Read Online Surprise Package by Shirl Henke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shirl Henke
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disdain.”
“Let me guess,” Jeff said, fury rising with each breath. “You convinced them that my scholarship money should be cut off.”
“Tuition is payable in advance, immediately after course registration, and this is your last term before graduation. It would be such a shame...almost as much of a shame as if you threw your life away prosecuting pimps and drug dealers.”
“Like I said, Dad, I'd rather prosecute pimps than be one.” Jeff slammed down the phone, then dug through a dog-eared Rolodex, found a number, and quickly dialed it. “Hello, Archie? Yeah, it's Brandt. That job you called me about the other day—is it still open?”
* * * *
Gilly walked from the dance floor in a cloud of flaming silk. Heads turned, women's eyes hard with appraisal, men's with hunger. But she was as oblivious to the attention as she was to the stunning view of New York's skyline. The restaurant’s floor-to-ceiling windows showed off Manhattan to best advantage, glittering like a million winking diamonds spread on the black velvet of a December night.
She had danced with Bill Lawrence and a number of mutual friends, while her eyes eagerly scanned the doorway to the private dining room, waiting for Jeff to appear. It was well past eight, and dinner would soon be served. She had not been able to fit her cell phone in the tiny sequined bag and would not have carried the device regardless. Is he breaking another date—this night of all nights? The limo had been a little early. What if...Gilly forced herself to push the horrible thought from her mind. But then worse ones flashed through it. Jeff lying bleeding on the pavement somewhere, victim of a mugger, or run over by a reckless cabbie.
“I'd say ‘a penny for your thoughts,’ but I don't have to ask,” Charis said as Bill pulled out Gilly's chair and she took her seat at their table—next to the empty one reserved for her date.
“I don't know whether to wish him dead or call the hospitals to see if he's been admitted,” Gilly said through gritted teeth.
“From the look on your face, I'd say it's a fair bet that he will be if he isn't already there,” Charis replied.
When the messenger service delivered Jeff's excuses at eight-thirty, Gilly alternated between sheer rage and hopeless tears, but pride kept her from resorting to a tantrum or a crying jag. She reread the terse message, then folded it up and placed it in her bag without further comment.
Dinner was served at nine. She shoved Belgian endive around on her salad plate, picked at her Lobster Newburg, and declined the Bananas Foster in spite of the ardent young waiter who dramatized his whole flambé act to impress her. When the dancing resumed, she made her excuses to her worried friends, feeling doubly rotten that she had put a damper on their holiday celebration because of Jeff's perfidy.
In the limo, she read the note over once more as icicles formed around her heart:
My Dearest Gilly,
No words are adequate to express how much I regret this. I would not willingly hurt you for the world, but I had no choice tonight. I'll call tomorrow and try to explain—if you'll let me.
Jeff
If you can explain your way out of this one, buster, either I have to be the most gullible fool since Eve ate that apple, or you're as slick as the serpent. Neither prospect appealed to her at all. But still her closet romantic's heart hoped...even as it ached.
Chapter Seven
Jeff sat bleary-eyed in his apartment, counting last night's take. He had made enough to pay the tuition—in one night. Of course, that still left the small matters of food, rent, and the loan payment for the better part of a year; but Jeff was far more concerned with how he was going to explain to Gilly why he had stood her up on her big gala evening.
“Let me guess,” Jeff said, fury rising with each breath. “You convinced them that my scholarship money should be cut off.”
“Tuition is payable in advance, immediately after course registration, and this is your last term before graduation. It would be such a shame...almost as much of a shame as if you threw your life away prosecuting pimps and drug dealers.”
“Like I said, Dad, I'd rather prosecute pimps than be one.” Jeff slammed down the phone, then dug through a dog-eared Rolodex, found a number, and quickly dialed it. “Hello, Archie? Yeah, it's Brandt. That job you called me about the other day—is it still open?”
* * * *
Gilly walked from the dance floor in a cloud of flaming silk. Heads turned, women's eyes hard with appraisal, men's with hunger. But she was as oblivious to the attention as she was to the stunning view of New York's skyline. The restaurant’s floor-to-ceiling windows showed off Manhattan to best advantage, glittering like a million winking diamonds spread on the black velvet of a December night.
She had danced with Bill Lawrence and a number of mutual friends, while her eyes eagerly scanned the doorway to the private dining room, waiting for Jeff to appear. It was well past eight, and dinner would soon be served. She had not been able to fit her cell phone in the tiny sequined bag and would not have carried the device regardless. Is he breaking another date—this night of all nights? The limo had been a little early. What if...Gilly forced herself to push the horrible thought from her mind. But then worse ones flashed through it. Jeff lying bleeding on the pavement somewhere, victim of a mugger, or run over by a reckless cabbie.
“I'd say ‘a penny for your thoughts,’ but I don't have to ask,” Charis said as Bill pulled out Gilly's chair and she took her seat at their table—next to the empty one reserved for her date.
“I don't know whether to wish him dead or call the hospitals to see if he's been admitted,” Gilly said through gritted teeth.
“From the look on your face, I'd say it's a fair bet that he will be if he isn't already there,” Charis replied.
When the messenger service delivered Jeff's excuses at eight-thirty, Gilly alternated between sheer rage and hopeless tears, but pride kept her from resorting to a tantrum or a crying jag. She reread the terse message, then folded it up and placed it in her bag without further comment.
Dinner was served at nine. She shoved Belgian endive around on her salad plate, picked at her Lobster Newburg, and declined the Bananas Foster in spite of the ardent young waiter who dramatized his whole flambé act to impress her. When the dancing resumed, she made her excuses to her worried friends, feeling doubly rotten that she had put a damper on their holiday celebration because of Jeff's perfidy.
In the limo, she read the note over once more as icicles formed around her heart:
My Dearest Gilly,
No words are adequate to express how much I regret this. I would not willingly hurt you for the world, but I had no choice tonight. I'll call tomorrow and try to explain—if you'll let me.
Jeff
If you can explain your way out of this one, buster, either I have to be the most gullible fool since Eve ate that apple, or you're as slick as the serpent. Neither prospect appealed to her at all. But still her closet romantic's heart hoped...even as it ached.
Chapter Seven
Jeff sat bleary-eyed in his apartment, counting last night's take. He had made enough to pay the tuition—in one night. Of course, that still left the small matters of food, rent, and the loan payment for the better part of a year; but Jeff was far more concerned with how he was going to explain to Gilly why he had stood her up on her big gala evening.
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