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Authors: Ginny Baird
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“Yours would be better, I think. Mine—needs work…”
“Oh?” Mike asked. “Maybe I can take a look at it. I’m pretty handy with cars, you know.”
As far as Carrie was concerned, Mike seemed pretty handy with just about everything. “Uh, no. Thanks, I’ll just take it to the shop when I get back.”
“Seriously,” Mike said, dropping the bags dangling at his sides to the ground. “Might be something really simple. I’d hate to think of you spending the—”
“Maybe when we get back,” Carrie said, tugging at his elbow. “We really can’t be late. My Grandma Russell would have a fit.”
“Okay. Let me just put your suitcase in your car, then.”
Carrie blew a hard breath and nervously latched on to a loose strand of hair. In all her boardroom negotiations, she’d never come across anything like this. Still, a very large part of her success had come from thinking on her feet.
“Actually,” she said, motioning to her bag, “I’ve got some gifts in there for my aunts and grandmother. Too cumbersome to get it all out now.”
Mike shrugged, seeming to buy that easily. “Oh, all right. I’ll just toss it in my trunk, then.”
Mike strode over to a late-model Mustang. Ancient but meticulously restored. Candy-apple red.
“Love the car,” Carrie said, appreciatively patting the hood as Mike laid the bags in the trunk. “She’s a real…” Carrie stopped short of saying “investment goldmine.” “…beaut. You’ve done a great job with her.”
“Thanks,” Mike said, smiling as he came around to unlock Carrie’s door. “I guess I do pretty well at taking care of the things that are important to me.”
Carrie swallowed hard and stepped into the car without uttering a word. Did his words really carry the weight she thought he’d intended them to? No, Carrie, she admonished herself, don’t be stupid. Get through this day, that’s all. One day at a time. She’d think about the coming weekend, and Mike’s reunion, and her miserable life afterward—tomorrow.
Chapter Eight
Paulette Pierce held out her narrow grip. “My, my, how time improves,” she said, unabashedly looking Mike up and down. The moment they’d arrived, Carrie had been lost to a swirl of old ladies in pastel brocade, and Mike hadn’t seen her since.
“Why thanks, Paulette,” Mike said, shifting on his feet and taking her hand. The woman was birdlike and gaunt, probably Carrie’s age, though her thinness made her appear much older. “I take that as a compliment.”
Paulette enclosed his hand in her viselike flesh and leaned forward. “A compliment meant for you, not Wilson Haywood,” she said in a hushed tone.
Mike fought the urge to wince in her talons and forced a tight smile.
Paulette kept hold of his hand and took a step forward, straight honey-colored hair swinging over her shoulders. “That stuffy old suit, Wilson,” she continued in a whisper. “I can barely remember. But you, sweetheart, a gal’s not likely to forget.”
She leaned in and brought her mouth very close to his ear. “Is it serious?” she asked, just as Mike felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Paulette,” Carrie said, stepping between the two of them. “How nice to see you getting reacquainted with Wilson.” Carrie slipped an arm through one of Mike’s and linked him in tight. “Isn’t he even better than you remembered?”
“Quite,” Paulette said, eyes narrowing. “In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say—”
“Of course, the plastic surgery helped a lot.”
Paulette’s jaw dropped open. “Wait a minute. You’re not saying—”
Mike raised his free hand and massaged his rugged jaw. “A little here, a little there. Filling in the face, that is. Worked wonders. Maybe you ought to try it.”
Paulette huffed, but Carrie just bit into her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows.
“And the gym helped too, of course,” Mike continued, finding himself getting more and more carried away. “But I said to myself,
“Oh?” Mike asked. “Maybe I can take a look at it. I’m pretty handy with cars, you know.”
As far as Carrie was concerned, Mike seemed pretty handy with just about everything. “Uh, no. Thanks, I’ll just take it to the shop when I get back.”
“Seriously,” Mike said, dropping the bags dangling at his sides to the ground. “Might be something really simple. I’d hate to think of you spending the—”
“Maybe when we get back,” Carrie said, tugging at his elbow. “We really can’t be late. My Grandma Russell would have a fit.”
“Okay. Let me just put your suitcase in your car, then.”
Carrie blew a hard breath and nervously latched on to a loose strand of hair. In all her boardroom negotiations, she’d never come across anything like this. Still, a very large part of her success had come from thinking on her feet.
“Actually,” she said, motioning to her bag, “I’ve got some gifts in there for my aunts and grandmother. Too cumbersome to get it all out now.”
Mike shrugged, seeming to buy that easily. “Oh, all right. I’ll just toss it in my trunk, then.”
Mike strode over to a late-model Mustang. Ancient but meticulously restored. Candy-apple red.
“Love the car,” Carrie said, appreciatively patting the hood as Mike laid the bags in the trunk. “She’s a real…” Carrie stopped short of saying “investment goldmine.” “…beaut. You’ve done a great job with her.”
“Thanks,” Mike said, smiling as he came around to unlock Carrie’s door. “I guess I do pretty well at taking care of the things that are important to me.”
Carrie swallowed hard and stepped into the car without uttering a word. Did his words really carry the weight she thought he’d intended them to? No, Carrie, she admonished herself, don’t be stupid. Get through this day, that’s all. One day at a time. She’d think about the coming weekend, and Mike’s reunion, and her miserable life afterward—tomorrow.
Chapter Eight
Paulette Pierce held out her narrow grip. “My, my, how time improves,” she said, unabashedly looking Mike up and down. The moment they’d arrived, Carrie had been lost to a swirl of old ladies in pastel brocade, and Mike hadn’t seen her since.
“Why thanks, Paulette,” Mike said, shifting on his feet and taking her hand. The woman was birdlike and gaunt, probably Carrie’s age, though her thinness made her appear much older. “I take that as a compliment.”
Paulette enclosed his hand in her viselike flesh and leaned forward. “A compliment meant for you, not Wilson Haywood,” she said in a hushed tone.
Mike fought the urge to wince in her talons and forced a tight smile.
Paulette kept hold of his hand and took a step forward, straight honey-colored hair swinging over her shoulders. “That stuffy old suit, Wilson,” she continued in a whisper. “I can barely remember. But you, sweetheart, a gal’s not likely to forget.”
She leaned in and brought her mouth very close to his ear. “Is it serious?” she asked, just as Mike felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Paulette,” Carrie said, stepping between the two of them. “How nice to see you getting reacquainted with Wilson.” Carrie slipped an arm through one of Mike’s and linked him in tight. “Isn’t he even better than you remembered?”
“Quite,” Paulette said, eyes narrowing. “In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d say—”
“Of course, the plastic surgery helped a lot.”
Paulette’s jaw dropped open. “Wait a minute. You’re not saying—”
Mike raised his free hand and massaged his rugged jaw. “A little here, a little there. Filling in the face, that is. Worked wonders. Maybe you ought to try it.”
Paulette huffed, but Carrie just bit into her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows.
“And the gym helped too, of course,” Mike continued, finding himself getting more and more carried away. “But I said to myself,
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