“You looked angry, Nick. I figured you hated me and nothing would change that, certainly not an overdue apology.”
She wanted him to say that he didn’t hate her, that he could never hate her, but he remained silent. She walked out to the porch. He shut the door behind them.
Lisa glanced at the oak tree, not sure she was pleased or disturbed to see that the robin had once again taken flight. “He’s gone,” she murmured.
“He probably realized he had the wrong house, the wrong tree, the wrong yard.”
“Probably,” Lisa agreed, deciding that the robins were another topic better left alone.
“So what happens now?” Nick asked.
“Now?” She thought for a moment. “Now, we pick up Maggie’s kids and deal with the rest of the day and tomorrow.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. I’m going back to L.A. as soon as Maggie gets home.”
“To get married.”
“Among other things. I have a job, an apartment, friends.”
He crossed his arms as he leaned against one of the pillars of the porch. “Yeah, me too.”
“That’s good. Are you still doing construction?”
Nick hesitated. “Of a sort. You wouldn’t be interested.”
Lisa felt as if he’d shut a door between them, and it felt strange because it was the first time he’d closed the door. She’d always been the one to draw the line of privacy, of what was personal, of what could be shared. Nick had always been an open book—until now. He had changed. The thought made her feel sad.
Nick had always been an optimist, expecting the best, living his life in the clouds of idealism and hope. When the bad news had struck, she’d been prepared, because she always expected the worst. Nick had fallen much further and much harder. If she’d wanted to, she might have been able to catch him, or at least to break his fall. Instead she’d let him crash and burn, wanting company in her misery, wanting to punish him, because he was the one who’d convinced her to believe in happily ever after. As Lisa turned toward the car, she vowed she would never make that mistake again.
“Is it really possible to lose weight by hanging upside down?” Maggie asked, jogging to keep up with Rocco as he moved briskly through what he referred to as the Cardiovascular Club. Gauging the amount of sweat pouring off the bodies of the men and women using the machines, Maggie wasn’t sure it was a club she wanted to join.
A stunning woman walked past her in a bright purple bra and bicycle shorts, and Maggie realized the club results were impressive. For a moment, she wondered if the woman was Serena, but a man called out “Lucy” and the woman waved. Maggie felt enormous relief that the gorgeous blond was not Serena.
“Every machine works on a specific part of your body,” Rocco said.
“That particular one improves circulation. We have machines to trim and tighten your calves, thighs, abs, quads, biceps, breasts. You name it, we can do it.”
“How about my big toe? It sort of curves to the left. Can you do anything about that?”
Rocco didn’t find her question the least bit amusing. “We’re going to start you on the treadmill. Warm up with a slow walk for two minutes, a faster walk for five minutes, then jog for ten minutes and cool down for three.” He checked his watch, inserted the key into the treadmill, and turned it on.
Maggie looked down at the fast-moving belt and wondered what he considered a slow walk.
“Let’s go,” he said impatiently.
“How do I get on it?”
“You straddle the belt, like so,” he demonstrated, “then hop on.”
Maggie eyed him doubtfully but figured he knew what he was talking about. She jumped on, feeling the belt take off without her. It took her a full minute to realize she was in fact only walking. She felt better. She could do this. Five minutes later, she realized it would not be that easy.
Rocco kept turning up the speed until she wasn’t jogging—she was running the fifty yard dash with the other Olympic hopefuls, only the finish line kept moving farther away. With her breath coming in deep, clutching gasps, Rocco finally slowed down the machine until she could walk.
“Let’s see,” Rocco said, checking the stats on the machine. “If you’d continued at that speed, you would have done a mile in twelve minutes. Is that your usual pace?”
Twelve minutes? Hardly world record time, she realized. “I think I run faster outside.”
Rocco sent her a skeptical look. “Now that you’re warmed up, let’s try the Stair Master
Stairmaster? She was ready for the Jacuzzi. Before Maggie could protest, Rocco had moved over to the stepping machine.
“This is a great workout for the entire body. Hop on, I’ll show you how it works.” He punched several buttons on a computer monitor at the top of the machine. “This will measure your speed, level of stairs, your heart rate and how many calories you’re burning per hour.”
“Great,” Maggie said faintly, realizing he wanted her to get on. Before she did, she had to ask one important question. “Rocco, do you know Serena Hollingsworth?”
He smiled, a big toothy grin. “Sure, everyone knows Serena.”
Lisa didn’t like the sound of that.
“Is she here? I’d like to see her.”
“She’s around. Why? Are you a friend?” He laughed. “Or the other woman?”
“What do you mean by that?” Maggie asked sharply.
“Nothing. Nothing. It’s just that the last woman who asked for Serena wanted to blacken both of her eyes.”
“Why?”Rocco shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. I mind my own business. It’s healthier.”
“Well, I’m not interested in beating up Serena. I just want to talk to her. We have a mutual friend. If you see her, could you point her out to me?”
“Sure. Hop on.”
Maggie sighed and got on the Stair Master Within ten minutes her leg muscles were burning, but Rocco continued to check her vital signs, telling her she was okay and to “work it, baby, work it.” She would have told him not to call her baby, but at the moment oxygen was too precious to waste.
Finally, Rocco signaled that she could slow down and get off. While he was making notes on his clipboard, she leaned against the Stair Master pole and prayed that she could make it through the day without having a heart attack or throwing up all over Rocco’s very expensive tennis shoes.
“Crystal? Crystal?”
Maggie heard the man calling out to Crystal but didn’t realize he was speaking to her until his hand came down on her shoulder.
Her head bounced up at his touch, and she was shocked to find herself looking into the amused eyes of Jeremy Hunt. “Crystal?”
“Oh, hi,” she said. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Because that’s not your name.” He grinned.
She licked her lips. “Of course, it is.”
“Ms. Scott, are you ready to continue?” Rocco asked, “don’t want you to cool down.”
“God forbid,” she replied, turning back to Jeremy. “I’m doing the one-day makeover special.”
“Have you caught up with Serena?” Jeremy asked, just saw her in the weight room. I told her you were looking for her. She didn’t seem to remember you from the description I gave her.”
“It’s been awhile since we’ve seen each other.”
“Really?”
He knew she was lying; she didn’t know how he’d figure dit out, except that she was a terrible liar. “I better keep moving,” she said. “I don’t want to cool down, right Rocky? I mean Rocco,” she said as the brute next to her scowled.
“Stallone’s a wimp. Don’t make that mistake again.” “I won’t,” she hurriedly promised.
“Good. Let’s move on to the weights.”
Maggie saw Jeremy studying her with the same interest, the same intensity she’d noted before. A tingle ran down her spine, as his regard once again made her feel feminine. It probably had something to do with the colorful leotard she had on. She hadn’t worn anything so sexy or revealing in a long time, and although she had more curves than most of the women in the spa, she didn’t look as bad as she’d expected to look. All the anxiety and stress of the past few weeks had actually helped her take off a few pounds.
Maggie cleared her throat, realizing she and Jeremy were still staring at each other. “Well, goodbye.”
“I have a feeling we’ll see each other again.”
“You do?” she asked, feeling flattered and nervous. She could handle a few one-liners of flirtatious chitchat, but anything more and she’d be way out of her depth.
“I do.” He grabbed her hand as she turned to follow Rocco into the next room. His fingers twisted around her small half-carat diamond ring, the one Keith had bought for her when they were young and poor and madly in love. “Is this still good?”
“You mean is it past its expiration date?” Maggie quipped, trying not to take his question too seriously.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“I don’t ask married women to have coffee with me after their workout.”
“Are you going to ask me?”
“That depends? Does the ring still fit?”
Maggie hesitated. She had a feeling she would regret her answer.
Chapter 8
Raymond knew he would regret bringing Beverly to the party. He just hadn’t expected to feel so stupid quite so soon. Since walking through the front doors of the large, elegant mansion in Beverly Hills, Raymond had felt like he was following Beverly’s bread crumbs. In every room he encountered people who had just been charmed by Beverly. He couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to let her walk into the party first. What had he been thinking?
Shaking his head in disgust, Raymond grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter in the sunroom and walked out onto the redwood deck, where he found the main thrust of the party in the gardens and pool area. A live band played mariachi music, Monty’s favorite. Raymond made a mental note to ask Elisabeth how they could tie Monty’s love of mariachi music into the campaign.
Funny, he rarely thought of Elisabeth’s Mexican heritage. She never mentioned it. In fact, she often seemed uncomfortable with the whole thing. He didn’t know why. He supposed he could ask.
His thoughts changed direction as he paused by the fountain to watch the interplay between Beverly and Monty Friedman. Monty was a short, somewhat balding man in his midfifties. He had risen from nothing to run a very big company, but despite his obvious trappings of success there was still a bit of street toughness about Monty. At the moment, though he was smiling broadly, charmed or at least intrigued by Beverly’s conversation.
Raymond frowned. If only he’d brought Elisabeth. She would have stolen Monty right out from under Beverly. Youth and looks always beat out age and experience. He’d learned that lesson years ago when he’d managed to snatch the vice presidency from the hands of a man thirty years his senior.
The president of his company had told him that fresh blood and burning ambition had gotten Raymond the job. At the time, Raymond had felt nothing for the man he’d beaten, the one who’d spent twenty years of his life plodding his way slowly up the ladder only to have it snatched out from under him by a young hotshot.
Raymond wouldn’t let some kid take anything from him, now that the positions were reversed. No, he could still compete with the best of them. He had the same drive, the same hunger, the same thirst as any young stud. In fact, he was damn thirsty. Raymond moved over to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic.
As he reached into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a ten dollar bill, Raymond suddenly realized his hands looked old, weathered, wrinkled. There were even a few sun spots. The thought, the fear that he was getting old made his hand tremble, and the bill dropped to the ground.
“I’ll get that for you, sir,” the waiter said with impressive eagerness, hustling out from behind the bar before Raymond could bend over. “There you go, sir,” he said, obviously hoping for a big tip.
Raymond scowled at the man’s young face, his flat stomach, his long, gangly limbs, the compassion in his eyes. Damn that kid for treating him like a sick old man who couldn’t even bend over. He was in peak condition, and if Elisabeth had been on his arm, the kid would have been looking at him with admiration, not treating him like someone’s father.
The waiter handed Raymond his drink. Raymond took his change, then dropped two quarters into the glass on the counter and wandered back to the edge of the terrace. He paused by one of the many buffet tables that were being set up and helped himself to fresh shrimp and cocktail sauce. Then he headed for Monty. Beverly had had him on her own long enough.
“Raymond, hello. I was wondering where you were,” Monty said.
“I’d shake your hand, but…”
“No, no. Enjoy yourself. By the way, Beverly tells me you’re getting married in a few weeks,” Monty said. “Congratulations.”
Raymond smiled, feeling as if he’d been sucker-punched. Not that his wedding was a secret. In fact, he’d planned on inviting Monty, but he had a feeling Beverly had presented the upcoming nuptials in a light that wouldn’t be advantageous to him. In fact, a quick glance in her direction revealed a pair of sparkling eyes. Beverly looked quite pleased with herself.
“I hope you won’t be too busy to put together your proposal. I know how weddings are,” Monty said.
“It’s all taken care of,” Raymond explained. “We have a wonderful consultant who is handling all of the details. Elisabeth and I just have to show up.”
“Where is Elisabeth? I thought you were bringing her with you today. She is your top copywriter, isn’t she?”
“Yes, Elisabeth is a senior account executive and my best copywriter. Fresh, original, unique—”
“Young,” Beverly interjected with a pleasant smile.
“Which is an advantage,” Raymond continued. “She’s much closer to the age of our target audience than Beverly or myself.” He turned to Monty. “That’s one of the benefits of my firm, Monty. We have depth and breadth of experience, the right person for every job.”
“It’s too bad Elisabeth couldn’t come today,” Beverly said. “She’s visiting a friend, right?”
“A sick friend,” Raymond said, noting the speculative look in Monty’s
eyes. He knew Monty considered his business to be valuable enough to put all other commitments aside. “It was an emergency.”
“It’s nice of Elisabeth to be so caring to a sick friend,” Beverly said. “I’ve probably lost a lot of my friends because I always put business first.” She took a sip of her champagne and offered Raymond a triumphant smile.
Damn, she was good, turning every positive into a negative. Maybe he should have promoted her all those years ago, then she wouldn’t be here today stabbing him in the back.
“I’m sure Monty appreciates loyalty,” Raymond said.
The other man nodded. “Of course.” He smiled broadly. “As long as it’s loyalty to me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll get some food. By the way, we’re serving prime rib, and while the meat is exceptionally tender, the knives are especially sharp.” His eyes twinkled. “Fair warning to both of you.”
“You’re making a fool of yourself,” Raymond said as Monty left him alone with Beverly.
“I don’t think so,” Beverly said. “By the way, I won’t need a ride home after all. Monty and I are going to have a quiet drink after the party is over.”
“The hell you are. I brought you to this party, and I’ll take you home.”
“You’re not invited, Raymond.”
“And you are? I don’t think so. What are you planning to do, hang out until everyone leaves, then tell Monty your ride left without you?”
Beverly smiled and put a hand through his arm. “Not a bad plan, is it?”
“I’ve got a better one.” He tipped his plate so that his shrimp cocktail sauce dripped down the front of her cream colored linen suit.
Beverly gasped in horror. “Raymond, how could you?”
He stared at the stain in bemusement, not quite certain what had possessed him to act in such a desperate manner. But now that he’d done it, he might as well use it to his advantage. “Damn, I’m sorry.
Listen, I’ll take you home right now so you can change. We can slip out the back. No one will have to see you.”
She frowned at him. “That was a dirty trick.”
“You’re the one who said no ground rules.”
“I thought you’d learned some finesse in your old age,” she said, dabbing at the sauce with her napkin, which only made her look like she was bleeding all over her suit. “This is awful.”
Raymond smiled, realizing he felt younger at this very moment than he had in a long time. “It looks pretty bad all right. I’ll buy you a new dress.”
“You’re damn right you will, and it will cost you a pretty penny. Count on it.”
“Come on, let’s go.” Raymond took her hand, but she shook it free, so she could wave her finger in his face.
“I’ll tell you one thing, Raymond, darling, you may have won this battle, but the war is not over yet. Not by a long shot.”
Raymond felt a rush of excitement at her words. He hadn’t felt so energized in a long time. “I like a good fight. Just don’t expect to end up on top.”
She smiled at his choice of words, and her finger suddenly drifted down the side of his face in a caress. “I always end up on top, Raymond. And trust me, when it happens to you, you’ll love every second of it.”
“Don’t you love that burn? Is it the most incredible feeling you’ve ever had in your life?” Rocco asked Maggie, his square face glowing with almost orgasmic pleasure, as he pushed the pin into the next weight level and ordered her to do ten more repetitions.
“I’m not sure I can stand this much pleasure,” Maggie said, feeling her calf muscles catch fire. “If I get any hotter, you may have to call the fire department.”
“You can do it. Focus. Concentrate. Mind over body. You have to want it. Want it. Want it,” he chanted.
Maggie finished the last repetition and laid back on the bench. “I’m done. ”
“Hardly We haven’t even begun to do your arms yet,” Rocco said, extending her a hand.
Reluctantly, she took it and sat up, gazing around the weight room as she did so. There were four men and three other women working out. “Is one of those women Serena, by any chance?”
Rocco glanced around the room, then shook his head. “Nope. She’s probably in the mud room or the sauna.”
“Why don’t I do the mud now and skip the arms?” Maggie suggested. “I really want to catch Serena before she leaves.”
“We’ve got to do the machines in order, Ms. Scott, otherwise you’ll be lopsided.”
Maggie had news for him. She was already lopsided. She’d had three children, for God’s sake.
Rocco didn’t wait for an argument. He simply led her over to the next set of machines and prepared to torture her for another hour.
Maggie occasionally caught glimpses of Jeremy Hunt as he went through his own workout. She had to admit the man had an incredible body.
Long, muscular legs, a flat stomach, a broad chest and a nice tan.
Besides his great physique, his hair was incredibly thick and wavy, his eyes a nice, nice shade of brown. And he had a sexy smile, the kind of smile she’d often longed to see on her husband’s face. But then Keith had not been the stuff of which romantic heroes are made.
Keith hadn’t been fat, but he hadn’t put much store by exercise unless it involved throwing a ball of some sort. He usually burned instead of tanned, and his hair had thinned considerably the last few years, leaving a rather large bald spot on the back of his head.
She smiled fondly at the memory. Keith hadn’t been a Greek god, but he hadn’t been ugly either. And she’d loved him for far more than his physical appearance. He had been a good, honest and kind man, and she’d always admired his superb intelligence. Plus, he had a bit of an adventurous streak. He’d always loved reading mystery novels and solving puzzles He’d even taken her to one of those “murder” dinners where the guests had to solve the mystery of who was the killer among them. She remembered his zeal in tracking down clues, his imagination that led them down a hallway no one else had suspected was there.
Of course, she’d matched him in the imagination part. It was the logical reasoning where he had shined. He didn’t just imagine things, he planned them out with the precision of an algebraic equation.
Maggie wished he was here now so he could solve this puzzle. Only there wouldn’t be a puzzle if he was still here. With a sigh, she turned her attention to Rocco.
“Looks like we’re done here, Ms. Scott,” he said. “It’s time for your sauna.”
“You mean I get to sit in a hot room and sweat.” She laughed. “I never thought the day would come when that would sound appealing.”
“Lara will take over from here.” Rocco motioned to the young woman Maggie had met in the reception area. “She’ll show you the rest of our facilities and lead you on to the Jacuzzi and mud room, and whatever else you’d like to experience.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
His head swung around. “Oh, there goes Serena now.”
Maggie tried to see where he was pointing, but Lara stepped in front of her and all she caught was a glimpse of a hot pink T-shirt.
“Are you ready to try the sauna, Ms. Scott?” Lara asked.
“No, I want to find Serena.”
“Serena Hollingsworth?” Lara checked her watch. “Serena is on her way to start a tennis match. I doubt she’ll have time to talk right now. It’s a club tournament, and she’s serious about her tennis.”
Maggie sighed. “Okay, I’ll take the sauna and get dressed. Maybe Serena will be done by then.”
“They usually play for about an hour and a half, then they have drinks.” Lara led her into the women’s locker room. “I didn’t realize you were a friend of Serena’s,” she said as she opened the door.
“Although Serena sends us lots of her friends. Of course, they’re usually male,” she said with a small laugh.
Maggie’s suspicious antenna immediately went up. “Male?”
“That’s right. Serena says she meets a lot of men in her business.”
“What business would that be?”
Lara shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s not a good idea to ask questions of people who have a lot of money—especially gorgeous single women, if you know what I mean. Judging by her jewelry, I’d say whatever Serena does is very lucrative.”
Maggie’s imagination took those few words and shot ahead. Good heavens! Was Lara implying that Serena was a hooker, a call girl, a professional? No. There were dozens of other ways gorgeous young women could make money in L.A. She was reading into an innocent comment. At least she hoped she was.
An hour and a half later, Maggie ran out of the locker room and straight into the arms of Jeremy Hunt. Her stomach clenched, a shiver ran down her spine, and all the man had done was stop her from falling.
Lord, she was pathetic. “Steady,” he said, releasing her.
Maggie felt ridiculously disappointed when he let her go, but she tried not to show it. “Sorry, I didn’t see you. I guess I should look where I’m going.”
“You look great,” he said, studying her freshly scrubbed face, her shampooed hair, the slight blush she’d applied to her cheekbones.
“Really?” She self consciously patted down her hair. She hadn’t gotten it cut, but Lara had styled it away from her face in soft curls, and after being worked out, sweated, pummeled, soaked, dried, and finally made up, she felt like a new person.