Telling herself to be satisfied with that small victory, she’d reseated herself on the settee with what she felt was a convincing nonchalance, managing, finally, after a long, fidgety moment, to glance casually toward Reed to see how he was reacting to whatever it was that had flashed between them.
Mr. Nose-in-the-air Stuffed Shirt Reed Sullivan IV was leaning forward in his chair, his teacup on the gleaming piecrust table, his eyes focused intently on his great-grandmother, calmly talking business! New Moon business, true, but still…
Zoe wondered if anything had ever ruffled that insufferable, infuriating poise of his for more than a second. Wondered, too, what that anything might be. It certainly couldn’t have been a woman! Money, maybe. No, probably, she decided peevishly. He was obviously the bloodless, cold-fish type who couldn’t get worked up about anything except money.
Well, she could oblige him there.
“Why don’t you just take all my samples,” she said to Moira, as if the idea had just occurred to her. Which it had. “Use them yourself. Give them to all your friends and female relations.” She continued to dig through her shopping bag as she spoke, putting small jars and bottles and plump satin sachets back on the piecrust table from where she had picked them all up a few minutes ago. “That way we can expand our research and make it a real survey. After all, it’s women like you and your wealthy friends who have the money to spend that will make New Moon profitable.”
She glanced at Reed out of the corner of her eye to see how he was taking it. His countenance hadn’t changed except for a slight narrowing of his eyes and a too-tight something about his jaw, as if he were clenching his teeth. Encouraged, Zoe rattled on.
“Maybe we could hold a sort of informal market focus group,” she said recklessly, tossing ideas out off the top of her head. “You know, invite your friends over some evening and let them sample the products and tell us what they think about each of them. I could even give minifacials or—oh, I know!” She snapped her fingers as inspiration struck. “How about massages with my scented body oils? My friend Gina is a massage therapist and she’d lend me her table. We could set it up right here in the parlor. Gina might even come along to give the massages herself, if she’s free. She’s very good. Very much in demand. In fact, she has scads of clients right here on Beacon Hill. Probably some of your friends, even. Maybe you’ve heard of her? Gina Molinari? No? Well, anyway, I’m sure she wouldn’t charge too much, as a favor to me. Although, with your money, I don’t guess you’d worry about that.”
Zoe tossed another quick look over her shoulder. Reed Sullivan was still standing there, a bland look on his face, seemingly at ease as he patiently waited for his great-grandmother’s guest to be ready to leave…but a tiny, telltale muscle in his chiseled jaw had begun to twitch, ever so slightly. Zoe smiled brightly and plunged ahead.
“If that goes well, we could do something more formal. Well, not exactly formal, but more, um…” she tapped a forefinger against her chin, parodying someone deep in thought “…businesslike,” she decided, the word forming on her lips as if she wasn’t quite sure of its pronunciation, or exact meaning. “We could widen the survey. You know, pay different people to come in off the street to try the products, with questionnaires afterward to see what they like and don’t like. I’ve participated in dozens of focus groups like that when I’ve been between jobs, and they’re all pretty much run the same way,” she said confidingly. “I even worked as a researcher myself once, on one of my temp jobs, so I know how it’s done. So. How does that sound to you? Just to start, I mean?”
“Well, ah…” Moira’s gaze flickered from Zoe’s flushed face to her great-grandson’s stony countenance and back again. She smiled. “That sounds like quite an ambitious plan, my dear.” She nodded emphatically. Approvingly. “Quite ambitious.”
“Oh, I’m ambitious, all right.” Zoe slanted another quick glance at Reed. The muscles in his jaw were bulging now, as if he’d gone beyond clenching his teeth to grinding them. Zoe felt a surge of pure adrenaline and went in for the kill. “Extremely ambitious.” She leaned over slightly, reaching out to clasp one of Moira’s hands in both of hers. “Why, with all your lovely money behind me there’s no telling what I can—” She broke off, startled, as Reed’s long fingers wrapped themselves around her biceps. She dropped Moira’s hand as he pulled her upright with something very close to a jerk.
“We can talk about what you can or can not do with all Gran’s lovely money at some other time,” Reed said quietly, through his teeth.
Zoe’s protest was automatic. “But I haven’t fin—”
“I hate to rush you, but I’m running late, Miss Moon.” He glanced pointedly at his watch, turning his wrist without letting go of her. “If you want a lift home, we’ll have to leave right now.”
“Late for what? Oh. Your rugby practice,” she said, realizing belatedly that her hostess’s great-grandson was actually teetering on the edge of losing his cool. He’d never have laid hands on her, otherwise. “Well, don’t worry about me, then.” She gave him a bright, saccharine smile meant to push him clean over the precipice. “I can take the T home when I’m ready to go.” She shrugged dismissively, trying to dislodge his hand. “Moira and I have lots more to discuss and—”
His fingers flexed on her arm. “I really must insist, Miss Moon.”
“No, thank you. I appreciate the gesture but—”
“I didn’t want to mention it, but I’m afraid Gran is getting tired.” The look he turned on Moira was one of filial concern. “Aren’t you, Gran?”
“Nonsense. I’m not the least—” Moira began.
“She’ll never admit it, of course,” Reed continued smoothly, talking over his great-grandmother’s protest, “but it’s been a long afternoon for her. She usually takes a nap right after tea, and we’re keeping her from it.” He lowered his voice, putting his lips very near Zoe’s ear as if to keep Moira from overhearing. “She is ninety-two, you know.”
“Oh. Oh, yes. Of course. How thoughtless of me.” Guilt pierced Zoe’s tender heart, instantly chasing away all thought of goading Reed. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You’ve been so kind to me,” she said to Moira, “and here I am, keeping you up when you should be resting. Just let me grab my purse and—”
“Got it.” Reed bent down, scooped the tapestry bag off the floor by its braided leather straps with his free hand and swung it toward her.
Zoe grabbed at it awkwardly, fumbling to hold on to it without upending the precariously gaping shopping bag hanging from her arm. She felt her shawl begin to slip, and hunched her shoulder, trying to boost it back into place.
“Dinner here after practice?” Reed said to his great-grandmother as Zoe grappled with her belongings.
“Dinner? Well, actually, I—”
Reed stared down his nose at her and waited.
“Yes, of course, dear. Dinner here,” Moira agreed demurely. “If you like.”
“I like.” He bent and pressed a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll be back around eight-thirty, if that’s all right with you?”
Moira nodded. “Eight-thirty will be fine.”
“Good.” He nodded, once. “That’s settled, then.” His hand tightened on Zoe’s arm. “Miss Moon?”
Zoe braced herself against the pressure. “Thank you for a lovely tea, Moira. I really enjoyed it.”
“So did I, dear,” Moira said. “Immensely. I’ll call you about the market research party early next week and