Part-Time Fiance. Leigh Michaels
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the bird instructions to migrate.
“There’s a thought,” she mused. If Sam Wagner got to be too annoying, she could line his driveway with neon-colored pinwheels and park a painted plaster statue of a jockey next to the front door. But of course it wouldn’t be Sam who would have to take the nasty call from the complex manager, it would be Emma.
So much for a good idea.
Somehow, despite the rule about individualizing the town houses, Emma Ashford’s stood out as more personal than the units Delainey drove past on her way in and out of the complex. A potted pine tree covered with red bows stood off to the side of the front door, a holly wreath hung above the bell, and at her feet a welcome mat decorated with Santa’s face proclaimed “Welcome Ho-Ho-Home.”
Delainey rang the bell and sighed at the reminder that Christmas was only three weeks away. It wasn’t that she was a Scrooge, but exactly when was she going to find time to search out her few Christmas decorations, much less to put them up?
Emma ushered her inside, exclaimed over the roses, and went to put them in water. As Delainey waited for her to finish, she looked around. This town house was larger than her own, though the plan of the first floor was similar—basically one huge room divided into various living areas. The main difference was that the kitchen was separated by a wall rather than just a breakfast bar.
The overall impression was of vibrant color—an unusual combination of purple, lavender, and hunter green. Delainey was a little surprised, because the brilliant colors didn’t quite seem Emma’s style. She would have expected old-fashioned floral chintz that had faded gently over time until only the softest tones were left. But hadn’t Emma said something about not having lived at White Oaks long herself? Maybe she’d gone for all new furniture when she moved.
Considering the welcome mat and the wreath outside, she was also startled that there was no Christmas tree to be seen. But perhaps Emma was a purist about having a live tree and was just waiting till closer to the holiday to put it up.
On the back of a wing chair near the fireplace, a seal-point Siamese cat yawned and sat up, and deep blue eyes inspected Delainey from head to toe. “Well, hello there,” she said, holding out a hand for the cat to sniff.
Sam came down the stairs in the worn leather jacket with a helmet under his arm. “I see you’ve already met the Empress,” he said.
“Is that her name?”
“Not even close. Her official name is some long, involved, incredibly complicated mix of Oriental-sounding vowels. I gave up on it a long time ago, and she’s just been the Empress ever since. Was Gran suitably impressed with the flowers?”
“She seemed to like them.”
“I still think you should have given them to me instead. She gets flowers all the time, so it doesn’t have the same impact on her as it would on me.”
“That,” Emma said from the doorway, “is nothing more than slander. I adore roses and these are particularly lovely ones. And they’re always more fun when they’re a surprise.”
“As they are this time, because you didn’t do anything to earn them.” Sam grinned at her. “I was the one working my head off while you were over at the clubhouse going no trump and letting the manager wait on you hand and foot.”
“He’s very nice to us,” Emma admitted. “Have you met the manager, Delainey?”
“Not yet. In fact, I’ve never been in the mansion. I was so short of time the day I looked at the town house that I didn’t get any further.”
“Well, you definitely need to do something about that,” Emma said. “The mansion is one of the best features of the whole complex—it has a little of everything. Are you going out, Sam?”
“I’m not just polishing my helmet, Gran.”
“Well, have a good time,” Emma said.
Delainey watched as Sam set the helmet on his head. “You ride a motorcycle? Wait a minute—then why were you so fussed yesterday about the moving van blocking the drive? You could have gotten past it easily.”
“On the motorcycle, yes. But I was putting Gran’s car away.” He fastened the chin strap and tightened it.
“Where were we?” Emma asked. “Oh, yes—the clubhouse facilities. You should go over for dinner, at least, Delainey.”
“It wouldn’t be much fun to go alone,” Delainey said. “Perhaps you’ll be my guest.”
“She gets flowers and dinner?” Sam muttered.
Though he sounded hurt, Delainey was willing to bet he was trying to smother amusement instead of woe.
Emma shot a disapproving look at him. “The boy has no manners, of course—but he’s right. He did do all the work.”
Now there was no question; Sam’s eyes—even bluer than those of the Siamese—were full of humor. The cretin was laughing at her.
Still, even though Delainey felt she’d been set up by an expert, there was only one graceful thing to do. “I meant both of you, of course,” she said.
“And anyone who believes that,” Sam said under his breath, “is due for a serious reality check.”
Delainey raised her voice just a little. “How unfortunate that Sam has other plans so he can’t accompany us.”
“Then we’ll go tomorrow,” Emma said comfortably. “Going on Wednesday night will be better anyway. There’s always live entertainment on Wednesdays, and that usually means a crowd. You’ll be able to meet some of the neighbors.”
By the time that Delainey ushered her last client of the morning out of her office, her secretary was practically vibrating with anxiety. You’re late, she mouthed behind the client’s back. Delainey waved a hand to acknowledge her and went right on talking to the client.
The instant the woman was gone, Josie bounced out of her chair and seized Delainey’s coat from the tiny closet. “You can’t be late to the Century Club.”
“It isn’t that special, surely.” Delainey slid into her coat.
“Yes, it is. I went to a wedding there once—well, a sort of bridal show thing. It’s not only beautiful, but the waiters do everything just so. Twelve forks at every place—”
“Surely not.”
“Maybe not twelve,” Josie conceded. “But it’s very fancy. Hurry—Mr. Conners said he’d be in the lobby at half-past twelve, and it’s almost that now. You can’t keep him waiting.”
I’d like to, Delainey thought. She shoved her scarf in a pocket, because Josie was looking as if she’d like to grab hold and tie it herself. As if she wants me to make a good impression when I go out to play with the other kids.
Jason Conners wasn’t in the lobby. Delainey wasn’t surprised; she had half expected him to be late even though he was the one who’d set the time, because he seemed the sort who enjoyed making an entrance. So she leaned against the marble-topped reception desk to wait.
Five minutes went by, and she was just starting to think about walking back down the hall to check whether he was still in his office when she heard her name called.
But it wasn’t Jason Conners who was walking toward her across the lobby. It was Sam, and he was coming in the main entrance. “Is it part of your job to stand there and be decorative?” he asked as he approached. “I thought banks had budgets for stuff like art.”
Delainey let her eyebrows creep up. “Thank you for saying I’m ornamental. However, if you’re flattering me because you’ve come to talk about your loan—”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Flatter me at all, or flatter me to get a loan? Never mind. You’ve got about two minutes, tops,