I stared out the window and refused to answer.
“Shit,” Luc spat savagely. He honked and swerved around a slow car.
Yikes. “Did you know one hundred fourteen people die each day in car accidents? In the U.S., that is.”
“I don’t get you.” He shook his head. “You work so hard to save money, and then the second your dad comes around, you let him con you into giving it to him.”
I started to make a clever retort, but Luc gunned it on a yellow light (which turned to red) so I clutched the door handle for dear life instead.
“What was it this time? Blackjack? Or is poker still his game of choice?”
I glared at him. “Are you finished?”
“No.”
But he didn’t say another word. Not as he tried to get us killed through the steep San Francisco streets, not when he pulled in front of my building, and not when he got out of the car to get my bags out of the trunk. He just handed them to me in angry silence and, before I was even done unlocking the first set of locks to the building, he’d torn off.
“Bastard,” I muttered as I lugged my bags up the four flights of stairs. What right did he have lecturing me on my relationship with my dad? It wasn’t like he had the most stellar track record with his. Did I ever lecture him? No.
Thankfully, Rainbow didn’t poke out to say hello as I let myself into my apartment. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with her excessive cheeriness and pleas for attention.
After I locked myself in, I went to my bedroom and dumped the contents of the bags on my bed. I organized everything into the proper piles. The count tallied to four pairs of pants, two skirts, nine tops (including two sweaters), and the red jacket.
I left everything where I’d folded them and put on the jacket.
Okay—I had to admit it. Even though I raised a fuss and didn’t want to have the new clothes, underneath it all there was a tiny spark of excitement. I hadn’t had anything new in so long.
Except for those pants that were so tight, I really liked the clothes. Luc chose well (as much as I hated to admit it)—most of the clothes were classic.
But the jacket ... The jacket was perfect—the way it fit as well as how it looked on. Going into the bathroom, I examined my reflection in the old hazy mirror. The color made my skin and eyes glow.
Suddenly I remembered a dress I tried on for the prom—red velvet. I’d wanted it so badly. I’d gone to the store every week to make sure it was still there. I even took Luc there to show it to him. He’d offered to buy it for me but I wanted to earn it myself. I worked extra hours babysitting but I’d had to use the money to pay for our electricity instead. Not that it mattered—my date ended up canceling on me anyway.
Funny—I couldn’t even dredge up my date’s name. I frowned in thought. He was on the basketball team with Luc, that much I remembered. At the time, I had my suspicions that Luc had put him up to asking me out. After all, why would a popular boy choose to take
me
to the prom?
Luc came over after he found out I’d been stood up. He dismissed any question of what he did with his date (Jenny Sheridan, the head cheerleader—
that
I remembered in vivid detail) and hung out with me the rest of the evening. He said he should have taken me himself.
But Luc didn’t count, because he was my friend before he was the most popular boy in school. Or maybe he counted more than anyone.
“Wonder if he remembers that dress,” I mumbled to my reflection. I stroked my hands down the front of the jacket.
Somehow, I was sure he did.
Chapter Eight
Lydia was too busy to meet with me Monday morning, which was a relief, to tell the truth. I hadn’t made a great amount of progress over the weekend. In fact, looking back, it’d been the most decadent weekend I’d had since I was seven and my dad took me to Las Vegas (we’d stayed at Circus Circus and I watched movies all weekend while he gambled away our rent for the next two months).
I closeted myself in my office and worked on finalizing the research on Easter for the chocolate account. I was tempted to lock the door—there was a lot of commotion going on this morning. But I didn’t. No one ever visited me. Not unless they forgot the brooms were in a new location.
And I didn’t want to talk to anyone anyway. I was still upset about the fight Luc and I had. I picked up the phone to call him a few times, but each time I set it back down. Once I even let it ring two times before I hung up.
I hated this people stuff. Facts were so much more straightforward. A fact was a fact. No guessing. No gray area. People were so complicated.
Around two o’clock, my phone buzzed, causing me to jump and knock my knees under the desk. I snatched it up before it made that obnoxious noise again. “Research. Kather—”
“There’s a delivery for you,” a voice interrupted. It sounded like an automated recording, but I knew it was the receptionist downstairs.
“A delivery?” I frowned. I hadn’t ordered anything. “Are you sure—”
“Please come get it.”
Dial tone.
I stared at the receiver. That was a little abrupt.
Resigned, I got up and headed down to get my so-called delivery. The last time I had a delivery, it was meant for Kathleen Murphy in accounting.
Taking the stairs (it’s been proven that exercise reduces anxiety and depression), I got to the lobby a few minutes later. I wouldn’t put it past the receptionist to decide to trash the package if I didn’t arrive within five minutes.
I saw the flowers the second I stepped out of the stairwell and wished
they
could be for me. The white roses were plump and dewy and numerous. There had to be two dozen. But they wouldn’t be mine—most likely Jupiter Communications had sent me some kind of promotional package.
“Hi.” I smiled at the receptionist. “You called me.”
She looked at me blankly. “And you are?”
I’d only worked here for almost eight years. You’d think she’d know me by now. “Katherine Murphy.”
She nodded at the flowers. Then she turned a little and said, “Good morning, Ashworth Communications,” into her headset.
I wrinkled my nose at the roses. They were gorgeous, but it was a mistake. No one sent me flowers. No one had ever even handed me flowers. I’d look at the card and end up having to take them to their real recipient.
In that case, might as well enjoy them while I could. I got on my tiptoes and took a deep breath. Wow, they smelled good. Like they’d been spritzed by perfume, because real flowers didn’t smell that good.
Like I’d know.
I lifted the card out of the arrangement. Odd—it said
Katherine Murphy
.
That was me.
Frowning, I opened it and pulled out the tiny ivory card (heavy stock, expensive stationary). I blinked. It was in Luc’s chicken scratch.
Don’t be angry at me for caring about you.
I looked at the flowers and then the note, and then the flowers again.
Luc sent me roses.
I grabbed the vase and scurried for the elevator before someone popped up and said there was a mistake and they weren’t really mine. I punched the elevator button for my floor until the doors closed and I was on my way back (fortunately there was no one in there to witness my insane behavior). I got to my office and closed the door, locking it this time. Setting the roses on my desk, I sat down and stared at them.
They were beautiful. So plump. That couldn’t be natural, could it? I grabbed a pad of sticky notes and jotted down a reminder to research how roses were manufactured.
Luc sent me roses.
I smelled them again and felt guilty for being such a bitch. Luc was right—he was only being a good friend. I mean, he shouldn’t have called my dad an asshole, even if my dad did take advantage of me. Still, he was just concerned about me.
And he bought me all those clothes and I just acted ungrateful.
I picked up the phone and dialed his home number.
“Hello?”
“I got the flowers.”
Silence. I could practically hear him thinking. “And?” he finally said.
“I should be sending you roses.
I
was the one who was out of line.”
“Yeah, you were a bitch, but I could have been more tactful.”
“So, um”—I pushed up my glasses—“does this mean we’re still friends?”
“Katherine Murphy, you’ll never be able to get rid of me. So don’t even try.”
All the tension I’d been feeling drained away. “You’re the best, Luc.” When all of this was over and I had my promotion I was going to do something really really nice for him.
“Remember that in half an hour, okay?”
I frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Just promise.”
Promise when I had a sneaking suspicion I wouldn’t like whatever he had planned? I think not. “Tell me what you’ve done.”
“No.”
“Luc—”
“Promise, Kat. Remember the roses.”
I gazed at them. I hated when he backed me into a corner. “Fine. I promise.”
“Good.” The delight in his voice set my teeth on edge. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
“I don’t know,” I said, feeling disgruntled. “I have to pad my list for Lydia and I only have a few more days—”
“To hell with that for an evening. Just come have dinner with me.” When I didn’t reply, he said, “It’s just one dinner. One evening is all I ask.”
“Okay.” I winced, thinking what a bad friend I was even though I’d resolved to be a better one.
“Wear a new outfit.” He hung up.
I set the receiver down and touched a silky petal. I loved having dinner with Luc. It made the guilt over the fact that I wouldn’t be working worth it.
But what was happening in half an hour?
I shuddered. Luc was capable of no end of mischief. There was one time in high school when he replaced all the formaldehyded frogs in biology with live ones. It still cracked me up thinking about how Jenny Sheridan, head cheerleader and class bitch, screamed when her frog ribbeted right as she was about to cut into it.
Somehow, I didn’t think whatever Luc had cooked up this time was going to crack me up. Instead of fretting the minutes away until whatever it was he did became apparent, I decided to immerse myself in work.
I didn’t get very far before my phone buzzed. I startled—again—and hit my knees in the exact same spot. Rubbing them, I picked it up. “Research. Ka—”
“You have a delivery.” Her voice was even more curt this time.
“Be—”
She hung up.
“—right down,” I finished needlessly.
I ran down for the second time, alternating between feeling eager and reluctant. It was kind of exciting, even if it could potentially be a frog.
I burst into the lobby and walked to the front desk. “You said there was a delivery for me.”
The receptionist looked at me. “And you are?”
Hello? Hadn’t we been through this before? “Katherine Murphy.”
She reached under the counter and pulled out a box. A big box. “Here.” She pushed it toward me and turned her back to attend to something that was obviously more important.
Being dismissed didn’t faze me this time. I had a package to deal with anyway.
More flowers? I shook it. Didn’t seem like it. Nor did it feel like a frog.
I picked it up gingerly. Holding it out from my body (no telling what was in it, and if it was something gooey I didn’t want it anywhere near my suit), I headed for the elevators.
A man stood there waiting. He eyed me and asked, “Going up?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
He continued to stare, even when an elevator arrived. He held the door open for me before walking in. “What floor?”
“Twelve, please.”
He grinned as he pressed the button. “The way you’re holding that box I’d almost think it was a bomb.”
I pursed my lips and studied the package. I wouldn’t put it past Luc. “Could be.”
Then I noticed his dimples. “Oh.” I stepped closer to find out what color eyes he had.
Blue.
Yes!
I gave him a real smile. “Do you work here?”
“No. Just visiting a friend.”
“A girl friend?”
“A guy friend.”
I felt the elation melt from my face.
He chuckled. “Not that type of guy friend.”
“Oh.” But before I got my hopes up again I glanced at his ring finger.
Sans ring.
Yes!
I smiled again. “How do you feel about the act of procreation?”
He grinned and leaned toward me. “I’m all for it.”
“Oh good,” I said, relieved.
The elevator pinged its arrival.
I frowned. My floor. But I wasn’t ready yet.
The doors slid open and I inched toward it. “Uh, I was, uh, wondering—”
“Let me give you my card.” He reached into his suit coat, pulled out a card carrier, and slipped a business card under the ribbon tied around my box. “I hope you call me.”
I had to be beaming as I backed out. “Oh, I will.”
I love this package,
I thought as I hurried to my office to record my impression of—I turned my head sideways to read the card—Pete Vondrigen. I loved Luc. If he hadn’t sent this to me I’d still be sitting in my office and I would never have acquired another man for my list.
My mind occupied with thoughts of my spreadsheet, I absently pulled the ribbon on the box and opened it. Mentally reordering the list in order of greatest sperm potential, I clawed through fluffy tissue until my hand hit the contents.
And I froze.
What the hell?
I pulled out a tiny pair of briefs.
At least I think they were briefs. They didn’t look like any Jockeys I’d ever seen. My underwear was white and functional. This was—well, brief.
“And see-through,” I murmured, holding it up to the light.
I laid it on my desk and took out another fistful, each of them as lacy and lacking in fabric as the one before. I looked inside and saw matching bras that made my own Hanes Her Ways look like old-woman foundation garments.
Then I found a card.
To go with your new clothes.
I studied one of the panties again and the light clicked. Of course—they sat low on your hips so you didn’t have to stuff your underwear into your pants. No bunching. Ingenious.
Another thought struck me.
Luc bought me underwear.
No, not underwear—lingerie.
He’d picked out every single panty.
I lifted a bra out of the box. He’d touched this.
I shivered. A decidedly pleasant shiver.
My door burst open and one of the girls from the mail room barged in. “Hey,” she said, tossing my mail on the desk in casual disregard like she did every day. The box caught her eye and she did a double take. “Holy shit! Did you get all that as a gift?”
“Yes, I did.” I think I sounded as bewildered as she did.
“Holy shit.” She shook her head. Then she noticed the roses. “Same guy?”
I nodded, feeling uncomfortable. I wanted to explain that it was just Luc, so it didn’t mean anything. I mean, he was just being thoughtful.
“Hot damn,” she said reverently. She picked up one of the panties. “I
love
Cosabella.”
Who knew she was lesbian? I wondered if Cosabella worked for AshComm too. Maybe I should set her up with Rebecca, the secretary from operations.
“This guy
likes
you.”
“Excuse me?” I pushed my glasses up to see her better.
She waved her hand over the box. “The guy who gave all this to you. He’s into you in a big way.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Yeah, he is. No guy buys a woman lingerie like this unless he’s
really
into her. The only kind of lingerie I’ve ever gotten is tacky crotchless Frederick’s of Hollywood shit.” She picked up a bra. “This guy bought you tasteful, functional lingerie. You can deduce that he cares about your comfort—”