But it wasn’t Jason Conners who was walking toward her across the lobby. It was Sam, and he was coming in the main entrance. “Is it part of your job to stand there and be decorative?” he asked as he approached. “I thought banks had budgets for stuff like art.”
Delainey let her eyebrows creep up. “Thank you for saying I’m ornamental. However, if you’re flattering me because you’ve come to talk about your loan—”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Flatter me at all, or flatter me to get a loan? Never mind. You’ve got about two minutes, tops, to make your case.”
“Before you have to leave for lunch with the merger king? Sorry to disappoint you, but I came in to cash a check for Gran. However, I’ve been thinking about that loan.”
There was a note of idle humor in his voice that made Delainey brace herself.
“I’ve figured out why you’re so determined to give it to me—you need just one more loan in your portfolio in order to be named employee of the month and win a trip to Hawaii. So I’m willing to talk about terms.”
“I suppose your terms include that I take you along to Hawaii?”
“Of course. It would be only fair, if I help you win.”
“Well, that makes sense,” Delainey admitted. “And I’d think very hard about it—if we had an employee of the month contest and if the prize was a trip to Hawaii. It’s just too bad for you the bank doesn’t run promotions like that.”
“Want me to go talk to the president about it?” He checked his wristwatch. “I have a few minutes to kill, and I’m sure he’d like the idea. I might have it fixed by lunchtime.”
“Thanks, anyway, Sam, but I think you should stick to fixing things like outlets.”
A hand came to rest on her shoulder and Jason Conners said, “I’ve just talked to Curtis—he can’t make lunch. Something came unglued in some big deal he’s working on and he’s tied up for a while. But we scheduled dinner instead.”
Nice of you to ask me first whether it would be convenient, Delainey thought. But she said, “Still at the Century Club? What time?”
“No—he said he’s been there so often he’s tired of it. I was telling him about you, and when he heard you lived at White Oaks, he said he’d like to try it for a change. Apparently the place has a wider reputation than I thought.” He looked Delainey over speculatively, as if trying to figure out how she’d managed to beat him to a trend. “That’s all right with you, isn’t it? Arrange it for eight o’clock. And wear something…attractive.” His gaze slid over Sam and dismissed him as unimportant. Then he patted Delainey’s shoulder and strode off down the hall toward the loan department.
“Nice guy,” Sam said.
Of course he would have to be there to witness the whole thing, Delainey thought irritably. “Well, I don’t imagine you were best buddies with everyone you ever worked with. Or is that why you’re not working right now? Because you couldn’t get along with the people you didn’t like?”
Sam seemed not to hear her. “You’re a business loan officer and his secretary,” he said admiringly. “You’re one busy woman.”
“Put a sock in it, Sam. Tell Emma we’ll have dinner another time, all right?”
“You’re standing us up? I’ve heard some fancy excuses to get out of a dinner date in my day, but this one—”
“You’ve heard excuses?” Delainey deliberately let a note of wonder creep into her voice. “You mean personally? There have actually been women who didn’t fall all over themselves to get a date with you?”
Sam’s lower lip quivered in the best imitation of a scolded three-year-old that Delainey had ever seen. “You have a mean streak that runs all the way through, Delainey.”
“And you don’t? That crack about me being a secretary…Tell Emma I’m sorry to disappoint her. I’ll make it up to her.”
“And to me, too?” Sam murmured. “Because I’m warning you—this time I’m going to hold out for a lot more than just roses.”
Josie looked horrified when Delainey came back into the office, but when she heard what had happened she swung efficiently into action. “Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll make all the arrangements,” she said, and she’d picked up the phone before Delainey could answer.
Delainey, still not used to having someone else taking care of details, had to bite her tongue to keep from saying that she’d rather do it herself. But that, she knew, would hurt Josie’s feelings, so she went back into her office and buried herself in the paperwork for a new loan application.
Still, she couldn’t quite put the whole thing out of her mind. It wasn’t Josie, after all, who would immediately face the music from Jason Conners if they ended up with a table next to the kitchen door. It was Delainey who would face Jason’s scorn, and she’d already had enough of that to last her a while.
She was sure that Josie would do her level best, but some things were out of Josie’s control. Emma had said that Wednesday nights were always busy at the mansion—and even if the manager recognized Delainey’s name as a new tenant, he didn’t know anything about her yet, so he probably wouldn’t go out of his way. Of course the established customers would get preference.
She arrived at the Mansion early so she could check on the arrangements, and the manager greeted her with a smile. “Ms. Hodges,” he said. “Everything is ready.”
Delainey was startled. “How do you even know my name?”
“Well, partly because I make it a point to know all the tenants, so a new face stands out. But Mr. Wagner stopped earlier to make sure you got extra-special treatment.”
That’s downright terrifying, Delainey thought. She was morally certain that Sam’s notion of extra-special wasn’t the same as her own.
“Would you like to see which table he suggested for you?” Without waiting for an answer, the manager led the way to the dining room.
She was so early that the only people in the room were the busboys who were putting the finishing touches on the tables and in one corner an older couple who were already eating their soup. The manager showed Delainey to a table set for three. It was probably the best location in the room, near a huge marble fireplace where a gas fire flickered, but not so close that the heat would be excessive.
That probably hadn’t been Sam’s reason for choosing it, however, Delainey thought. He’d no doubt figured that if she was any closer to the flames, she’d manage to set herself ablaze.
She could see nothing wrong with any of the arrangements, but that didn’t entirely relieve her apprehension as she sat at the library bar, toying with a glass of wine while she waited for Curtis Whittington and Jason to arrive.
She tried to distract herself by studying the room. So this was where Emma had been playing bridge yesterday. It was a warm, pleasant room, with a high coffered ceiling and long walls lined with books—the kind which looked as if someone had actually read them. The soft strains of Mozart wafted in from the grand piano in the drawing room next door—the live entertainment that Emma had mentioned.
When Jason and Curtis arrived, Delainey slid off the bar stool to greet them. She was mildly surprised to see that Curtis Whittington looked older in person than he had on the magazine covers. But then, she reminded herself, the profiles she’d read last night had been uniformly complimentary about the merger king’s magic touch in making the businesses he acquired more successful—so why would a magazine use a photograph that wasn’t flattering?
In fact, however, Curtis not only looked older in person than in his portraits, but he looked older than he actually was. Though he was just past forty, his stooped shoulders and the