by Sally Falcon
Jessie was sure she could hear the proverbial pin drop as he reached her side in three strides. She was sure her body had turned into one great, big embarrassed stone, if stones could blush, she thought irrelevantly. Trevor dispelled her frozen image by taking her hand and easily raising it to his lips. If she’d had the strength she would have clipped him across the chin. In the back of her mind she could remember her father ruining her eighth birthday party by coming home drunk after being gone for months, smiling ingratiatingly and so earnestly apologetic.
“If I had known you were Daddy’s decorator I would have been here an hour early.” He simply stood holding her hand, his thumb gently stroking her knuckles, giving no indication of letting her go or moving from her side.
“Trevor, will you try to act like an adult for a change?” his brother snapped, beginning to rise from his chair as if he would physically put the younger man in his place. “You might be at loose ends during the day, but the rest of us have work to get done. Let Ms. DeLord finish her presentation so she doesn’t think we’re all as mannerless as you and Tory.”
Sanders’s words acted as an antidote for Jessie’s paralysis. She snatched her hand away from Trevor’s warm clasp and stepped back. She hoped she appeared to be conferring with Gina about where they had been when interrupted by the late arrivals. No one else heard her partner’s bemused whisper, “Who is that masked man?”
“Jessie, if my middle son will cooperate, we’ll go ahead with your presentation. Sanders, Trevor, sit.” T.L.’s amused gaze belied his terse words, despite the fact Trevor ignored the chair he had indicated. Instead he dropped with a disturbing grace into the chair directly in front of Jessie as his older brother resumed his seat.
Later she was never positive exactly how she managed to say one coherent word, let alone do justice to the proposal for Planchet Enterprises. All she remembered clearly about the next hour were the speculative looks that went from the man in front of her to her rigid figure by the easel. Of those seated at the table, Tory Planchet seemed the most interested. How much did Trevor’s sister remember about the Bushes’ party?
Ignoring her audience didn’t give Jessie any respite. Whenever she glanced in Gina’s direction her partner was eyeing the man as if he were her favorite dessert—double dipped in semi-sweet chocolate, rolled in cashews, and topped with whip cream. The only person who seemed unaffected in the aftermath of Trevor’s outrageous entrance was Trevor himself.
Like his father, he didn’t appear to be bothered by business conventions. He was dressed in slate-blue pleated slacks, the same blue alternating with gray and brown stripes in his shirt. His suspenders, however, were a conservative brown that matched his knit tie. And Jessie had the urge to snap, “Stop that,” as he crossed his legs and idly swung his ankle from side to side.
His hooded gaze never strayed to the easel. Instead his attention alternated between her face and her body. For one wild moment, she imagined he was mentally undressing her, then ruthlessly dismissed the thought before she created her own mental image of Trevor dressed only in rabbit ears. Thankfully, Gina uncovered the final drawing, of T.L.’s office, a second later.
When she finished, a polite round of applause from the others was punctuated by shouts of “Bravo” from one of the company. Jessie expelled her breath, relieved she hadn’t fainted—yet.
“Jessie, the concept is as delightful as I remember.” T.L. succeeded in drowning out his son with little effort. “Does anyone have any questions or comments?” The question was followed by general murmurings of approval and compliments as the others rose to their feet.
“Are you sure that pink color is going to work in the ladies’ restroom off the lobby?”
Jessie kept her smile in place only by biting into the side of her mouth for a moment before she answered. “That pink color is called dusty mauve, Mr. Planchet. It’s a very soothing color. I’ve used it in my own home.”
“Really? Where?” Trevor’s eyebrows rose in polite inquiry, but his expression told her he was asking ridiculous questions only so she would look at him.
“It’s a good choice, Jessie,” T.L. said expansively. “You and Gina have excellent color sense. That’s one of the reasons I felt Aesthetics, Ltd. was our best choice.” He rounded the table, seeming to place himself purposely between Jessie and his son. He couldn’t know he saved Jessie from admitting she’d used the disputed color in her bedroom. “Isn’t that right, Trev?”
“Yes, sir.” Jessie was amazed at his deference to his father, though there had been nothing censuring in his father’s tone.
“Good, good, then we’re all agreed,” the elder Planchet exclaimed, shaking hands with both Jessie and Gina once more as the board members bid them good-bye and left. Minutes later, only the Planchets remained. “If it isn’t too much trouble, I would like to keep the drawings for a few days, just to let the staff see what they can look forward to in our new home.”
“Certainly, T.L. Keep them as long as necessary,” Gina answered when Jessie was suddenly busy rearranging the drawings under discussion and placing them on the long walnut table that bisected the room. “We can’t wait to get started on this,” she continued as Jessie, overly aware that Trevor was poised for the minute she turned back toward the small group, started to gather up both their purses and the portfolio. “It’s going to be such a pleasure working with all of you.”
Stiffening slightly at her partner’s emphasis, Jessie continued to impersonate the anal-retentive decorator until only the coffee cups and waterglasses needed to be cleared away. The rest of her day was going to be a total loss, because she would be fending off Gina’s questions.
“Yes, I think this is going to be much more interesting than I anticipated when Daddy asked us to give our seal of approval,” Tory Planchet agreed from next to her father. “To think Trevor whined all the way over here. Of course, I had to rouse the beast out of bed, so that might account for it.”
“Should I tell Daddy about my little dinner with your Yankee friend while he was away, sister dear?” Trevor asked quietly, but Jessie noticed his sister suddenly seemed to be interested in the pattern of the carpet. Was the Yankee friend the man standing with Trevor by the fig tree that night?
“I think that we’re ready to get back to the office, T.L.,” Jessie announced brightly, giving Gina “The Look,” which had a thousand translations. Today her partner seemed to understand immediately that it meant “Get me out of here now, or I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
She and Gina murmured a general good-bye. Jessie made sure there was always someone between her and Trevor. She was too drained to deal with whatever nonsense he would begin, undoubtedly some impassioned, but implausible, story about thinking of her for the past week. Men like him were always charming, effusive and full of—
“Trevor, don’t take another step. You’ve done more than enough for one day,” she heard Tory say from behind her. Unable to resist, Jessie looked over her shoulder and immediately regretted it. Trevor was staring straight at her, all the former good humor gone from his face. For a fleeting moment her traitorous mind translated the expression as real disappointment. Shaking her head, she turned away to follow Gina to the elevator. Trevor Planchet would hardly be disappointed that she was leaving without speaking to him.
“Trevor Eugene Planchet, you have to be the biggest jerk on the face of the earth,” Tory said without moving her lips as she waved to her father before the elevator doors closed.
“Hey, I said I’d let you drive, even if it is my turn to have the T-bird.” He wasn’t about to admit he knew exactly why his sister was about to read him the riot act. It had nothing to do with their joint ownership of the white 1957 T-bird.
“I should make you walk home. You aren’t fit to be out in public with decent people,” she continued as if he hadn’t said a word. “You’ve been reading your fan mail again, haven’t you? How many times have I told you that you aren’t God’s gift to women simply because
you’re on television every day of the week. First it was that poor woman at Abby’s party last week, and now this—”
The doors of the elevator opened onto the parking deck and gave him a temporary reprieve as they passed two men getting on. But Trevor knew his sister; she could be as tenacious as a coon dog on the prowl. He held his breath, waiting to see if she would make the connection. He knew she hadn’t seen him kiss Jessie that night, but Abby was sure to have filled her in on all the gory details by now.
“How could you embarrass poor Jessica DeLord that way?” Tory renewed her attack as they headed for the car.
“You called her Jessica.” He stopped in the middle of the ramp to give her a speculative look. No one had called her Jessica today, had they? She had been talking to Abby.
“That’s the name on the business card Daddy sent along with his royal summons to this meeting.” She shot him a curious look that made him regret his suspicions. “You didn’t bother to read the letter, and that’s why you were still in bed this morning. Serves you right. So what’s the big deal about my knowing her name—”
He knew he was doomed as sudden comprehension crossed his sister’s expressive face. Tory hadn’t realized earlier that Jessie had been at the Bushes’ party, but she knew now.
“Oh, Trev,” was all she managed before she doubled over with laughter. As he heard a car approaching from the level above he was tempted not to move his sister out of harm’s way. After a moment’s hesitation he took her still-convulsed figure by the elbow and steered her out of the path of the oncoming car. Waiting for Tory to become rational again, he glanced idly at the maroon van as it passed.
His heart jumped into his throat as it had in the Planchet Enterprises boardroom an hour earlier. He was looking directly into Jessica DeLord’s blue eyes. The woman was beginning to haunt his waking hours as well as his dreams, he decided with a shake of his head. It probably hadn’t been her this time, simply his imagination. Without realizing it, he watched the van drive around the curve toward the street level and out of sight.
“Oh, this is incredible.”
“Did you say something?” he asked absently. Shoving his hands in his pants pockets, he began walking toward the T-bird parked in its specially reserved place.
“I never thought I’d live to see the day that the mighty Trevor Planchet had fallen, and apparently fallen hard.” Tory was laughing again, but this time she had herself under control. She was still giggling as she slipped into the passenger seat.
“What are you nattering about now?” He didn’t wait for her answer before starting the car and backing out of the space.
“Jessica DeLord was the woman at the party,” Tory stated without hesitation. “Now I understand your performance upstairs. That will teach you not to read one of Daddy’s letters. You didn’t know she was going to be there until you walked into the room. You’ve gotten so used to reading from a script that you don’t know how to act when faced with the unexpected. I should have recognized your clown mode before this. I must be slipping.”
He didn’t like the turn in the conversation, or rather, Tory’s monologue. If he didn’t know why Jessie intrigued him so much, how could he explain it to his sister? This was too much like his conversation with Abby the night of the party. He’d avoided calling Jessie for over a week to see if the fascination with the lady would simply go away. Unfortunately, he’d lain awake every one of those nights wondering how he was going to make up to Jessie for his clumsy behavior. Now he’d made another major faux pas. It was amazing that he could still function with both feet planted firmly in his mouth.
“So, Mr. Stud, how are you going to get yourself out of this one?”
For a minute he didn’t realize that Tory had asked the question instead of his subconscious. “Tory, you’re creating the most incredible fantasy out of a silly incident. You know the best way to make people forgive your transgressions is to make them laugh. T.L.’s group looked like they’d been taking Sanders-look-alike lessons and needed a good laugh.”
“Usually not at someone else’s expense, even to get big brother’s goat.” Tory wasn’t laughing any longer, but Trevor could see amusement as well as curiosity lurking in the eyes identical to his own.
“I’ll make you a deal. I won’t ask you any more embarrassing questions about Logan for a week if you do the same about Jessie,” he challenged as he stopped for a red light. The rumble of the idling engine was the only sound in the car for the next few minutes. He knew that Logan Herrington, T.L.’s house guest from Boston, would quickly take Tory’s mind off Jessie. Trevor didn’t know exactly what had happened between Tory and Logan during the past two weeks, but he had more than a sneaking suspicion she was changing her attitude about Yankees, at least one in particular.
“Dammit, I agree,” his sister finally said, grudgingly.
“Spit and rub your heart?”
“Trevor, this is a silk blouse,” she complained, wrinkling her nose at his demand for their childhood assurance.
“Wanna talk about you and Logan in a Winnebago on a weekend trip to Oklahoma?” He knew he’d hit pay dirt when Tory’s cheeks turned a scarlet hue and she began fidgeting with the armrest. As much as he would like to pursue the topic, he knew it was safer to stop Tory’s questions about a certain lady. At least until he had some better answer.
“All right, you pig.” She dutifully spit in her hand, more delicately than she had as a child, and rubbed her hand over her heart five times. “It’s your turn.”
At that moment he would have agreed to jump up and down on one foot whistling “Dixie” with a plastic Hog hat on his head. Now if he could just get Jessie to speak to him in the next week, or ever again.
“Okay, I’ve kept my word. I haven’t mentioned the meeting at Planchet Enterprises all day, or at least you-know-who,” Gina declared as she followed Jessie through the front door of her house at six o’clock.
“Relax. Can’t you wait until we sit down before you pounce?” Jessie couldn’t resist baiting her just a little, since she knew that Gina was going to grill her ruthlessly in a few minutes.
“I’m not sure. After so many hours of self-control I may explode.” Gina shrugged out of her coat before dropping limblessly onto the flower-upholstered medallion-backed sofa. “Can I at least say his name now?”
“I said, ‘relax,’ not ‘become comatose.’” Jessie eyed her friend’s supine form with a touch of envy. Even after twenty years away from home, she still couldn’t abandon herself to complete relaxation. Her mother always taught her that a lady respected her body and didn’t act slothful, even if she lived in third-class housing and wore hand-me-down clothes.
“I’m not going to be distracted. I want to know when and how you met Trevor Planchet, one of Little Rock’s most eligible bachelors. You can tell me later how you got him wrapped around your little finger when thousands have failed.”
“You suddenly know an awful lot about him. Why keep it a secret until now?”
“Secret? You’re accusing me of secrets? I figured you knew.” Her look of astonishment only added to Jessie’s confusion. Before she could ask what she was supposed to know, Gina groaned in frustration and jumped to her feet. When she walked to the ornate armoire at the end of the room, opened the doors, and turned on the television, Jessie was thoroughly bewildered.
“I thought Jeff was the news junky.”
“He is, but I’m a sports groupie along with thousands of other women across the state,” Gina said in exasperation. “I guess I should be glad your television works, since you rarely watch it.”
“Gina, what are you doing?”
“Shush.”
“Now let’s find out what the Hawg forecast is going to be, folks,” proclaimed the perfectly coiffed newsman. “What are our chances in the play-offs, Trev?”
“Well, Ted, it’s going to be another cliffhanger this year for the Hawg fans,” Trevor Planchet proclaimed, his lazy smile filling the television screen, “but th
e Arkansas State alums have some cheering to do.”
“Criminy, he’s on the news? That’s why he was asleep at nine o’clock in the morning.” Jessie couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Trevor was in a suit jacket and tie, smoothly reporting the latest developments in the sports world. For a moment, she wondered if he had a double that could look like a respectable human being.
“I call it the Four-T Report—Ted, Tina, Trixie, and Trevor,” Gina informed her, lowering the volume but not bothering to turn off the set. She had a smug smile on her face as she returned to the couch. “And, yes, Trixie reports the weather, but I don’t think that’s why your mouth is hanging open.”
“It must have been the rabbit ears,” she murmured without realizing it. As Gina said, Jessie rarely watched television except for vintage movies and AETN, the state’s PBS network, but she must have seen Trevor sometime before last week. She wasn’t that closed off from the outside world. Or was she?
“Rabbit ears? Is this going to be kinky?” The avid look on Gina’s face made Jessie bury her face in her hands, groaning and considering the fetal position for the rest of the evening. “You promised me the whole story if I wouldn’t mention this morning’s performance until after we left work. I’m abandoning my husband to a solitary night, the poor baby, just so I can find out what in the Sam Hill is going on.”
“The poor baby plays poker every Monday night.” Jessie reluctantly raised her head, knowing she couldn’t procrastinate any longer. “Remember the Bushes’ party?”
“He couldn’t have been candidate number three. You would have remembered his name without any trouble.”
“Of course he wasn’t. He wouldn’t even qualify for a single category on my list.” Jessie gave a snort of derision, though she had anticipated Gina’s reaction accurately.
“Yes, he would. His salary and family background would make him a shoe-in on the financial question.”