark charcoal pants. He still held the coffeepot, like a husband seeing his wife off to work just before he left for his own office.
A tiny lock of blue-black hair separated itself from the rest of the smooth wave across his forehead and Holly longed to push it back into place.
He’d be too distracting. She didn’t dare allow him to stay, so this was good-bye. Even if he wanted to see her again, the timing was incredibly awful.
The profits Holly and her sisters made in December determined their standard of living for the next year. She was too busy to nurture a beginning relationship, never mind that he was a lawyer. Even when she’d first admired his appealing dimples and the brilliant laser-blue eyes, she had known the timing was wrong and would be for years.
Holly’s lips were parted as she stared at him. Neither one had said good-bye. She took a deep breath; she was going to have to say it first. “I enjoyed breakfast. A lot. But . . .” Did he have to be so gorgeous?
The telephone rang. They glanced at it and at each other. “Here, hold this.” Adam yanked her out of the elevator and handed her the coffeepot, then sprinted for the phone. Holly tried to convince herself to carry the pot back to the kitchen and quietly make her getaway. Her feet were fused to the Italian marble floor of the entry.
“Yes, Laurel, she’s here.” Adam waved an arm in her direction. “For you.”
She set the coffeepot on the floor and practically flew to the phone.
“Holly? Do you have the fabric yet?”
“I was just on my way.”
“Great. I’ll be right up. You’ll love this.”
Holly turned to Adam as she replaced the receiver. “She’s on her way up.”
Adam walked over to the coffeepot she had left in front of the elevator. “Good. There’s just enough for three more cups.”
Holly grinned. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out her vice. Off came her camel coat. She really did like Adam, she decided, even if he was a lawyer. What rotten luck.
“Not bad.” Laurel entered the penthouse, looking first at the tree, then at Adam, who was bringing a third cup of coffee. “So you weren’t a mirage.” She took the mug from Adam and presented a Neiman-Marcus shopping bag to Holly. “See what you think of this.”
Holly pulled out a long slink of a dress in silver lame. “Laurel, are you sure?”
“I’ve got no place to wear it and you need the time.” She sipped her coffee as Holly arranged the dress under the tree. “Here, stuff it with this.” Laurel began to wad the tissue paper she’d packed in the b
ottom of the shopping bag.
“Thanks, Laurel. You’re a lifesaver.” The sisters exchanged a long look filled with understanding.
“I have my moments. What have you two been doing? I don’t see any snowflakes.”
Adam began opening the boxes Holly had brought earlier.
“You don’t have to do that, Adam. Laurel can help.”
“No, Laurel can’t. I’m off to the Alumnae Christmas Coffee. I just stopped by here to deliver the dress—excuse me, tree skirt.”
Holly sat back on her heels. Laurel’s red silk dress and the sisters’ communal fur jacket registered at last. How could she think of going to a party when they had so much to do?
Laurel correctly read Holly’s look. “I was invited to the Alumnae Christmas Coffee.” She dangled a camera from her fingers. “I thought I’d go early and get some pictures for our portfolio, since Gus will be here.”
“You’re right.” Holly offered a smile in apology.
Laurel bent down and ruffled her sister’s curls. “It’s okay. I left Ivy at home waiting for Mrs. Bloom.”
“Oh, no! I completely forgot about Bloomie.”
“You’ve got enough on your mind.” Laurel slanted a glance at Adam and mouthed, “He’s okay for a lawyer.” Holly nodded, with a wistful look over her shoulder as they walked toward the elevator.
“I’ll be late getting back. I volunteered to be on the cleanup committee.” Laurel adjusted her purse so it wouldn’t crush the fur.
“Whatever for?”
“Leftovers,” Laurel said succinctly.
“Good thinking.”
“I told you I can think better when I’ve had some sleep. Just imagine what I could do with a whole night!”
Adam was on the telephone when Holly returned to the tree. “I need to go into the office,” he said, rolling down his sleeves. He passed by Holly and disappeared into a bedroom, reappearing as the consummate lawyer, complete with briefcase. “I’ll try to get back here for lunch. How about deli food and leftover strawberries?”
Holly’s fingers raked her hair in the familiar gesture. “Adam, please don’t go to all this trouble. I don’t even know if I’ll still be here.” It was frightening to see how effortlessly he fit into her life, overscheduled though it was. She’d already caught herself mentally depending on him and she’d known him for less than a day. How could she allow herself to forget that the only person she could depend on was herself?
“I’ll call first.” He waved a hand as the elevator doors shut. “Relax for once.”
Holly smiled to herself. He hadn’t said good-bye.
Chapter Three
HOLLY FINISHED the tree, added Christmasy touches to the general vicinity and decided to take Adam’s advice. Who knew when she’d get another chance to relax?
Maybe next year Deck the Halls could hire some part-time help or sales staff. It would depend on whether the exposure from this layout resulted in more jobs. A lot more jobs.
In theory, Holly and her sisters lived year-round on the profits from the Christmas season. In reality, they usually ran out of money by the summer and worked as temporary office personnel for a few months. Holly counted progress in terms of when they had to call Exemplary Temporaries. This year, they’d made it all the way to August. Of course, Holly wasn’t about to let them come close to going broke. So they’d been working as temps since March.
Next year would be different. It would take only a few more jobs now to squeeze in September’s and October’s expenses before they began full-time preparations again in November. She’d have to be firmer with Adam. She literally couldn’t afford to get involved.
Holly closed her eyes and thought of her parents. This would be the fifth Christmas without them. Five Christmases of struggle. Why did it have to be such work?
The faint click of a shutter startled her into wakefulness.
“Great! I’ll call it Christmas Beauty. I could sell it like that.” The man with the camera snapped his fingers. “Make your fortune, babe. And the less you wear, the more you make.”
Holly straightened on the sofa. “Gus, the only thing that’s going to get exposed around here is film.”
“I think I’ll call it Christmas Cactus.”
“I won’t sign the model release.”
He shrugged. “Pity.”
People poured out of the elevator, dragging lighting equipment and extension cords.
“What time is it?” Holly still felt bleary-eyed from her interrupted nap.
“’Bout ten-thirty, give or take a few.”
“Ugh.” Holly shook her head slightly. “You look like I feel.”
Gus grinned down at his fraying jeans and worn plaid shirt. “I’m workin’.” He tossed back long, lank hair and rubbed his scraggly beard. “Didn’t get around to shaving this morning.”
“Or any other morning.”
Gus shrugged his thin shoulders.
“I brought some extra stuff, in case you need to do some wide-angle shots. Who’s in charge? Will you introduce me?” Holly studied the half dozen people in the Town Square entourage.
Gus pointed to a striking brunette in skinny black pants topped by a tunic sweater, then turned away to consult with one of the technicians.
“That’s it?” she exclaimed in an accusing undertone. “You promised a lot of contacts.”
“Look, babe, I opened the door. You gotta walk through.”
With a look of exasperation, she thought of Gus’s unabashed seediness and decided she might do better on her own.
“Hello, I’m Holly Hall,” she said, approaching the brunette.
“Beth Robinson, with Town Square. Are you Swinehart, Cathardy and Steele’s representative?”
“No, but they hired my firm to do the decorating. Let me give you my card.”
The other woman nodded as she glanced at it. “The tree’s unexpected, but I like it. It adds a touch of whimsy. I’ll admit I’m rather surprised at the firm’s choice. They have such a . . . formidable reputation.”
“Yes.” Holly smiled widely, frantically trying to think of something to say.
“I suppose the rug gave you the idea for the theme.” Beth Robinson made notes on a clipboard.
Holly miserably wondered if Beth would put that in the accompanying article. It should have occurred to her before now that the law firm might object to the change in decorations. But Adam had told her the tree was great, hadn’t he?
“Um, not—”
“Beth!”
She smiled dismissively at Holly and walked over to a man positioning umbrella reflectors.
“Classy place. Funky tree.” Gus appeared beside her, taking light readings. “Weird choice.”
“Gus,” Holly said through clenched teeth and a broad smile. “There was a slight miscommunication, but everything’s fine now. Did you spread the word that Deck the Halls has a few openings left this season?”
Gus smirked. “Only a few?”
“The tree’s over here.”
“I know.” Gus crouched down, glanced impatiently at the white light from the windows and took some readings of the fireplace. “Holly, go stand over there, will ya?”
She complied, wishing the fireplace had a mantel and that she’d decorated it, since Gus seemed to find it so fascinating.
“Sit.”
Holly sat.
“No.” Gus waved her down. “On the rug. I see ashes, so the thing works, right? But you probably wouldn’t know.”
Holly stared at the telltale ashes, remembering. Half-smiling, she carefully unwrapped her memories of Adam: images of dimples, a bewitching cleft in his chin, and blue, blue eyes. She felt again the warmth radiating from the fireplace and saw the glimmer of crystal catching the light.
“Okay, thanks, babe.”
Holly nodded at Gus. Before she got out of the way, she took the brush from the tools by the fireplace and swept the coating of fine powdery ashes from the white brick. It was an unusual fireplace set. Holly positioned the tools so the engraved logo of the law firm was visible and would get into the photographs of the tree. The name would add prestige to her portfolio.
WHY COULDN’T THE guy have stayed hidden one more day? Of all the times for there to be a break in the embezzlement case . . . Adam loosened an already loose tie and waved the courier into his office. Simultaneously dictating information into the phone, he thrust a sheaf of papers into a nine-by-twelve envelope, scrawled a name and address on the outside and handed it to the waiting teenager.
With his now free hand, Adam plugged his ear, trying to concentrate on the tinny bureaucratic voice at the other end of the line. A few feet away, Bernard Steele, of Swinehart, Cathardy and Steele, spoke into the other telephone in Adam’s office.
Hanging up the phone, Adam glanced at his watch, surprised to find that it was only ten-thirty. He wondered how Holly was getting along with the photographers.
“Do you think we can get those extradition papers in time? Joe’s booked on the next three flights to Mexico City.” The older man turned weary eyes toward Adam. “It’ll be close.”
“Yeah.” The other man stared at nothing. “I suppose it would be too much to hope for that lowlife to stay put. His embezzling might cost a good friend of mine his company.” He sighed, then smiled. “Next time you talk to your dad, thank him for letting you go.”
“I’ll convey your greetings,” Adam said after a moment, “but it was my decision to come here.”
“Must have been a tough one—you being the first Markland to leave the family firm. ’Course, you have a different style.”
Adam’s blue eyes gave nothing away. “We weren’t getting too many bankruptcy cases.” He stood, but Mr. Steele showed no inclination to leave.
Deck the Halls Page 4