Trust Me (17 page)

“Forget it. This is a vegan menu, remember? No eggs or dairy products.”

“That's right. I forgot.” Juliet eyed her closely. “Are you serious about being serious about Stark?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Shit.” Tony slammed the flat of his hand against the office wall. “You're sleeping with him, aren't you?”

Desdemona blushed to the roots of her hair. “That's none of your business.”

“The hell it isn't.” Tony swung around to confront her. “You're my sister.”

Desdemona sighed. “Tony, I'm twenty-eight, soon to be twenty-nine. I own my own business, I pay taxes, and I have an excellent credit rating. I think I'm old enough and stable enough to have a mature relationship.”

“You
are
sleeping with him,” Juliet breathed. “Desdemona, this is incredible.”

“You're actually having an affair with a nerd?” Tony gritted.

Desdemona tossed aside her pen and leaped to her feet. “The next person who calls Stark a nerd gets fired, is that clear?”

“Calm down, calm down.” Juliet waved her hands in a soothing motion. “No one's out to insult your client. We're just having a little trouble dealing with this, that's all.”

“Wainwrights always marry their own kind,” Bess announced in ominous tones.

Desdemona rolled her eyes. “Who said anything about marriage?”

A startled silence fell on the office. Three pairs of eyes regarded Desdemona with grave interest.

“When did this affair actually begin?” Juliet asked delicately. “I mean, in the technical sense.”

“That is a private matter,” Desdemona said.

Tony's eyes narrowed. “It was last night, wasn't it? You started sleeping with him last night. That's why you seemed different this morning.”

“I said, it's a private matter,” Desdemona snapped. “Now, if this inquisition is over, I really would like to get back to work.”

Juliet put a hand to her brow. “My God. I see it all now. He seduced you after the ball. You were carried away by the glamorous setting, the tux, the music, the champagne. You lost your head.”

“I did not lose my head,” Desdemona said. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”

“I hope you took precautions,” Bess grumbled.

“It was probably just a one-night stand for him,” Tony muttered.

Desdemona lost her temper. “It was not a one-night stand.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Juliet asked.

“Because we're going to be seeing each other on a regular basis,” Desdemona retorted.

“Are you certain?” Bess asked.

“Of course, I'm certain. He said he'd call today, in fact.”

“Oh, Desdemona.” Juliet shook her head in a pitying manner. “You're so naive sometimes. Don't you know they always say they'll call, and they never do?”

The phone rang.

Desdemona snatched the receiver out of the cradle, grateful for the interruption. “Right Touch Catering.”

“Your first orgasm?” Stark asked without preamble.

Desdemona collapsed into her chair. She fought to conceal a silly grin. “Why, yes. Yes, it was, as a matter of fact.”

“Interesting,” Stark said.

“I certainly thought so.”

“So, do you want to do it again sometime?” Stark asked.

Conscious of her audience, Desdemona twirled around in the swivel chair until she faced the back wall. She lowered her voice. “It's considered tacky to ask a lady out just to have sex.”

“I knew that,” Stark said. He cleared his throat. “Would you care to attend the theater with me?”

“That sounds lovely. When?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. The premiere of
Monsters Under the Bed
.”

“I'd love to go with you,” Desdemona said demurely. “As it happens, I'm very fond of the theater.”

The crash of her office door being slammed shut made her glance over her shoulder. She saw Tony striding past the window.

He looked as if he was in a mood to do something violent.

“What was that sound?” Stark asked.

“Nothing important,” Desdemona assured him.

T
hundering applause greeted the final curtain as
Monsters Under the Bed
came to a close. Cheers and enthusiastic shouts filled the small auditorium. The actors took their bows.

From the last row of the tiny theater, a playhouse shared by several fringe theater companies and loaned to the Strolling Players for their performances, Desdemona surveyed the crowd of youthful theater patrons.

The too-adult expressions of wariness, cynicism, and uncertainty that had marked their young faces earlier, were gone, at least for the moment. The magic of the theater had enveloped them for a short while, giving the children a respite from the overwhelming stresses that plagued their lives.

“At least I understood this play better than I did the last one I saw,” Stark said. “No flyswatters.”

Desdemona laughed. “Congratulations. You're on your way to becoming a real theater buff.”

“Want to go backstage? I've, uh, got passes.”

“I'm impressed. You must have connections.”

“I know a couple of people.” Stark reached for her hand.

They waited until the herd of youngsters had raced up the center aisle to the small lobby. Desdemona took the opportunity to edge closer to Stark. She savored the strength in his grip. There was something very solid and sure about him, she thought. He might prove inflexible from time to time, perhaps even mulish under certain circumstances, but a woman could trust a man like this. If he made a commitment, he would stick to it.

Desdemona's fingers brushed the worn corduroy of Stark's slouchy jacket. She inhaled deeply. Stark's faint scent brought forth a warm rush of memory. She had not yet recovered from their lovemaking, she realized. She was still a little giddy.

“I understand you've met Jason and Kyle,” Stark said as their path cleared. He drew her down the center aisle toward the stage.

“I certainly have. Macbeth brought them by Right Touch twice this week when we needed extra help to load the van. They were great.”

“I'm afraid they've both been struck by stage fever.”

“I know the symptoms well.”

Jason popped out from behind the curtain. He waved wildly to get Stark's attention. “Over here, Sam. I have to put the trees away in the prop room. I'll be through in a minute. Hi, Desdemona.”

“Hello, Jason. Great show. The trees were spectacular.”

Jason beamed. “Thanks.” He vanished behind the curtain again.

“Hi, Sam. Desdemona.” Kyle hailed them from the wings. “How'd you like the way I handled the curtains?”

“I don't see how they could have opened or closed the show without you,” Stark said.

“Yeah.” Kyle grinned hugely. “The kids in the audience really liked the play, didn't they?”

“You were a hit,” Stark said. “I was sitting in the back row, and I saw everyone in the audience applaud like crazy.”

Macbeth loomed in the shadows. “Hello, Desdemona. Stark. Glad you could make it. Enjoy yourselves?”

“It was terrific.” Desdemona released Stark's arm to give Macbeth a hug.

“Oh, there you are, Desdemona, dear.” Bess sailed across the stage, the grotesque horns of her monster costume tucked under one arm. She had not yet removed her makeup. “Who's this with you?”

“Aunt Bess, I'd like you to meet Sam Stark. Stark, this is Bess Wainwright.”

Stark inclined his head in his austere manner. “Mrs. Wainwright.”

“Call me Bess.” Bess came to a halt and surveyed him from head to toe. “So you're the one.”

“Am I?”

“You're not quite what I expected,” Bess informed him.

“Is that right?”

“You move well.” Bess eyed him with a grudging approval. “You look like you've had some decent training.”

“He has had some training,” Desdemona said. “But not in acting. Aunt Bess, I absolutely forbid you to make any more personal remarks. At this rate it's only a matter of time before you embarrass me.”

“Nonsense. No Wainwright was ever embarrassed by anything except a forgotten line or a missed cue.”

“There's a first time for everything,” Desdemona said.

Jason and Kyle reappeared. They were bubbling over with the glow of an acknowledged success.

“Want to see backstage?” Jason asked Stark.

“Yes, I would,” Stark said.

“Wait'll you see the light booth,” Kyle said. “They've got all kinds of neat gadgets up there.”

Desdemona smiled at Stark. “I'll wait here.”

He nodded once and then allowed himself to be led off stage left.

Desdemona waited until the three of them had moved out of earshot before she turned to Macbeth. “Looks like the babysitting is going well.”

“Yeah.” Macbeth smiled slightly. “I was sure glad to see Stark in the audience today. Kyle and Jason had really counted on him being there. He'd told them he would come, but you never know.”

“Corporate honchos like that have a way of turning up busy at the last minute, especially when it comes to little kids,” Bess said grimly.

Desdemona shook her head. “If Stark says he'll do something, you can bet money on it.”

“I think Jason and Kyle are starting to believe that,” Macbeth observed quietly.

Twenty minutes later Stark reappeared. Kyle and Jason bounced around him like energetic puppies.

“We're going to get some pizza,” Jason said when he spotted Desdemona. “Someplace where they have video games.”

“You can come along if you want,” Kyle said generously.

“Thank you.” Desdemona smiled at Stark. “I'd like that.”

Stark looked relieved, as though he'd been half afraid she would not want to join him and his brothers for pizza and video games.

Some of Jason's gleeful enthusiasm faded as they walked out of the theater. His expression turned thoughtful. “Sam, did you know that a lot of those kids in the audience don't have real homes? Macbeth says they have to live in shelters and cheap motels and places like that.”

“Some even have to live in cars 'cause that's all their folks can afford,” Kyle added.

“A home is a valuable thing,” Stark said. “Not everyone has one.”

Stark took aim at the hideous green monster and squeezed off the last shot. “Gotcha.”

The creature collapsed and vanished in a puff of smoke.

“You did it,” Kyle yelped in awestruck amazement ‘You destroyed the Wyvern, and you found the treasure. You won the game. Hardly anybody ever wins this one.”

Lights flashed, and a row of numbers appeared on the video screen.

Jason gazed at the numbers, entranced. “Wow. Look at that score.”

Desdemona peered at the screen. “I didn't think adults were supposed to be any good at these games.”

“I've got an edge on this one,” Stark admitted as he stepped back from the machine.

“What kind of an edge?” Desdemona asked.

“I invented it.”

Kyle and Jason stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment.

Kyle recovered first. “Is that the truth?”

“Yes.” Stark fished quarters out of his pocket. “Want to give it a try?”

“Sure.” Kyle moved into position. “What's the secret?”

“The secret is not to get greedy when you finally discover the location of the Wyvern's treasure. Leave the gold where it is until you clean the bad guys out of the caverns. Then go back for the treasure.”

Kyle frowned. “Yeah?”

“The players who try to take the treasure and run for it always lose,” Stark said. “I set it up that way.”

Kyle grinned. “Got it.” He seized the control sticks.

“It's designed to teach the concept of deferred gratification,” Stark said dryly. He looked at Desdemona. “I'm something of an expert on the subject.”

“Let me try, let me try,” Jason said.

“I'm first.” Kyle shoved coins into the slot.

Jason turned to Stark. “When did you invent Wyvern's Treasure?”

“About four years ago. I sold the software design to the company that manufactures it. Other designers update it periodically, but they haven't tampered with the basic structure of the game, so I can still win when I play.”

“Cool,” Jason breathed. “Way cool. Wait'll I tell my friend Kevin. He's good at this game. He always gets as far as Wyvern hunter status, but he's never gotten a score as high as yours.”

Desdemona looked at Stark. “I thought your specialty was security and encryption programs based on chaos theory.”

“Based on theories derived from the science of complex structures,” Stark corrected patiently. “I told you, I don't like the word
chaos
. It's not a proper description of the field.”

“Whatever. Did you invent Wyvern's Treasure just for fun?”

“No.” Stark took her arm and guided her back to the red vinyl booth.

The aroma of fresh-cooked pizza filled the colorful restaurant. Stark had discovered that Kyle and Jason considered pizza to be nature's perfect food. He had eaten more pizza since their arrival than he had eaten in the past year.

Desdemona slid into the booth across from him and reached for her glass of sparkling water. “Why did you invent it, then?”

“I wrote the game program because I needed cash to start up Stark Security Systems.” He studied her intently, marveling at how good it felt to have her sitting across from him.

The garish restaurant lighting turned her frothy red curls into coils of spun copper. Her turquoise eyes glowed with warmth and laughter. He thought about Wednesday night and burned.

“Thanks for inviting me along this afternoon,” Desdemona said. “I love pizza.”

“Do you? Personally, I think I'm in serious danger of overdosing on it.” Stark glanced across the room to where Kyle and Jason were hovering over the video machine. “I want to thank you for sending Macbeth to me. Getting Jason and Kyle involved with the Strolling Players was a good idea.”

‘I'm glad they're enjoying it.”

“It's taking them out of themselves or something.” Stark was not certain how to put it into words. “Makes them feel a part of something important.”

“It's always illuminating to discover that there are other people who are a lot worse off than you are,” Desdemona said. “And that you can do something to help.”

Stark switched his gaze back to her. “Maybe the next time we go out on a date, we can go alone.”

“I'd enjoy that, too.”

‘And maybe we can go to bed together afterward,” Stark suggested, feeling optimistic about life in general.

“You have a one-track mind.”

“I realize that I tend to be somewhat linear in my thinking, but I'm trying very hard not to be tacky.”

Desdemona sipped daintily from her glass of fizzing water. Her eyes sparkled. “Luckily for you, you're too sexy to be called tacky.”

What with the responsibilities that came with being an older brother, as well as the demands of business and the ARCANE project, Stark found it extremely difficult to maintain political correctness in his thinking processes.

It was hard, for example, not to think tacky thoughts about Desdemona.

By Monday morning all he really wanted to focus on was how to be alone with her. It was a thorny problem, but he was more than willing to devote a great deal of energy to it. He was, after all, very goal-oriented.

Maud Pitchcott looked up as he walked through the door of his office.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark. A lovely day. Full of sunlight and fresh promise, isn't it?”

“It's raining.”

“April showers bring May flowers.”

“It's the middle of June.”

‘We wouldn't appreciate the sunshine if we didn't have to first experience the rain,” Maud said with ill-concealed triumph.

“I give up. You win.” Stark started past her desk toward the door of the inner office.

“Oh, Mr. Stark, I almost forgot. A package arrived for you.” Maud reached for a large box wrapped in brown paper that sat on the table behind her desk. She handed it to him. “See? A surprise to brighten a rainy day.”

Stark took the package. He glanced at the return address. “It's from my mother.”

“How lovely.”

“Probably a wedding gift. Looks like she didn't get my note telling her the bride ran off.”

Maud's face fell for an instant, but she rallied quickly. “Never forget, Mr. Stark, nothing happens without a reason, even though in the darkest hours before the dawn that reason seems obscure. Every cloud has a silver lining. By the way, Mr. McCallum wants to see you as soon as you're available.”

“Send him in.”

Stark went into his inner sanctum, put the package down on his desk, hooked his jacket on a coat rack, and sat down. The intercom chimed gently.

“What is it, Maud?”

“There's a call for you on line two. A Mrs. Alison Stark.” Maud's tone ended on a distinct question mark.