Had Deborah given her an odd look? “I’ve already met Katie. We stopped by the apartment on the way back from our meeting at Carlyle so Zach could pick up some files he’d forgotten.”
“How is she? Is she feeling better?”
“She told Zach she was.” Yes, that was definitely an odd look. Speculative. Or was she being paranoid again?
Deborah sighed. “I feel so bad for those kids. Katie especially. She’s taken the death of her mother really hard. When Jenny died, the other two were really too young to be affected. Well, Jeremy probably remembers her a little—he was three when Jenny first got sick and four when she died. But Emma was just a baby.”
“It’s sad they lost their mother so young.”
“It’s heartbreaking, actually.” She turned as if to leave, then said, “It’s been really tough on Zach.”
“I can imagine,” Georgie said. “Raising three young children on his own. That’s a lot of responsibility. Plus … losing his wife. She must have been very young.”
“She’d just turned thirty-four.”
Thirty-four. Georgie swallowed, imagining only having four more years to live.
“It was awful,” Deborah continued. “Such a sad time for everyone. Jenny’s mother was devastated. Jenny’s father had died a few years earlier, and Jenny was an only child. Zach has done a wonderful job on his own, though. I really admire him. He’s got his priorities straight. Unlike a lot of men, he always puts his kids first.”
Had Deborah added that last bit for Georgie’s benefit? Oh, surely not. Georgie was imagining things.
“I admire that, too,” she said. Georgie couldn’t help but think of her uncle Harry, who hadn’t put his kids first and had paid dearly for that neglect. But at least he’d wised up eventually and made things right with his sons.
“I do hope Zach will meet someone one of these days, though,” Deborah said thoughtfully. “He’s far too young to be alone. Besides, those children really need a mother.”
Those children really need a mother.
The words seemed to echo in the room after Deborah left.
As Georgie cleaned up her desk and got ready to leave herself, she kept thinking about them.
Those children really need a mother.
Georgie knew, if she had any sense at all, she’d steer a wide path around Zach. He was far too attractive, and the more she learned about him, the more she liked him. I shouldn’t be going to his apartment for dinner. I should have said no.
Yet, what was the harm? It wasn’t a date or anything close. It was just dinner, and his kids would be there.
True, but just yesterday, she’d decided she was going to keep her distance from him. Of course, yesterday she’d thought he was married, and today she knew he wasn’t.
Did that make any difference, though? He might not be married, but as Deborah had pointed out, he had three young children who needed a mother—the kind of life that was eons removed from Georgie’s.
And if Georgie had learned anything in her thirty years, she’d learned that it was dangerous to play with fire. And her undeniable attraction to Zach was definitely fire. Plus, aside from all else, he’s your boss. She grimaced, imagining what Joanna would say. Georgie had certainly cautioned her about getting mixed up with her boss.
If I had any brains at all, I’d run for the nearest airport and hightail it on home.
But since she couldn’t do that, and since she couldn’t call Zach up and say she couldn’t make it tonight after all without looking like an idiot, she would make sure that from now on she would stick to her original decision. She would steer a wide path around him. She would be friendly and helpful at the office, and she would firmly stay away from him at all other times.
No matter how much she might be tempted otherwise.
When Cornelia arrived home from the club, she smelled the flowers before she saw them: an enormous bouquet of hyacinths mixed with tiny white roses. She didn’t have to look at the accompanying card to know they’d been sent by Harry.
Darling Cornelia,
I know how much you love hyacinths. Every time you look at them, I hope you’ll think of me. All my love, Harry
Yesterday he’d sent her a nosegay of violets, the day before a huge spray of baby orchids, all with approximately the same message. All three selections were out of season and had probably cost the earth. And if she hadn’t been dealt a body blow today in the form of Greg’s news, courtesy of Harry Hunt, she’d probably be thrilled about the flowers. But she was still reeling a bit by the knowledge that Harry wouldn’t think twice about playing dirty, even when it came to her.
And why should he? Ruthless tactics had stood him well in business. Winning was all that counted. Take what you want by any means, fair or foul. That was Harry’s truth. It was the way he operated. Hadn’t he shown her just how merciless he could be when he’d threatened to disinherit his sons unless they married and gave him the grandchildren he coveted? He’d been deadly serious, too.
She was still thinking about him and trying to decide how she would deal with what he’d done about Greg when her cell phone rang. She wasn’t even surprised to see Harry’s name on the display.
“Hello, Harry,” she said.
“Hello, my dear. How are you this afternoon?”
“Just fine, thank you.”
“Did you have a nice lunch with Kit?”
“How did you know I was having lunch with Kit today?”
“I have my ways.”
She heard the smile in his voice, and it hardened her resolve. “Oh, yes, I know you do.” I know all about you, Harry. You’re not fooling me for a second. “And yes, it was a very nice lunch.”
“I’m glad. You deserve everything nice. And what about the flowers? Did they arrive?”
“They did, and they’re lovely. Thank you. But you really shouldn’t send flowers every day. It’s terribly wasteful.”
“It’s not the least bit wasteful. Not when they’re for you. You’re very important to me.”
“Really,” she said.
He laughed. “Oh, Corny, I can see I have a lot of work to do to get rid of that skepticism I hear in your voice.”
“You must admit, I do have reason to doubt you. Two blonde reasons, one brunette and one redhead, to be exact.” The redhead had particularly upset Cornelia, maybe because by that time she was thoroughly disgusted with Harry’s choices. And hurt. Don’t forget hurt.
“Touché. But it’s time for you to forget about the follies of my youth. I’m a grownup now, and I finally know what I want.” His voice lowered. “And what I want is you.”
A frisson of pleasure rippled through her, even as she reminded herself that Harry had more to answer for than the follies of his youth and that she shouldn’t forget it.
“I have a great idea,” he said.
“Oh?”
“How would you like to go away for the weekend?”
“Go away?”
“Yes, you know … the two of us … somewhere romantic. Doesn’t that sound good?”
“Well,” she hedged.
“We could go to Paris …”
Paris.