Murder in the South of France, Book 1 of the Maggie Newberry Mysteries
Page 21
Chapter Sixteen
Gary opened his office door and peered down the hallway. Awfully quiet for the afternoon of a great client victory, he thought. On the other hand, did they expect him to bring out the champagne every time they won a significant account? At least Maggie had to take back everything she’d said recently about his mind not being on the clients. Today’s success story certainly threw that theory in the crapper.
He wandered down to Maggie’s closed door and stood there frowning. Deirdre passed him on the way to the copier machine.
“What’s the deal with Maggie?” he asked.
“Private phone call, I guess. Should I buzz her to be at the rubber meeting?”
“Stop calling it that, would you? It’s a condom client, for God’s sake. You make it sound like we’re practicing safe sex in the conference room. No, don’t bother her. Let’s assume she looks at her day planner.”
Deirdre walked away but Gary lingered outside Maggie’s door. Ever since that frog came into her life, she’s been acting strange. Even Darla said as much at breakfast today.
Gary frowned at the closed door. She spent hours in the office ladies room messing with her hair, where she never used to care all that much before. She was never available for lunch any more. He grimaced. Probably because she’s running home for lunch sex or something equally as unbalanced.
That was it. The whole situation was unbalanced. Out of kilter. Gary was determined that before he left the country he would make sure Maggie wasn’t racing full-tilt down the road to sure destruction and heartbreak, as she currently was.
Unfortunately, giving her the real story about her hulking Franco boyfriend was the only way to do that. Sure, she’d be mad at first when he told her what he’d seen the night of the dinner party. But eventually she’d realize how foolish she’d been. It might take awhile, but he knew eventually she’d thank him for it.
He paused for a moment to imagine what she’d say when he told her about the prison tat on Laurent’s left bicep he’d recognized peeking out of Dernier’s shirt.
“Gary?”
He turned, embarrassed at what he must have looked like, staring at Maggie’s closed door as if he were going to use mind powers to open it. Patti stood in the hallway, her laptop tucked under one arm.
“You okay?”
He blushed. He had successfully avoided seeing her alone for four straight days. He wasn’t proud of it, but there it was.
“Oh, hey, Patti. I must look like an idiot just standing here in the hallway.”
“We’ve all been there. Half the time I go into the supply room I have to ask myself, now why did I come in here?”
“Exactly! Yes. Thank you.”
“I just wanted to say…”
No, no, no! Can. Not. Deal. With. This.
“…that I’m sorry about some stuff I said the other day. I feel like an idiot, and if you can rewind the memory tapes on that afternoon, I’d appreciate it.”
“Oh, sure, Patti. Hey, good metaphor. Memory tapes. You know, for a media buyer? Anyway, of course. Hey, how about that client win, huh? Pretty exciting.”
“Really exciting,” she said, smiling.
Unless he was badly mistaken, Gary could tell Patti was just as relieved as he was to be out from under what had been said that day.