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Authors: Linda Lael Miller
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take the spot was flawless. Shay scowled at Richard and stomped into the RV with Ivy right behind her. The younger woman kept biting back giggles as she helped with the cumbersome costume.
When Shay was back in her white slacks and golden, imitation-silk blouse, her hair brushed and her makeup back to normal, she left the RV with her chin held high. The salesmen formed a double line, a sort of good-natured gauntlet, and applauded and cheered as she passed.
Shay executed a couple of regal bows, but her cheeks were throbbing with embarrassment by the time she closed her office door behind her and sank against it. It was bad enough that half of Washington state would see that stupid commercial. Why had Mitch had to see it, too?
5
T he very fact of Marvin’s absence seemed to generate problems and Shay was grateful for the distraction. Dealing with the complaints and questions of customers kept her from thinking about the three commercials yet to be filmed and the very enticing dangers of working closely with Mitch Prescott.
At five minutes to five, Ivy waltzed into Shay’s office with a mischievous light in her eyes and a florist’s bouquet in her hands. “For you,” she said simply, setting the arrangement of pink daisies interspersed with baby’s breath and white carnations square on top of Shay’s paperwork.
At the sight and scent of the flowers, Shay felt a peculiar shakiness in the pit of her stomach. Reason said the lovely blossoms had been sent by the salesmen downstairs or perhaps the Reeses. Instinct said something very different.
Her hands trembling just slightly—she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had sent her flowers—Shay reached out for the envelope containing the card. Instinct prevailed. “If you’re free tonight, let’s discuss the book over dinner at my place. Strictly business, I promise. R.S.V.P. Mitch.”
Strictly business, he said. Shay remembered Mitch’s kiss and the sweet, hard pressure of his body against her own on the Reeses’ darkened deck the night of the party and wondered who the hell he thought he was kidding. She felt a certain annoyance, a tender dreading, but mingled with these emotions was a sensation of heady relief. With a sigh, Shay admitted to herself that she would have been very disappointed if the flowers had come from anyone else on the face of the earth.
“Mitch?” Ivy asked, the impish light still dancing in her eyes.
Shay grinned. “How very redundant of you to ask. You knew.”
“I did not!” Ivy swore with conviction and just a hint of righteous indignation. “I just guessed, that’s all.”
Shay’s weariness dropped away and she moved the vase of flowers to clear the paperwork from her desk. She sensed all the eager questions Ivy wanted to ask and enjoyed withholding the answers. “Well,” she said with an exaggerated sigh, picking up her purse and the flowers and starting toward the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good evening.”
Ivy was right on her heels. “Oh, no you don’t, Shay Kendall! Did my brother ask you out or what? Why did he send you flowers? What did the card say , exactly?”
Smiling to herself, Shay walked rapidly toward the stairs. To spare her friend a night of agonizing curiosity, she tossed back an off-handed “He wants to start work on the book about Rosamond. Good night, Ivy.”
“What book?” Ivy cried desperately, hurrying to keep up with Shay as she went down the stairs and across the polished floor of the main display room. “You don’t mean—you’re not actually—you said you’d never—”
Fortunately, Todd was waiting for Ivy outside, or she might have followed Shay all the way to her car, battering her with questions and fractured sentences.
Ivy looked so pained as her fiancé ushered her into the passenger seat of his car that Shay called out a merciful, “I promise I’ll explain tomorrow,” as she got behind the wheel of her own car.
Shay did not drive toward home; Hank
When Shay was back in her white slacks and golden, imitation-silk blouse, her hair brushed and her makeup back to normal, she left the RV with her chin held high. The salesmen formed a double line, a sort of good-natured gauntlet, and applauded and cheered as she passed.
Shay executed a couple of regal bows, but her cheeks were throbbing with embarrassment by the time she closed her office door behind her and sank against it. It was bad enough that half of Washington state would see that stupid commercial. Why had Mitch had to see it, too?
5
T he very fact of Marvin’s absence seemed to generate problems and Shay was grateful for the distraction. Dealing with the complaints and questions of customers kept her from thinking about the three commercials yet to be filmed and the very enticing dangers of working closely with Mitch Prescott.
At five minutes to five, Ivy waltzed into Shay’s office with a mischievous light in her eyes and a florist’s bouquet in her hands. “For you,” she said simply, setting the arrangement of pink daisies interspersed with baby’s breath and white carnations square on top of Shay’s paperwork.
At the sight and scent of the flowers, Shay felt a peculiar shakiness in the pit of her stomach. Reason said the lovely blossoms had been sent by the salesmen downstairs or perhaps the Reeses. Instinct said something very different.
Her hands trembling just slightly—she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had sent her flowers—Shay reached out for the envelope containing the card. Instinct prevailed. “If you’re free tonight, let’s discuss the book over dinner at my place. Strictly business, I promise. R.S.V.P. Mitch.”
Strictly business, he said. Shay remembered Mitch’s kiss and the sweet, hard pressure of his body against her own on the Reeses’ darkened deck the night of the party and wondered who the hell he thought he was kidding. She felt a certain annoyance, a tender dreading, but mingled with these emotions was a sensation of heady relief. With a sigh, Shay admitted to herself that she would have been very disappointed if the flowers had come from anyone else on the face of the earth.
“Mitch?” Ivy asked, the impish light still dancing in her eyes.
Shay grinned. “How very redundant of you to ask. You knew.”
“I did not!” Ivy swore with conviction and just a hint of righteous indignation. “I just guessed, that’s all.”
Shay’s weariness dropped away and she moved the vase of flowers to clear the paperwork from her desk. She sensed all the eager questions Ivy wanted to ask and enjoyed withholding the answers. “Well,” she said with an exaggerated sigh, picking up her purse and the flowers and starting toward the door, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good evening.”
Ivy was right on her heels. “Oh, no you don’t, Shay Kendall! Did my brother ask you out or what? Why did he send you flowers? What did the card say , exactly?”
Smiling to herself, Shay walked rapidly toward the stairs. To spare her friend a night of agonizing curiosity, she tossed back an off-handed “He wants to start work on the book about Rosamond. Good night, Ivy.”
“What book?” Ivy cried desperately, hurrying to keep up with Shay as she went down the stairs and across the polished floor of the main display room. “You don’t mean—you’re not actually—you said you’d never—”
Fortunately, Todd was waiting for Ivy outside, or she might have followed Shay all the way to her car, battering her with questions and fractured sentences.
Ivy looked so pained as her fiancé ushered her into the passenger seat of his car that Shay called out a merciful, “I promise I’ll explain tomorrow,” as she got behind the wheel of her own car.
Shay did not drive toward home; Hank
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