“I do.” The others would sell it, she admitted. There wasn’t one person in the library who wouldn’t put the house on the market and run with the cash. It would be lost to her. All the foolish, ostentatious rooms, the ridiculous archways. Jolley might be gone, but he’d left the house like a dangling carrot. And he still held the stick.
“He’s trying to run our lives still.”
Michael lifted a brow. “Surprised?”
With a half laugh, Pandora glanced over. “No.”
Slowly she walked around the room while the sun shot through the diamond panes of glass and lit her hair. Michael watched her with a sense of detached admiration. She’d look magnificent on the screen. He’d always thought so. Her coloring, her posture. Her arrogance. The five or ten pounds the camera would add couldn’t hurt that too angular, beanpole body, either. And the fire-engine-red hair would make a statement on the screen while it was simply outrageous in reality. He’d often wondered why she didn’t do something to tone it down.
At the moment he wasn’t interested in any of that—just in what was in her brain. He didn’t give a damn about the money, but he wasn’t going to sit idly by and watch everything Jolley had had and built go to the vultures. If he had to play rough with Pandora, he would. He might even enjoy it.
Millions. Pandora cringed at the outrageousness of it. That much money could be nothing but a headache, she was certain. Stocks, bonds, accountants, trusts, tax shelters. She preferred a simpler kind of living. Though no one would call her apartment in Manhattan primitive.
She’d never had to worry about money and that was just the way she liked it. Above or below a certain income level, there were nothing but worries. But if you found a nice, comfortable plateau, you could just cruise. She’d nearly found it.
It was true enough that a share of this would help her tremendously professionally. With a buffer sturdy enough, she could have the artistic freedom she wanted and continue the life-style that now caused a bit of a strain on her bank account. Her work was artistic and critically acclaimed but reviews didn’t pay the rent. Outside of Manhattan, her work was usually considered too unconventional. The fact that she often had to create more mainstream designs to keep her head above water grated constantly. With fifty or sixty thousand to back her, she could…
Furious with herself, she blocked it off. She was thinking like Michael, she decided. She’d rather die. He’d sold out, turned whatever talent he had to the main chance, just as he was ready to turn these circumstances to his own financial advantage. She would think of other areas. She would think first of Jolley.
As she saw it, the entire scheme was a maze of problems. How like her uncle. Now, like a chess match, she’d have to consider her moves.
She’d never lived with a man. Purposely. Pandora liked running by her own clock. It wasn’t so much that she minded sharing things, she minded sharing space. If she agreed, that would be the first concession.
Then there was the fact that Michael was attractive, attractive enough to be unsettling if he hadn’t been so annoying. Annoying and easily annoyed, she recalled with a flash of amusement. She knew what buttons to push. Hadn’t she always prided herself on the fact that she could handle him? It wasn’t always easy; he was too sharp. But that made their altercations interesting. Still, they’d never been together for more than a week at a time.
But there was one clear, inarguable fact. She’d loved her uncle. How could she live with herself if she denied him a last wish? Or a last joke.
Six months. Stopping, she studied Michael as he studied her. Six months could be a very long time, especially when you weren’t pleased with what you were doing. There was only one way to speed things up. She’d enjoy herself.
“Tell me, cousin, how can we live under the same roof for six months without coming to blows?”
“We can’t.”
He’d answered without a second’s hesitation, so she laughed again. “I suppose I’d be bored if we did. I can tidy up loose ends and move in in three days. Four at the most.”
“That’s fine.” When his shoulders relaxed, he realized he’d been tensed for her refusal. At the moment he didn’t want to question why it mattered so much. Instead he held out a hand. “Deal.”
Pandora inclined her head just before her palm met his. “Deal,” she agreed, surprised that his hand was hard and a bit callused. She’d expected it to be rather soft and limp. After all, all he did was type. Perhaps the next six months would have some surprises.
“Shall we go tell the others?”
“They’ll want to murder us.”
Her smile came slowly, subtly shifting the angles of her face. It was, Michael thought, at once wicked and alluring. “I know. Try not to gloat.”
When they stepped out, several griping relatives had spilled out into the hallway. They did what they did best together. They argued.
“You’d blow your share on barbells and carrot juice,” Biff said spitefully to Hank. “At least I know what to do with money.”
“Lose it on horses,” Monroe said, and blew out a stream of choking cigar smoke. “Invest. Tax deferred.”
“You could use yours to take a course in how to speak in complete sentences.” Carlson stepped out of the smoke and straightened his tie. “I’m the old man’s only living son. It’s up to me to prove he was incompetent.”
“Uncle Jolley had more competence than the lot of you put together.” Feeling equal parts frustration and disgust, Pandora stepped forward. “He gave you each exactly what he wanted you to have.”
Biff drew out a flat gold cigarette case as he glanced over at his cousin. “It appears our Pandora’s changed her mind about the money. Well, you worked for it, didn’t you, darling?”
Michael put his hand on Pandora’s shoulder and squeezed lightly before she could spring. “You’d like to keep your profile, wouldn’t you, cousin?”
“It appears writing for television’s given you a taste for violence.” Biff lit his cigarette and smiled. If he’d thought he could get in a blow below the belt… “I think I’ll decline a brawl,” he decided.
“Well, I think it’s fair.” Hank’s wife came forward, stretching out her hand. She gave both Pandora and Michael a hearty shake. “You should put a gym in this place. Build yourself up a little. Come on, Hank.”
Silent, and his shoulders straining the material of his suit, Hank followed her out.
“Nothing but muscles between the head,” Carlson mumbled. “Come, Mona.” He strode ahead of his wife, pausing long enough to level a glare at Pandora and Michael. The inevitable line ran though Michael’s mind before Carlson opened his mouth and echoed it. “You haven’t heard the last of this.”
Pandora gave him her sweetest smile. “Have a nice trip home, Uncle Carlson.”
“Probate,” Monroe said with a grunt, and waddled his way out behind them.
Patience fluttered her hands. “Key West, for heaven’s sake. I’ve never been south of Palm Beach. My, oh my.”
“Oh, Michael.” Fluttering her lashes, Ginger placed a hand on his arm. “When do you think I might have my mirror?”
He glanced down into her perfectly lovely, heart-shaped face. Her eyes were as pure a blue as tropical waters. He thanked God Jolley hadn’t asked that he spend six months with Cousin Ginger. “I’m sure Mr. Fitzhugh will have it shipped to you as soon as possible.”
“Come along, Ginger, we’ll give you a ride to the airport.” Biff pulled Ginger’s hand through his arm, patted it and smiled down at Pandora. “I’d be worried if I didn’t know you better. You won’t last six