The New Year's Wish (4 page)

Gracie bounced up and down on the chair. “I want to. I want to. That's the biggest dog I ever saw. And he's so cute.”

Olivia laughed. “And he's a real sweetheart, too. Come on, let's go trick-or-treating.”

“Listen.” Garrett stopped her before she reached the door. “Why don't I pick you up for the party tonight?”

“Sure.” Olivia blushed. “Will Gracie be with you?”

“No.” Garrett clenched his teeth. The fact that the Harrises expected everyone to attend their holiday parties but didn't allow them to bring their families was a sore subject with him. “The Harrises don't allow children to attend their parties.”

Shock, then indignation, crossed Olivia's face. “Hmmm . . . well . . . that'll be changing at the next Harris event,” she said, her eyes sparking fire. She followed Gracie out into the hall.

His gaze lingered, the sway of her hips enticing. Heat flared in his cheeks, and he turned back to the phone call he'd been about to make. It only took him a minute or so to remember whom he'd been about to call.

FIVE

“W
HAT DO YOU STILL
have left to do before we can get out of here?” Olivia rolled her shoulders to relieve some of the stiffness. She'd enjoyed working with Garrett these past few weeks, but the hours they'd been putting in lately were exhausting.

Garrett lifted his head and massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I don't even know at this point.” He raked his hand through his hair and sorted through the folders spread out across the desk.

“Well . . .” Olivia stacked the folders neatly. “I don't think there's anything here that can't wait. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I doubt anyone will expect—”

“Damn!” Garrett glanced at his watch. “I can't believe this.” He pulled a plastic bag from the bottom drawer of his desk and tossed it onto the desk as he stood.

“What's wrong?”

“I forgot to drop my shirt at the cleaners. I wanted to sort through this all once more and make sure there was nothing pressing before I left for the holiday, but I'll never make it if I don't leave now.” He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and pressed the intercom. “Jill, has anyone dropped off the file for the Carter divorce yet?”

“Not yet. Carol just ran over to Ms. Harris' office to pick it up. It should only take a few minutes.”

“All right. Please send her in as soon as she gets back.”

“Can't you drop the shirt off on Friday?” Olivia studied him as he tried to organize the chaos scattered over the desk.

“I need it for tomorrow. The dry cleaner over on Third Avenue is open for a couple hours in the morning, and the owner said he'd get it done if I got there before they closed today.”

She grabbed her cell phone and checked the time. “It's four thirty now.”

“I know what time it is.” He reached to press the intercom button again, and Olivia placed her hand over his. He looked up, his eyes wide, and blew out a pent-up breath. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you.”

She resisted the urge to squeeze his hand, then pulled her own back and struggled to catch her breath. Fire burned through her hand from holding it against his.
I'
ll never wash this hand again.
She started to laugh even as the corny line flitted through her mind.
I must be more overtired than I thought. It's definitely time to get out of here.
She looked away and tried to rein in her thoughts and subdue the tingle that coursed through her every time they accidentally brushed against one another.

They'd developed somewhat of a casual friendship over the past month. He'd even flirted with her a few times. She definitely got the impression he was interested, but to her dismay he never took the next step.

“Don't worry about it. Why don't I run and drop the shirt off for you? This way, you can go over the files one last time and wait for Carol to get back.” Once Carol started chatting with someone, it was a good bet she'd be gone for a while. And Carol always found someone to chat with.

“You really wouldn't mind?”

Garrett looked to Olivia, his gaze searching her face for . . . something. He must have found the answer he was looking for, because he nodded and turned back to his desk. “Thank you so much, Olivia. I really appreciate this. Don't worry about coming back. I'm going to get out of here as soon as I check through these once more.”

“You sure?” Though she was looking forward to the holiday and the four-day weekend, she never minded hanging out with Garrett a little longer.

“Positive. Have a happy Thanksgiving.” He leaned toward her almost imperceptibly.

She inhaled deeply. His musky aftershave invaded her senses. She wanted to breathe in again, but the breath she'd already taken had frozen in her lungs. Maybe it was her body's way of holding on to the lingering scent. She pressed a hand to her chest in an effort to keep her heart from jumping out.

“You okay?”

She jumped, startled. “Uhhh . . .”

His eyebrows drew together in a quizzical look, and he held the plastic bag out toward her.

“Sorry, I was just trying to remember what else I have to do on my way home.” She forced a smile and turned away from him.

“No problem, I know just how you feel.”

Somehow, I really doubt that.

She shoved the plastic bag with Garrett's shirt into her bag and hefted it over her shoulder. “Enjoy your Thanksgiving, Garrett.”

She turned and walked out the door into the reception area. She'd almost passed Jill's desk completely before she hesitated. “Good night, Jill.”

Jill looked up and simply nodded.

“Have a happy Thanksgiving.” She took two steps before she paused again, glanced over her shoulder, and met Jill's confused gaze. “I can't believe it's Thanksgiving already. Who'd have thought I'd be here that long?”

Jill's face flushed red, though whether it was from embarrassment or anger, Olivia couldn't tell.

“OH NO!” OLIVIA SHOT
out of bed, caught her foot in a blanket, and went down in a tangled heap on the floor. “This can't be happening.” Wrestling the blanket from around her foot, she pulled up on the nightstand, grabbed the alarm clock in both hands, and prayed fervently for the numbers to turn backward. Three in the morning. “What am I going to do?”

Barney cocked his head from where he lay on his bed in the corner.

Okay. Take a deep breath. Whining is not going to solve this.

She slammed the clock down and stumbled to the living room.
Where did I put it?
She'd stopped at Starbucks on the way home, run into an old friend, and ended up hanging out for a while. She had planned to do a quick stop at home to let Barney out and then head back to Garrett's dry cleaners.

She would have remembered, too, if she hadn't gotten caught up with that stupid New Year's Eve party. Trying to put together something that elaborate on such short notice had proved to be nearly impossible. For her anyway. That's why she'd called George at Cresthollow Country Club. George would take care of everything. It was the least he could do after stealing her fiancé. At least that's what she told him.

She almost smiled at his response before reality intruded. Relieved the party was in good hands, she'd finally relaxed, and before she knew it, her eyes were closing during a rerun of
Friends
and she'd fallen asleep.

Ugh . . . why am I always so scatterbrained? It's not like I don't try to be responsible.

She returned to her search.
I had my bag when I came in. At least, I'm pretty sure I did. Could I have left it in the car?
She moved around the couch and her foot caught on a familiar leather handle.
Oh, thank you.
She ripped the bag from beneath the coffee table, shoved her hand into it, and pulled out the plastic bag containing Garrett's shirt.

A pang of guilt assailed her insides, turning her stomach. “Okay. It's not as bad as it seems. I'm sure he probably has other shirts. Right?” She waited patiently for Barney to answer while she wracked her brain for a solution. “A lot of help you are, mister.”

Then a thought struck her. There had to be an all-night cleaners. There was an all-night everything. She flopped onto the couch, propped her feet on the table, and yanked her computer onto her lap. A quick search told her there were none. “Ugh . . .” Frustration beat at her and she pressed her fists to her eyes, imagining Garrett running to the dry cleaner's in the morning and being met with a blank stare when he asked for his shirt. Garrett had trusted her to do this and she'd screwed it up. Why did she always mess everything up? It wasn't like she didn't try to do things right. She did. A weight on her leg had her lifting her gaze and staring into Barney's soulful eyes. She heaved in a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh and reaching to pet Barney's head. A tear dripped down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away and pushed up from the couch.

“Come on, boy. Let's see if we can fix this.” She grabbed the shirt from where she'd tossed it onto the couch, quickly glanced at the tag, and headed for the kitchen. “Okay, it says dry-clean only.” Barney's nails clicked against the hardwood as he trailed after her. “But they probably just put that because it's the best way to clean it. It's not like it's the
only
way to clean it. I mean, you go out in the rain and your shirt gets wet. Nothing happens to it, right?”

Barney sat beside his bowl, looking hopeful.

“Not now. You'll eat later.”

He whined.

She lowered the shirt to stare at him. “Can't you see I'm having a crisis here?”

He held her stare for an instant, snorted, then dropped down onto the floor and rested his head on his paws. She shrugged and figured past experience had told him this could take a while.

She pulled open the door to the small laundry room and paused for a split second, briefly contemplating washing the shirt by hand. Ignoring her concerns, she lifted the cover of the washing machine and tossed in the shirt. When it was done, she'd hang it to dry and then iron it. He'd never know the difference. She'd just call him in a few hours and offer to drop the shirt off, instead of letting him pick it up at the cleaners. She set the cycle for
delicate
and turned to Barney. “All right, boy. We're not going for a walk at four in the morning, so you may as well go back to sleep.”

Barney popped up and wagged his tail.

“Come on, let's go sit down and wait for this to finish. It shouldn't take long.”
It'll be fine.

She glanced at the coffeepot, which wouldn't start automatically for another two hours, hit the
on
switch, and went to sit on the couch while it brewed. After a few minutes searching for the remote, she finally found it buried between two cushions and flipped on the TV. An old sitcom was on. She pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and curled into the corner of the couch to wait. Maybe she would just close her eyes for a minute . . .

Olivia yawned and rolled over. Something cold and wet nudged her cheek. She opened one eye and then squinted it shut against the sunlight streaming through the sheer curtains. “Ugh . . .”

Barney nudged her face again.

“What? Can't you see I'm sleeping?”

A noise from the other room caught her attention, niggled at the back of her mind, then jarred her awake.
I can't even believe this.
She glanced at the time on the cable box, tossed the afghan aside, and ran for the washing machine. With no idea what time Garrett would head out to the cleaners, she tossed the shirt into the dryer, turned it on high, and headed for the bathroom. She would take a quick shower and get ready. By then the shirt should be dry and she'd be able to head him off, if she ran.

Okay, I have this under control.
Without even waiting for the water to get warm, she jumped in, soaped up, rinsed off, and jumped out. She tugged a brush through the tangles in her hair, and after a little blush, mascara, and eyeliner, she was ready to leave. She dumped some food into Barney's bowl and grabbed the leash. One uneventful five-minute walk later and she was ready to run out.
Yes!
She poured a lukewarm cup of coffee, took a sip, threw her bag over her shoulder, grabbed the shirt from the dryer, and . . . froze.

“Oh no. No no no. Please tell me this isn't happening.” Barney yelped and tilted his head. She lifted the shirt to eye level, turned it, and squinted to bring it into better focus. Nope. There was no way to deny it. The shirt was a mess. It had shriveled up into a wrinkled ball about three sizes smaller than it had been when she started.
Now what?
She huffed out a breath and threw the offending piece of clothing onto the dryer.
Great.
She pressed her fists to her eyes.

Without looking back, she grabbed her keys and the ruined shirt, and stormed out the door.
There has to be a way to fix this. Thin
k, Liv, think.
She ran to the corner and lifted her hand for a cab.

“Where to, miss?” The driver started the meter and pulled out into traffic without even glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

She rattled off the address she'd seen a million times in Garrett's e-mails and hoped it was his home. Pulling out her phone, she did a search for nearby stores that might be open Thanksgiving morning. She scrolled through store after store, checking the holiday hours and dismissing one after another as closed, before finally finding one that was open. Davenport's. She called the number, just to be sure, and a recorded voice told her they'd open at nine. Unfortunately, the cleaners opened at eight. If Garrett left to pick up the shirt before she could intercept him—she shuddered.