“Why?”
“Let’s just say I like my team to be on comfortable terms with each other.”
“I’m quite comfortable with you,” she lied briskly.
Wearing a slightly challenging smile, he leaned against her open car door. “Then why can’t you say my name, Sharon?”
He said hers easily enough. And something about the sound of it on his tongue made a funny little shiver go through her. Which was hardly a professional way to react to a business associate, she chided herself.
“I have no problem saying your name, Mac. But I am running late, so if there’s nothing else, I’d better be on my way.”
There was definite satisfaction in his smile when he straightened away from the door. “No, there’s nothing else—for now. Drive carefully.”
He didn’t stay to watch her drive off, but turned on one heel and walked back to the house. He didn’t even glance over his shoulder before disappearing inside. Sharon was left staring after him. She roused herself with a slight shake of her head and reached for the key.
As she drove away, she vowed to herself that this was the last time she would allow him to turn her into a tongue-tied adolescent.
Any further exchanges between her and Mac Cordero were going to be strictly business—even though she was beginning to wonder if Mac had something else in mind.
BRAD WAS on his very best behavior Thursday evening during dinner, which pleased Sharon almost as much as it worried her. She loved her younger brother dearly, but any time he acted sweet and polite, she couldn’t help wondering what he was up to.
“How are you enjoying your summer vacation, Brad?” Jerry Whitaker, who had joined them for dinner, asked encouragingly.
Looking up from the baked pork chops, rice and steamed vegetables Sharon had prepared, the boy tossed a fringe of shaggy brown bangs out of his face to look across the table. “It’s okay. Better than school, anyway.”
“What are you doing to keep yourself busy?”
“Baseball, mostly. Coach Cooper has practice every afternoon. And I go to the Boys and Girls Club a couple of mornings a week for tennis lessons.”
Jerry smiled at Sharon. “Sounds like you’ve got quite an athlete in the family.”
Absently returning the smile, she glanced at her brother. “Yes, Brad’s very good at sports.”
“What else do you have planned for summer, Brad? Hanging out at the pool with your friends? Flirting with the girls? I seem to have a vague memory of doing a lot of that back in the olden days when I was your age.”
Because he knew it was expected of him, Brad chuckled in response to Jerry’s exaggeration, but then his smile faded as he glanced at his sister. “Sharon doesn’t let me hang out with my friends much. She’s afraid I’ll get into trouble.”
Sharon’s defenses went up when Jerry gave her a reproachful look. “That’s not exactly accurate,” she protested. “I certainly don’t forbid Brad to see his friends. I simply ask him to let me know where he’ll be and what time he’ll be home.”
“And I have to tell her who’s going to be there, and what we’ll be doing, and what we’ll be eating, and—” Brad held up a finger for each point he made.
“That’s enough,” Sharon cut in, knowing her brother was still annoyed with her for keeping him from attending the party Monday evening.
She still felt justified in her decision, especially since she’d heard that Officer Dodson had been dispatched to send everyone home when the festivities had gotten too loud. She’d been surprised that he hadn’t reported seeing signs of drinking among the underage guests. At least the kids had been smart enough not to try to get away with that—probably because they’d guessed that Chief Davenport would have someone keeping a close eye on them.
“Your brother is fifteen years old, Sharon,” Jerry murmured. “You have to loosen the apron strings sometime.”
Brad looked smug.
Sharon was annoyed with Jerry for undercutting her in front of Brad. Surely he knew she was doing the best she could while their flighty mother was off vacationing with a group of congenial widows she’d met over the Internet. It wasn’t the first time Lucy Henderson had left Sharon in charge of the house-hold—she’d been doing it since Sharon was a teenager, herself—but it was getting much more difficult as Brad grew older and more rebellious.
She picked up a bowl. “Have some more vegetables, Jerry.”
Fully aware of the message she was really sending him, he chuckled, took the bowl and obligingly changed the subject. “What’s this I hear about you working on the Garrett-house renovation?”
It had taken less than forty-eight hours for the news to get to him. Sharon wasn’t sure why she hadn’t already mentioned it, herself. Maybe because Jerry so rarely showed any real interest in her business, which he tended to refer to as “the little wall-paper shop.” “I’ve been hired as the interior-design consultant. I’ll help choose colors, patterns, fixtures and so on. Mac wants the house completely ready for occupancy when the renovation is completed.”
“Mac?” Jerry murmured, lifting an eyebrow.
Funny how easily the name had slipped from her this time, proving that she’d already begun to think of him that way. “He doesn’t care much for formality.”
“I’m not sure I approve of this arrangement.” Jerry seemed to be only half teasing. “Apparently he’s quite the romantic figure around town. Handsome, mysterious, reportedly wealthy. And he’s the guy who saved your life last weekend. I wouldn’t want you to get swept off your feet.”
Sharon forced a smile. “I’m only working for him, Jerry, not dating him.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Why do you think he chose you as his decorator? Do you suppose his budget is more limited than rumors have implied?”
Aware of Brad listening to the conversation while he ate, Sharon tried to keep her tone humorous. “Are you calling me a cut-rate decorator, Jerry? Hardly flattering.”
He didn’t even have the grace to look sheepish. “Now, Sharon, you know I didn’t mean it like that. But you must admit, you aren’t a licensed decorator. Picking out colors and wallpaper patterns has been a hobby for you.”
A hobby? She thought of the hours she’d spent reading, studying, poring over magazines, journals and sample books. She’d had several paid decorating jobs, including the recent remodeling of the First Bank of Honoria and the upcoming McBride Law Firm project. Needlework was a hobby; decorating was a passion she’d had since adolescence. “He said I came highly recommended,” she said simply, knowing it would be a waste of breath to argue semantics.
“I’m sure he won’t be disappointed.”
Had Jerry always had that slightly condescending tone when he talked about her work, or was she simply being oversensitive this evening? Whatever the cause, this conversation was beginning to annoy her as much as his criticism of the way she was watching out for her brother.
“I’ll make sure he isn’t,” she said, and stood. “Who wants dessert? I baked a strawberry cake.”
Brad and Jerry both eagerly accepted the offer.
As Sharon stood alone in the kitchen slicing cake, she found herself thinking that maybe she shouldn’t see so much of Jerry for a while. She’d gotten into the habit of hanging out with him without really thinking about where the relationship was going. She hadn’t liked the note of possession in his voice when he’d quizzed her about working for Mac. Was he under the impression that they had an exclusive relationship?
As