Golden Opportunity

by Virginia Taylor

  Bedding her had been a good start, but he wanted more than a quick tumble. Agreeing that she was breaking out with him was a step up from the, “no thanks,” he’d heard during his third year at the university when he had yet again tried to get a date with her. He waited for a year before he tried again. The fast-flowing champagne at his parents’ party six years ago had caused her to relax. Far from turning her back on him, she had latched onto his arm and said something ridiculous. He had kissed her. More than once. He hadn’t wanted to stop. She made him laugh, she made him think, and she stimulated him with her rigid opinions.

  He had taken her to a rock concert the next weekend, and the next day to a barbeque that ended late at night, after which he circumspectly took her home. The next weekend they spent together with his friends. By that time, he was dazzled. Her kisses told him she was, too. One thing had led to another and they’d ended up in his university boarding house.

  He had half undressed when she’d pushed him away with her polite rejection. And she’d told him that she didn’t want to see him again. Clearly his constant presence had begun to bore her to distraction. He saw no point in breaking his heart over a woman who only viewed him through champagne glasses. The confidence he had lost returned—to a degree. In his usual crowd, he was still a catch. So he had moved back with them and tried to forget Marigold, who had apparently forgotten him instantly.

  And here she was, the same Marigold who picked and chose whatever and whomever she wanted. Last night had told him that if he had ever been a dud in bed, or if she had ever thought he might be, she didn’t now. She had been, as ever, the perfect partner for him. Sex with her last night was real, no deliberate scratching of his skin, none of that biting that was supposed to stimulate him into rough sex. He also wanted loving sex: he wanted to get to know her likes and dislikes.

  That night, he discovered that apparently she liked him. When he awoke the next morning, he didn’t want to leave the bed, or leave her. She bemused him. She thrilled him. He had never experienced a night like that. Sex made with love was a whole other experience, on his part. He didn’t know about her. She had always been a mystery to him.

  While she watched with sleepy satisfaction, he dressed and went home for a shower, a shave, and a change of clothes, quite determined to spend every single night in her bed until he could manage to move her into his.

  Chapter 10

  If there was such a thing as a sex hangover, Marigold was experiencing one. She had overdosed on sex the night before, testing her own limits, until she realized she didn’t have a limit. Given the chance to explore Hagen’s body, she had touched every inch of his smooth golden skin. Some inches were more impressionable than others, but even kissing his ears stimulated him. She found that endearing, mainly because that had to be an emotional reaction rather than sexual. The thought that he had real feelings for her was a sexual turn on.

  She walked into the office in the morning, a more than satisfied woman. Having already spotted Hagen’s car outside, she was safe in the knowledge that he had arrived first. She prepared herself to act as she always had when she saw him, hoping she didn’t have any sort of smug happiness lurking on her face.

  She didn’t know how he had managed to coax another two orgasms out of her last night, though he was in superb condition. Largely, and she appreciated the word largely far more now, she’d had little to do with this. She had only needed to relax and appreciate every single one of his sensual explorations.

  Trying to blink him out of her mind, she said, “Morning, Sandra.”

  Sandra raised her head. “Rough weekend?”

  “Do I look that bad?” Marigold checked with her hand that her hair was still knotted at her nape.

  “I say that to everyone in the hope that someday I’ll hear a morsel of interesting gossip.”

  Marigold stopped. “Do you say that to Hagen?”

  Sandra made a rueful face. “Not since Mercia died. Even I have some tact. There are a couple of surprises for you on your desk.”

  “Good surprises or bad surprises?”

  “One of each, I suspect, depending on the way you feel about Hagen.”

  Feel about Hagen? Marigold didn’t answer but she hurried into Tiggy’s office with a degree of apprehension. She noted the first surprise straight away—a new cell phone tied with a pink ribbon, accompanied by slip of notepaper. Angling into her chair, she read: The company phone as promised, darling. Alex put in all the numbers he thinks you will need for the job including mine and his. Enjoy. Demi. Kisses.

  She found the next surprise when she opened a thick white envelope containing an invitation to the company’s annual dinner, a formal event for the affiliates, on Wednesday night. For this she would need to be on her best behavior, which wouldn’t be a stretch at all. One thing her mother had taught her had been how to behave in any social situation.

  Long ago she had discovered etiquette didn’t matter as much as her mother supposed, because almost no one else had been schooled the way she had. She knew who should sit with whom and where each person should be seated. She knew the correct placement of every eating implement invented and how to use each one. Proper table settings had been drummed into her head. Even when she wasn’t in the security of her own home, she rearranged knives and forks in restaurants before she could eat if they had been incorrectly placed.

  Sometimes she thought she should have taken a job as an etiquette adviser.

  She even knew how to converse with a bore. Aside from her date with Morgan, the latter skill had never been needed.

  “What do you think?” Sandra stood in the doorway.

  “About the surprises? Nice phone. Very nice phone.”

  “What about the invitation? It came from Hagen.”

  “Also”—Marigold cleared her throat—“very nice.”

  “It’s a big step for him,” Sandra said in a serious voice. “Since Mercia passed away, he has gone to these functions without a partner. You must have done well enough at his dinner to have passed his test. He couldn’t take any old body. He needs someone who can help him represent the firm.”

  “That’s flattering to know that he thinks I can. So, I’ll have to schmooze a few bigwigs, will I?”

  Sandra offered a stretched smile. “Mercia used to hate the business dinners. You don’t have her temperament. You can do it,” she said, nodding. “That’s not to say Mercia couldn’t.” She glanced away.

  Marigold didn’t want to know what perfect Mercia did or didn’t like to do because going to any sort of dinner and finding someone new to talk to was a novelty for her and one she was likely to enjoy very much. “Should I answer this formally?”

  Sandra shook her head. “I’ll let Hagen know that you would be delighted to join him.”

  Putting aside her constant problem about having nothing suitable to wear, Marigold grabbed up her new phone and hurried off to the warehouse. Today she would begin the staging of the school duplex. The bathrooms and kitchens had been installed last week and the carpets should be down this morning. Billy and Joe would be loading the truck but she still needed to find vases and table settings.

  By the time the truck left, she had organized everything she needed. She followed in her car. First, she helped the men unload and then she directed them as to placement, ducking the carpet men, and making sure not to trip over discarded remnants. She didn’t have time to think about Hagen.

  By lunch break, the right furniture had been placed in the right rooms in each side of the duplex and the curtains had been hung. “I think I’ll be okay from here,” she said to Billy. “I won’t need to shift anything heavy around. If I need you back, I’ll call. I now have a company phone.” She waved the latest in a brand of gleaming new technology while she smiled with satisfaction.

  The men acknowledged the beauty of her newest acquisition with a grin and finished off the dregs in their
cups. “Let Kell know if you want anything else delivered,” Billy said, rising to his feet. “He can put the smaller things in his pickup.” He swiped up the mess from the table and took the wrapping paper, orange peel, and shards of lettuce with him to dispose of.

  Watching him, Marigold appreciated the work ethic of everyone employed by AA & Co. She’d thought she would be glad to leave and go back to her old way of life but after almost a month working outside her home, she had found a real life, one that contained other people and cooperation and daily conversations. How novel, as Hagen might say. And there, far too easily, he had slipped into her thoughts.

  Forcing herself not to think about him or last night, she concentrated on the job at hand, which was that of a shelf stacker, though she used more interesting items than cereal boxes. Working on the first house, she finished the bedrooms. In this ex-industrial area, modern generic would suit best, though she retained touches of the school building ethos with the chalkboard panel in the kitchen, an old desk in one of the smaller bedrooms, and a large black-and-white print of the original school in the fifties blown up into an art piece.

  She had chosen mid brown for the carpeting and the same shade for the floor tiles in the kitchens and bathrooms. Both these areas in both these houses had been tiled with block white and grouted in a darker shade to match the floors. So far, safe for all tastes. All walls had been painted slightly off white. With the neutral background, she could showcase various colors, giving buyers without their own set opinions options for decorating. White blinds had been hung on every window.

  By the time she left at five, she had provided a young child’s colorful bedroom, a teenager’s moody bedroom, and a glamorous main bedroom. The kitchen, featuring glossy oak cabinets with polished granite countertops, opened into the dining and sitting room, furnished to match with light oak tables and fabrics in subdued blues ranging to cream. The other duplex she would finish with Mercia white and bright colors, but she would do that tomorrow.

  Her phone rang while she was hauling herself out of her car in the Allbrook’s lot. She glanced at the screen and her heart sang. “Hagen,” she said in a husky voice.

  “Finished?”

  “I’m in the car park now.”

  “Meet me at my house in an hour.” And he rang off.

  * * * *

  Hagen had never been hopelessly besotted before. He had no doubt everyone would glance at him with amazement if he mentioned that Marigold had turned his life around. Marigold. Perceptive, careful Marigold—a woman without a touch of wildness, a practical woman whose every considered word was a delight to him. Being with her forced him to think about the years of emptiness he had suffered until he had her in his life again.

  Marigold was no privileged princess. She was a real woman who spoke her thoughts, but never in a harsh way about others. He doubted she would ever put him through criticisms of his family, and he didn’t need to be defensive about who he chose as his friends. She would gather her own as wisely as she had accepted his sisters, and she would consider deeply before she judged a person’s actions.

  He glanced around his new bedroom, wondering how she would judge him if she knew the truth about his dysfunctional marriage. He had behaved ignobly for too long and she would have expected better of him.

  The doorbell rang, and he glanced at his watch. Six. He smiled to himself as he bounded down the stairs. She even had a promptness gene. He doubted she would ever keep him watching the time if he had a deadline to meet. She shared his opinion of people who thought their time more important than the time of others. She would make a call of bad manners, and he agreed. Long ago, he had decided her values were the same as his.

  When he opened the door, he let a lazy smile form on his face. “Thank God you were out of the office all day.”

  “I didn’t miss you, either,” she said, with mock hauteur.

  Swooping her into his arms, he almost swung her across the doorstep and into the house. “Unfortunately, we need two separate lives, one for the office and one for home.” He nuzzled his face into her hair while he pushed the door shut with his foot. Her hands settled safely on his chest while his lips found hers.

  “Do your comfort women usually run to your call?” she asked politely, when she finally leaned back and smiled into his eyes.

  “Only if the call is urgent.” He turned, his arm around her shoulders while he walked her to the stairway. The rail had been stripped of the white paint today. Tomorrow the French polishing would begin. “My bedroom is finished except for the look. It’s ready to be occupied.”

  “You don’t waste time, do you?”

  “Nope. When I have a plan, I execute it as swiftly as I can.” He led up the stairs and ushered her into his bedroom.

  She stood in the doorway glancing around. “You’ve had that dreadful headboard attached to the wall. Good idea. It looks very classy from a distance despite the whole disgraceful lot of it showing. Those satyrs around the bottom are having a merry old time.”

  “You can’t see that from here.” He frowned.

  “I don’t have to,” she said in a severe voice. “I know they’re there. The room smells like new paint.”

  “I hope that won’t put you off.”

  “It doesn’t bother me a bit. I don’t have to sleep here.”

  He moistened his lips. “You don’t have to, no. But if I sleep at your house every night, soon enough someone will mention my car outside in the street. Or do you expect me to walk over?”

  “Do you want me to sleep here?” She looked astonished.

  “You agreed to be my comfort woman. I wouldn’t be comfortable without you sleeping with me. I have room for your clothes here and your car can be garaged. And I can make sure you eat properly.”

  “A self-serving statement if ever I have heard one. I always eat properly. You’re the one who eats out all the time.”

  “Will you, or will you not, share this bedroom with me?” He put his hands on his hips.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Fortunately, he now knew that meant yes. “About dinner. I had a meal for two prepared. Nothing special. Simply good, healthy food. My daily help is intrigued. I wouldn’t be surprised if she comes early tomorrow to inspect you.”

  “You’re taking a lot for granted.”

  He turned into her. “I can’t let you out of my life just yet,” he said in a low voice. He examined her face, his chest aching with love, hoping he wasn’t taking anything for granted, hoping she had the same feelings about him as he had about her. Slightly shaky, he hauled in a breath. “Now, about that corporate dinner. We’ve invited people who would be useful to us in a business sense. The main guests are the heads of the superannuation funds. We need to pitch to them in terms of the market and investment.”

  “Your expectations of me are far too high,” she said, her expression astonished. “The amount I know about markets and investments is exactly nil.”

  “You don’t need to know anything. You’ll be there to make me look good.”

  “I’m a handbag at my first corporate dinner,” she said in a doleful voice. “I never thought I would sink so low.”

  “I can be yours at an art show.” He took her into his arms and leaned back with a grin. “You can’t be expected to know my job. I want you there to relax people into thinking I’m an okay guy. Okay guys wouldn’t let them down in a business sense.”

  “I suppose this is the sort of thing partners do for each other.” She toyed with the hair on the nape of his neck.

  “Exactly.” His voice came out satisfied. “And as your partner, I know you will be fussing about what to wear. If you won’t wear anything I have hanging in the room that is now your dressing room, or if nothing there suits you, I’ll have the lot removed. I’ll also give you time off to buy a few formal outfits at the company’s expense, of course.”

&nb
sp; “Do you buy Sandra’s clothes?”

  “I don’t use Sandra as my escort to important dinners. Though, perhaps I should. She would put quite a few people into their proper places. I expect you to charm them so that our company is remembered.”

  She stared at him for a beat too long. “Leave the clothes. I don’t want to be accused of wasting your money. I’ll need to move a few other things here, too, but I don’t want to move in, not completely.”

  He whooshed out a breath. His ambit bluff had worked. Even if she stayed over sometimes, he considered that a win. “This is, of course, a sneaky tactic on my part. If you sleep here, you’ll hurry up with the plans for rest of the house.”

  She pushed him away and then grabbed him back and kissed him. He had never had pre-dinner sex in his whole life, and he thought she had somehow brought out the irresponsible teenager in him. He was putty in her hands, except in the one place where she made sure he wasn’t.

  Finally, after they had eaten, he sat watching the log fire crackling. “This might be our last fire of the year. It wasn’t cold enough tonight to have one, but I wanted the coziness.”

  “There’s a designer hidden somewhere in you. You’re visualizing the look rather than the practicality. Speaking of which, do you have something for me to wear in bed tonight?”

  He stared at her.

  “Right,” she said, blushing. “I don’t know what I could have been thinking.”

  * * * *

  Yet again, Marigold arrived at work after Hagen. Today she had seen him off after being introduced to his daily help, Imelda, a tiny middle-aged woman from the Philippines. Imelda looked her up and down, and didn’t seem to approve until she discovered Marigold had agreed to try a couple of the gowns in Hagen’s wardrobe. After that, she eyed Marigold speculatively. Perhaps Imelda had met other women who stayed overnight with Hagen and wondered how long Marigold would last.

  As she had yesterday, Marigold left the office with the next load of furniture for the second duplex. She left at five after finishing the staging to her satisfaction, rather amazed that she had designed two whole interiors without a glitch. Whether her designs would sell the houses remained to be seen. She didn’t have the same natural flair as Tiggy, but she liked both the duplexes herself and found the spaces she had designed livable.