"Saturday is her spa day. Are you a friend of hers?"
Maggie hesitated. She didn't make a habit of lying. But then, she didn't make a habit out of chasing down women who wrote to her husband, either. "Yes," she said finally. "I live out of town. I thought I'd surprise her, but I guess I should have called first." She got to her feet, feeling as if her nose had grown two inches with that lie.
"I'm sure you could find her at the spa."
"Which spa is that?"
"The Olympia Spa on the corner of Sycamore and Doran. You can't miss it. There are Greek statues of gods and goddesses along the driveway. It's pretentious as hell, and you have to sell your soul to get in, but it's a happening place. Serena swears there's nothing better than a day at the spa, not even sex." His eyes narrowed speculatively. "You don't look like the spa type, though."
Of course she didn't look like someone who went to a spa. The closest she got to exercise was the twenty-year-old stationary bicycle in her garage. "I—uh—I’ve been busy lately. Gotten a little out of shape."
"This is L.A. Can't afford to be out of shape in this town."
"I'm not staying long."
"That's what I thought, too," he said with a smile so sexy it almost took her breath away. "I came out from Omaha ten years ago for a one-week vacation. I've been here ever since."
"Really?" Goodness, she could watch this man talk forever. He had an incredible mouth.
"L.A. gets into your blood," he added. "It's hot and smoggy but if you want to work in film, this is the place to be. It's where all the beautiful people are."
Maggie uttered a short laugh. "I don't work in film, and I'm hardly beautiful, so I don't think I have to worry."
He didn't say anything for a moment, just studied her with light brown eyes that gleamed with hints of gold. There was intelligence in his eyes. Good Lord, the man was gorgeous and intelligent. He was right. LA was where all the beautiful people were, and it was time she went home.
"You're real," he said finally. "You're barely wearing makeup, and I'd bet your hair is actually blond. Unbelievable."
Maggie swallowed uncomfortably under his close perusal. "I better go."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare. I'm Serena's neighbor, Jeremy. Jeremy Hunt." He extended his hand, and Maggie reluctantly took it. "I'm a writer, and I tend to analyze people a little more than I should,"
"It's all right," she said, as she extricated her hand from his. "My hair is blond." Why on earth had she told him that?
He smiled again. "If you stay in L.A., maybe we'll see each other around."
My God, the man was actually looking at her like a woman, a real, live woman, not someone's mother, not someone's wife, but a sexual woman. Maggie was tempted to turn around and see if there was someone standing behind her. She hadn't had a man flirt with her in years. She didn't have a clue how to respond.
"I'm not staying," she said.
"Too bad. It's tough to find real in this town. Figures you'd be leaving. Just my bad luck."
"I'm sure there are lots of real people in Los Angeles. Maybe you're not looking in the right place."
"Maybe not. Are you sure you're a friend of Serena's?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" She couldn't look him in the eye. He'd see right through her.
"You seem different."
"Don't you have any friends that are different from yourself?"
"Touché."
"Well, thanks for telling me where Serena is. I better go find her."
He tipped his head. "Have a nice day."
"You too." She took a few steps down the path, then heard him call after her.
"Hey, you never told me your name," he said.
She paused and glanced over her shoulder. "I know."
"I'm a writer," he warned with another one of his dazzling smiles. "I'll just make one up for you."
"I've always been partial to Crystal. It sounds expensive, delicate, strong, and pretty."
"Then I'll call you Crystal, because it fits."
Maggie smiled to herself. It didn't fit. She wasn't a Crystal; she was a Margaret. But as she walked away with the most seductive swagger she'd ever managed, she couldn't help wondering if he liked what he saw. Then the traitorous thought scared her, and she hurried down the path to her car. What was she doing? She was a married woman. She couldn't be thinking about another man.
It wasn't until she slipped her key into her car door that she realized she wasn't married anymore. She wasn't a wife. She was a widow. And she had two choices. She could go back to San Diego and forget all about Serena Hollingsworth or she could go to the spa and find some answers. There was really only one choice.
* * *
He should have gone home, Nick decided as he watched Lisa brush out Mary Bea's blond curls in preparation for an upcoming birthday party. Lisa knelt on the living room floor behind Mary Bea, her hands swift yet gentle as she unsnarled each tangle without drawing one word of complaint from Mary Bea.
Mary Bea had been quiet all morning, more subdued than Nick was used to seeing her, but maybe she was exhausted from all the crying the night before. Whatever the reason, it was obvious she'd begun to accept Lisa as a baby-sitter, which meant he really didn't need to stay.
It wasn't like he didn't have anything to do. He had orders stacking up from the baby fair, not to mention the ones he'd taken in his store the past week. And while his two store clerks could work the front desk and sell the furniture they had in stock, he was the only one who could actually make the pieces to be sold. Which meant he should be working instead of standing in the doorway of Maggie's living room watching his ex-wife brush his niece's hair.
But there was something in Lisa's sure strokes, in the picture they made together that captivated him. Today, she looked like the woman he remembered. Gone was the starchy white shirt, the sterile business suit, all the armor of her current life as a businesswoman. Today, dressed in soft, worn jeans and a light blue knit top, she looked like a woman, feminine, alluring, motherly.
He could almost imagine this was their home, their daughter, their life. If only... no, that was a path he wouldn't go down. Lisa was leaving tomorrow, going back to L.A., to her life, to her future husband. His stomach twisted in a jealous knot. He couldn't stand to think of someone else holding her, kissing her, touching her. What the hell was wrong with him? It had been eight years, and he still thought of her as belonging to him.
Lisa looked up and caught him staring. "Nick," she said, her voice somewhat flustered. "You should have said something. I didn't realize you were standing there."
"I didn't want to interrupt such an important task."
"Aunt Lisa says I look beautiful," Mary Bea said with a smile. "Do you think I'm beautiful?"
"The prettiest girl in town."
"Prettier than Aunt Lisa?" Mary Bea quizzed, determined to spell out exactly where she ranked in the list.
"You're definitely the prettiest five-year-old girl."
Mary Bea tilted her head to one side as she considered his answer. "That's okay, I guess."
"Isn't she ready yet?" Dylan ran into the living room with his baseball bat in one hand and his mitt in the other. "I'm going to be late for practice."
"You have to drop me off at the movies first," Roxy said, following close behind her brother. "I don't want to look for my friends in the dark."
"Then I'll be even later," Dylan moaned. "Girls are such a pain."
"You're right about that," Nick said, commiserating with his young nephew.
Lisa stood up. "Why don't we take two cars? I'll drop off Roxy and Mary Bea, and you can take Dylan to baseball practice."
It was a good plan. Then they wouldn't have to sit in the same car together. In fact, they might be able to get through most of the day without seeing each other.
"Fine," he said. "Let's go."
"I'll just get my purse." As Lisa reached for her purse on the coffee table, the dog came bounding into the room, knocking her off ba
lance. The purse fell from her hand, landing open on the carpet, the contents spilling out.
Nick squatted down to help her gather her wallet, lipstick and keys—and the small white box that had somehow found its way into her purse.
"What's this?" Nick asked.
She tried to grab the box, but he lifted the lid before she could stop him. His jaw dropped at the sight of the charm bracelet. The pulse in the base of his neck beat frantically as the blood drained out of his face.
"Oh, God," he muttered as he ran the gold chain between his fingers. "Where did you..."
"My mother."
"Silvia. That's what she wanted," he said with a shake of his head. "The magic bracelet. I should have guessed."
"You have a magic bracelet?" Dylan asked. "That's cool. What does it do?"
"It doesn't do anything, and it's not magic," Lisa said. "I can't believe you kept it all these years, Nick." She looked into his eyes, searching for an explanation.
"It was in storage."
"Storage?" she echoed. "What storage?"
He set the bracelet back in the box and handed it to her. Then he got to his feet. "We'd better get a move on. Why don't you kids get in the car?"
"Nick?" she asked, as the kids left the room.
"What?"
"I thought you gave our stuff away."
He shrugged as he dug his hands into his pockets. "I didn't."
She pushed the box and other items into her purse and stood up. "Why not?”
"Does it matter? You told me to put all the pieces of our life into a garbage bag and throw it in the dump. Why do you care if I still have some of our things?"
"What else do you have?"
"Do you really want to know? Because I can show you. I can take you to our house, Lisa." He saw the blood drain from her face. "What's the matter? Afraid of ghosts?"
"We have to go. The kids are waiting."
"Just once I'd like you to stay and fight to the bitter end."
"I know how to fight, Nick. I fought until the horrible, horrible end. Remember? But I've moved on with my life. I'm not stuck in the past like you." She turned on her heel and walked through the door and down the drive to her car, where Mary Bea and Roxy were waiting.
Nick watched her slide into the front seat and turn the key in the ignition. Instead of the motor catching life, nothing happened. Lisa tried again. Another click.
"Come on. Uncle Nick, we're going to be late," Dylan called out from the front seat of Nick's jeep.
"Hang on a second." He walked over to Lisa's car, watching as she struggled valiantly to get it to start.
"I don't understand. I just had the car tuned up," she muttered. "It's supposed to be in perfect condition."
"Might have a dead battery."
"Do you want to jump me?"
He couldn't help but smile. "You bet."
"The car I mean," she said crossly.
"Of course. I don't have a jump. Come on, we'll take the kids in my car and figure out what to do with yours later."
"It has to start." She tried again, with no luck.
"Maybe you should use the magic bracelet," Mary Bea suggested.
"If it were magic, my car would start," Lisa grumbled.
"Guess you'll have to ride with me," Nick said, suddenly realizing how much he wanted her to come with him. He wanted a chance to show her what she'd turned her back on. Maybe it was ego, but dammit, he couldn't stand the way she looked at him, as if he was stuck in some sort of a time warp. "After we drop off the kids, we can go by the house," he said as she stepped out of her car.
"I have no intention of going to your house," she said pointedly.
He grinned. "Too bad. I'm the one who's driving."
Chapter Six
"Thanks for giving me a ride," Beverly said as she slipped into the front seat of Raymond's silver Lexus. She set her purse on the floor and crossed her long, slender legs, then flashed him a brilliant smile. "You're a peach."
He wasn't a peach. He was an idiot. Not only was he giving his competition a ride to a party hosted by the account they both wanted but the competition was Beverly. Beverly, who sent his blood pressure skyrocketing thirty points every time she opened her mouth. Beverly, who wore a sophisticated, sexy scent reminiscent of Chanel that completely swamped his senses. He had always found perfume on a beautiful woman to be erotic, sexual. But this woman was Beverly, not Elisabeth, and he had no business thinking such thoughts. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled sharply away from the curb.
"I love a man who likes to go fast," Beverly said with a small laugh.
Raymond suddenly had the sinking feeling that she could see right into his head. "I thought women liked men who went slow."
"Depends on what they're doing."
"Dammit, Beverly. It's one o'clock in the afternoon."
"I'm sorry. I didn't know there was a starting time on flirting."
"I'm not flirting with you. I'm giving you a ride."
"Have it your way." She sent him a curious look. "What do you think Monty Friedman will say when he sees us together?"
Raymond inwardly groaned. The CEO of Nature Brand would probably be amused, but then he'd deliberately pitted them against each other. Monty wanted to hire not just the best company but the toughest, the most willing to do whatever it took, the one still standing at the end of the fight, however dirty that fight might get.
"Monty's sister and I went to high school together," Beverly said idly. "Catholic school. She was a prig though, very straight. Wouldn't have dreamed of wearing sexy lingerie under her regulation plaid uniform."
Great, Beverly had an inside edge. He would have to watch her like a hawk. "I suppose you wore a garter belt?"
"It was red, very sexy. I thought I was so cool." She sighed. "Don't you wonder where all the time has gone? Every year, the days, the hours, the minutes—all seem shorter. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to sleep. I feel like I'm missing something by wasting those hours in oblivion."
He knew exactly how she felt. His life had become a race against time, against his graying hair, his receding hairline, the rubbery muscles that never seemed to achieve the leanness of his youth no matter how many sit-ups he did.
"I envy Elisabeth," Beverly continued, "She's young, beautiful, thin, and, I hate to admit it, she's even nice. When she lets her guard down, that is. I saw her at the Children's Hospital Halloween Fair last fall. She was really in her element there, handing out balloons, painting faces."
"I don't remember her talking about that," Raymond said, reminded once again that Elisabeth didn't always share her life with him. Not that he wanted to be with her every second, but it still bothered him that she'd never mentioned her friend in San Diego. And that bracelet her mother had sent—there was something odd about it. He'd bet his last dollar it wasn't a wedding present at all. He'd met Silvia Alvarez once, and only then because she'd dropped in at the office unexpectedly. She hadn't liked him at all.
He doubted he'd see her again until the wedding. She and Elisabeth didn't seem to get along. In fact, sometimes he forgot Elisabeth even had a family; she so rarely mentioned anyone. In truth, he didn't really care to know them. He'd had enough of in-laws the first time around.
"I'm surprised you didn't come to the fair," Beverly continued. "Elisabeth designed the flyers and the posters for the event. They were excellent."
"She does first-rate work."
"That she does."
Silence fell between them as he stopped the car at a stoplight. Two teenagers walked slowly across the street. Their hair was sprayed various shades of red and green. They were dressed in black, smoking cigarettes, and looking as if they thought they were the coolest pair in the world.
Raymond glanced over at Beverly. She looked at him and smiled. They both started to laugh.
"Did we ever look that bad?" she asked.
"I suspect so. And I smoked, too. Didn't know any better then. I thought of myself as a rebel."
"
Me, too. I gave my parents a lot of gray hair. My father was very straight, very religious. He even made me go to Mass every Sunday. When I got old enough to go by myself, I would hide my regular clothes in the bushes in the alley behind our house. As soon as I left, I'd change and go hang out with my friends." She smiled. "It feels like a lifetime ago. The good old days."
"Not all so good," he said with a sigh.
"Why do you say that?"
"I joined the Marines after high school, saw some action."
"My oldest brother was in the Navy. He still wakes up with nightmares.”
"Me, too." As soon as he said the words, he could have cut out his tongue. He didn't know why he'd told her that. He'd never told anyone. Fortunately the nightmares came infrequently enough now that he didn't anticipate sharing them with Elisabeth. At least he hoped he wouldn't have to. He was too old to have nightmares, to need comfort. He was a man, goddammit.
"How come we never talked like this before—when I worked for you?" Beverly asked.
"You were too busy trying to climb my ladder."
"And you kept pushing Jimmy and Larry and every other young male hotshot ahead of me."
"Are you claiming sexual discrimination?"
"I could have."
"I don't have a problem with women reaching the top. Elisabeth has never had any complaints."
"It must have been me then."
"You push too hard, Beverly."
"It's the only way I know how to get what I want. It's certainly never just come to me," she said with a trace of bitterness. "I wasn't always like this, you know. Once, I made the mistake of believing... Her voice drifted away as she turned to look out the window.
"What were you going to say?" he prodded.
"Nothing you'd be interested in."
But he was suddenly very interested in why her eyes were so bright, why she looked vulnerable instead of assured. "Tell me."
"You love to tell me patience is a virtue, but you didn't have to wait to get ahead. I've read about some of your past exploits in Advertising Age, how you bailed out on your first employer, stealing half the accounts."
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