A Little Moonlighting. Raye Morgan
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that would tempt me to stay,” she admitted. “I love working here and you know it. But my full nature isn’t fulfilled with work. I need more.”
He nodded dismissively and his face took on a pensive look.
“I talked to the Joliet Aire people this morning,” he told her with exaggerated casualness. “And Monsieur Jobert has agreed to meet with you.”
Her head snapped up and she stared at him. “What?” Monsieur Jobert was an illusive contact she’d been going after for six months. She jumped up, facing Carter and beaming. “You’re kidding!”
He nodded, gratified by her delighted surprise. “It’s true. That is exactly what we’re going to Paris for. He finally read one of your letters and wants to meet the lady behind the persuasive words.”
“I knew I could get to him eventually,” she said, eyes shining with triumph, her hand tightened in a little fist. “Now, to make sure I’ve got the right ammunition to convince him once we meet face-to-face…” Her voice trailed off as she realized what she was saying.
He studied her closely, one eyebrow cocked. “One more trip to Paris, Pendleton,” he said softly. “Come on. You know you can’t pass this one up.”
She turned away, thinking hard. He’d won again. But still, an interview with the famous Monsieur Jobert!
Carter watched her, his eyes filled with worry now that she wasn’t gazing into his. The last thing in the world he could afford was to lose Amy Pendleton. Together they were a well-oiled machine. Their successes were legendary at TriTerraCorp.
Besides, there was a part of him, deep down, a tiny part he didn’t often allow to surface, that would miss her in other ways. No, he couldn’t do without her. His throat tightened as he thought of it. He’d already lost too much, dammit. This was someone he wasn’t going to let walk out of his life.
“All right,” she said, turning back to look at him with stormy eyes. “One more trip to Paris. But after that…”
“Après moi le déluge,” he said, grinning at her as he repeated the famous quote attributed to Louis XV. “‘After me the deluge!’”
She laughed softly, shaking her head, not sure what the quote had to do with anything, but enjoying it anyway—enjoying him.
And that was part of her problem. She just enjoyed him too darn much! And that spoiled the rest of the male population for her. Every man she met she compared to Carter, and every other man came up wanting when she made those comparisons.
“More like, ‘after Paris, the resignation’,” she corrected him, her eyes sparkling. “Don’t forget. I’m quitting.”
He didn’t answer but his confident smile told her he would be working on new ways to keep her from doing that. And he was very good at orchestrating outcomes the way he liked them.
“‘The more you try to get out, the more they pull you back in’,” Meg quoted in her best mobster accent.
Amy laughed at her sister’s impression of a gangster. She’d always been a natural actress, even when they were both growing up together in San Diego. Amy remembered the neighborhood productions they had put on, with Meg playing most of the parts and other children drafted off the street to play against her. Amy herself was usually the set designer, promoter, ticket-taker and prompter. While Meg loved being in front of an audience, Amy had always preferred the behind-the-scenes activities.
“That’s about the size of it,” she admitted. “But I’m going to quit right after we get back from this trip. Honest.”
“Good.” Meg smiled at her sister. Only two years older, she’d considered herself the head of the family, ever since their parents had died a few years before. “Because, you’ve got to admit,” she went on, “you’re not getting any younger, Amy.”
Meg filled a little bowl with homemade strawberry ice cream and placed it on the kitchen table in front of her sister, then went on to fill two more tiny bowls.
Amy bit her tongue, taking up the ice cream and grabbing a spoon to eat it with, but fuming inside. What a dumb thing that was to say. Of course she wasn’t getting any younger. Nobody was. Meg might as well advise her to breathe air.
Still, she held back her temper and didn’t let her sister see how much she resented that comment. After all, she knew Meg was just trying to help her. She was concerned, and she wanted Amy to find a man and have the happiness she’d found with her husband Tim and her three little children.
Amy loved her sister. Looking at her now, with her common-sense attitude and her shiny auburn hair cut in a short bob, she felt a surge of affection. She really felt as though she’d neglected Meg over the past few years. She was on the road so much, she barely had time to stop by for holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving before racing off again to go to cities all over the world. Sometimes she felt that she hardly knew Meg’s little ones, and she regretted that.
“Besides, if you quit, you’ll have more time to date.” Meg turned and gave her a bright smile that failed in its attempt to seem offhandedly casual. “Paul is always asking about you.”
Paul was Meg’s neighbor, a perfectly nice man Amy had met over dinner at her sister’s. But she had to hold back her reaction once again, because while Paul was pleasant and had a certain charm, he was no Carter James.
Still, whom was she kidding? Carter was exactly the man she couldn’t get. Maybe Paul was more her speed. That is, if she really wanted to settle down and have a family.
“Deedee!” Meg called as she set out the two little bowls. “Scamp! Ice cream!”
A sound very much like that of stampeding cattle came thundering through the house and two very small children exploded into the room. The boy was a towhead with hair like flax. The little girl had a mop of chocolate-colored curls. They stopped dead when they caught sight of Amy. Deedee, all of eighteen months or so, reached out and clung to her four-year-old brother’s arm while they both stared, wide-eyed.
“It’s your aunt Amy, sillies,” Meg exclaimed with a short laugh. “Come give her a kiss.”
There was just no way that was going to happen. Amy could see it in their eyes.
“Hi, Deedee,” she said cheerfully, though she heard the oddly uncomfortable note in her own voice. And if she heard it, she knew darn well they did. “How are you, Scamp?”
“Fine.”
Scamp, whose real name was William, answered her but didn’t look eager to make physical contact. He put his arm around his little sister’s shoulders as though to protect her, and they both sidled away from their aunt, trying to reach the table without having to come within arm’s reach of their unfamiliar relative. And they got away with it, since Meg didn’t notice. She had turned away and was chattering on about something she’d seen in the paper that morning.
Amy felt her smile harden like concrete around her mouth. The children hated her. And she had no idea how to charm them. Why wouldn’t they be wary? They grabbed their dishes of ice cream and made tracks out of the room, glancing back with half smiles, then ducking their heads and disappearing. Here she was dressed to the hilt, on her way to the airport to leave for Paris. They’d never seen her like this before, in heels and a power suit, with the obligatory silk power scarf, and her hair combed back severely into a twist held by a diamond-studded comb. She even had on her power makeup, which could almost be considered a mask. All necessary for striking tremulous awe in the hearts of negotiating adversaries, but hardly the thing to endear nieces and nephews.
There was that, and the fact that she hadn’t been around enough lately for them to be holding many fond memories. Why did she let herself get so caught up in business that she neglected her family? She wasn’t going to let that happen any longer. She was going to pick a time and come over every week. Right after she got back from Paris.
She groaned softly, realizing how that