Read Online Once in a Lifetime by Gwynne Forster - Free Book Online Page B

said she had to eat her meals with him; indeed, most housekeepers—and that’s what she was, no matter if the contract specified homemaker—didn’t eat with their bosses. She slapped her forehead. Not being able to eat with Telford would devastate Tara.
    From somewhere in the distance she heard Henry’s voice. “…and wear that long red thing at supper tonight. Telford’s planning to commit social suicide.”
    “What? What does that mean?”
    “Means he’s bringing company.”
    Cold marbles danced around in her belly, and moisture beaded on her forehead. “Are you telling me he’s bringing a woman friend home with him this evening?”
    She’d learned that Henry never answered a question directly if he could do it some other way. He raised an eyebrow. “Like I said, come in here looking good. Course, you’d make her look bad if you showed up in dungarees. And fix the supper table real nice.”
    Although she appreciated his gesture of friendship, she was too annoyed to show it. “What makes you think I care who Telford Harrington brings here?”
    “’Cause you do. But don’t worry none. She won’t spend the night. Never has. He ain’t that crazy.”
    That conversation weighed on her as she did the morning chores. Put on that caftan? No way. She intended to wear her red silk sleeveless jumpsuit. He’d get an eyeful whether she was sitting down or walking away from him. She set the table with the best Harrington appointments, added candles and a bouquet of red, white and yellow roses and surveyed the result with satisfaction.
    She dressed Tara in a jumpsuit that matched her own, combed the child’s hair out and sprayed it with a lilac scent. Then she showered, put on the red suit, fastened gold hoops to her ears, let down her hair below her shoulders and dabbedObsession perfume where it counted. She didn’t believe in going to war unless you meant to win.
    For whatever reason he’d brought a woman home with him, he remembered that they ate at seven. It wasn’t she, but Henry, who usually opened the door for the brothers, but when the bell rang at a quarter of seven, she beat him to it. Telford gaped at her, speechless and obviously dumbfounded until Tara ran between them and hugged his legs.
    “Mr. Telford, I got your telephone call today.” Tara held her arms up for a hug, but he didn’t see the child. His gaze was glued to Alexis.
    “Can I have a hug?” That got his attention, and he reached down, lifted her and stroked her back. “Do you like how I look?”
    “You’re beautiful, and I like it.” She kissed his cheek and he set her on the floor.
    “What a touching little scene.”
    His head snapped around. “Oh. Sorry. Ms. Moore, this is Mrs. Alexis Stevenson, our homemaker.”
    Alexis sized her up and smiled. The woman wouldn’t resist being catty. She extended her hand. “How do you do, Ms. Moore. This is my daughter, Tara.”
    “Hi, Miss Moore.” Tara’s greeting lacked enthusiasm.
    “Sure you’re a housekeeper?”
    Alexis let a smile drift over her face. “If you want to know how competent I am, I guess you’ll have to ask Telford.” With that double entendre, she led them to the living room, aware that she’d made Evangeline Moore blanch. Whether from annoyance or embarrassment, she didn’t know or care. “Would you like something to drink, Ms. Moore? Lemonade or iced tea?” She figured that, as homemaker, she was also hostess. And since she was certain that her tactics didn’t please Telford, she didn’t bother to look at him.
    “I’d like a dry martini,” Evangeline said, “and shake it well.”
    Alexis sat down, crossed her left leg over her right kneeand swung her left foot. “That’s Telford’s domain. I have no idea how to mix a martini.”
    She had to stifle the giggles that threatened to spill out of her when she finally looked at Telford and saw his murderous glare. She wanted to dance for joy. He’d get her for it later, but she didn’t care. He