Drop Dead Gorgeous (33 page)

His gaze roamed over her face, and she hoped he wouldn't say a single hurtful word, wouldn't waste a moment of their time together. But he did. “I'm not ready for what you're offering.”

“You're afraid of what I'm offering.” Did he really even know what “it” was?

His eyes fell to the step behind her. “I like my life the way it is. I like my plans.”

He was lying; she knew it, and he couldn't even look at her as he broke her heart. “I love you, T. Larry. And I'm actually willing to live like I don't believe I might die of a stroke after my birthday.” She dropped her voice to a deferential whisper. “I want to start planning for the future.”

His jaw tensed, teeth clenching on the inside. After last night, when she'd confessed her terrible fear of the future, he had to know how much her words meant.

Still, he took a step back. “We're too different. I can't keep up with you. I can't give you what you need.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “That's presuming you know what I need, T. Larry. I don't think you really do.”

“All the more reason not to let this go any further.”

She moved up one step so that her eyes were level with his. Her heart crunched inside her chest, and her skin turned cold despite the mild summer evening. “What's ‘this'? You mean making love together. Working together? What exactly is ‘this'?”

“All of it.”

She felt her eyes grow wide. “Are you firing me?”

“It's for the best. I think we've pretty much proved we're failures at this.”

This
again. She could have pursued it, instead she latched onto the one word that was so important to T. Larry. “You think you failed me, don't you? That's why you're cutting me off. You think you failed by getting caught in Richard's trap.”

“This isn't about Dick.”

It was, she knew by the disparaging tone, the hint of spit when he said the name, the way his lips parted almost savagely.

“He's in jail. I'm fine. You didn't fail. And it was all my fault anyway.” Tears pricked her eyes, but she held them at bay. “You told me that he was trying to hurt me.” She didn't want to start seeing the bogeyman around every corner, but neither could she slough off what Richard and his evil plan had taught her. “You told me that all the bad things that were happening weren't coincidence, and I'll never doubt something like that again. I promise.” She'd never let anyone hurt him again because of her.

He answered without thinking. That could be the only explanation for his vehemence and the fact that he ignored everything else she'd said. “
You
had to rescue me.”

For just a moment, she thought hate sparked in his eyes, something she'd never seen in T. Larry before, certainly never directed at her.

“You're never going to be able to see past your failures and your plans, are you, T. Larry?” She might be able to learn from her mistake, but not T. Larry.

“Madison—”

She didn't let him deny it. “I know what the T stands for.”

He remained immobile, silent.

“Terrified.”

He blinked, then he turned, and finally he walked away. She didn't cry until she'd locked her front door.

She'd faced the truth, bad people did exist and bad things did happen. She'd learned what T. Larry had been trying to tell her all along.

In the process, she'd lost him.

 

L
AURENCE WASN'T A FOOL
; he was a realist. While he'd been sitting alone, waiting for death, he'd seen the truth clearly.

Madison was young. She was volatile—not flighty as he'd always assumed. She was caring. She didn't need a balding accountant who planned every minute of every day, but still couldn't manage to keep her safe. He'd let her down. He was terrified he'd do it over and over again in big and little ways.

He'd do what was best for her and get out of her life.

“I
T'S ME
, H
ARRIET
. They caught the man who left the squirrel for Madison.”

Harriet gripped the receiver tightly to her ear. Zachary had called to apologize. She had to remain calm, lead him naturally into it. “Madison called me to say they'd found T. Larry. They got the guy.”

“Okay, well…” She could almost see him shuffling his feet as he spoke. “I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you, Zachary.”

“Well, bye then.”

Goodbye? What was he talking about? He hadn't said he was sorry. “Zachary—” What could she say?

“Yes, Harriet?”

What now? She couldn't beg. “Nothing.” She paused, giving him one last opportunity. He waited long enough that she was forced to speak. “Well, I'll see you Monday, I mean, tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” A beat. “Bye.”

The dial tone buzzed in her ear. He hadn't apologized. She'd been so sure he'd realized what a big mistake he made in assuming she was capable of that horrible business.

Harriet put the phone down and stared at the muted TV set. She loved Sunday afternoon classics. This one in particular. Gene Tierney in
Leave Her to Heaven.
There'd been some terrible remake of it in the eighties, or was that the nineties? Anyway, no one compared with the devious, coldhearted bitch as played by Gene Tierney. Cornel Wilde was such a dope, believing in her right up until the end, until it was almost too late.

Eyes narrowed and lips pinched, Gene gave a masterful performance. Harriet prided herself on being able to manufacture that same exact look when she needed it, a look that could wither the recipient right before her very eyes, woman or man, boss or boss's secretary. And lover. Or ex-lover.

Her stomach flip-flopped. Something nipped her heart.

She wasn't really like that evil woman in the movie. It was an act, something to cover her fragile feelings so they didn't get bruised. Zachary hadn't apologized because he was an unfeeling lout. He knew she wasn't guilty of leaving dead squirrels.

He did think she was capable of going through with her suit. A suit he believed was mean. Vindictive.

She plopped down on the couch and watched Gene Tierney's muted mouth move.

Harriet wasn't vindictive. Why, she'd been sincerely worried when Madison told her T. Larry was missing. She'd been glad when Madison called her late last night to say T. Larry was all right. The fact that she'd been in bed asleep hadn't even bothered her.

That had to prove something. Didn't it? Didn't it mean she wasn't the cold, hard, unfeeling bitch everyone thought she was?

It might have meant something if anyone knew what she was thinking.

But they didn't.

 

L
AURENCE SUFFERED
through the rotten weekend. Thirty-six hours later, his head still ached, though the doctors had assured him he didn't have a concussion. His body was bruised and his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. Madison had not shown up for work. Now, Harriet Hartman sat before him, perched primly on the chair opposite. He had the vague notion of pinching his nose. One pain should stop the other. Or at least take his mind off it.

“Yes, Harriet.”

“I told my lawyer, Harold Doomp, to withdraw the suit.”

Laurence's coffee mug clattered against his desk. “What?”

“I dropped my suit.”

He didn't know what to say. She looked neither vicious nor victorious, cunning nor duplicitous. Instead, her eyes were a bit sad. Her navy dress covered her knees. Her pumps lifted her heels only an inch off the floor. There was nothing outrageous about her, nothing on her face to indicate she had some sneaky plan going on in her mind. Her lips were not even creased with bitterness, but instead sported a becoming shade of pink.

“I'm sorry I started this, T. Larry. Can you forgive me?”

He was sure his heart seized up in shock. He'd never, ever, not since years ago when she'd accidentally added two decimal places to a client's income line, heard Harriet apologize. There had to be a reason. “Are you worried about your job?”

“I wouldn't blame you if you fired me.”

“You know I can't do that.” For fear of another suit.

She opened her lips, paused, then took a deep breath. “If you think it's best, I'll leave the company.” She looked at him, solicitous but not cowed. “But I'd need a reference. I have done a good job for you, T. Larry, despite…everything.”

Everything being instigating mutiny, slapping a suit on him and demeaning Madison. In all fairness, Harriet had received more than her fair share of demeaning. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his abdomen. “What's your goal here, Harriet?”

She pursed her lips in true Harriet the Harridan style. Then she let them soften. “Zachary told me you almost got killed.”

What difference could that possibly make to her? “So you think you owe me one on the suit?”

She tugged her lip between her teeth, worrying it. “There's three people in this world I owe an apology to.” She swallowed almost nervously, then plunged on. “First there's you. For the suit. You didn't deserve that. And I'm sorry.”

He didn't push, let her find her own pace.

“Then there's Zachary. For naming him and telling everyone what…happened between us in that horrible way.” Her eyes darted to his speakerphone. “And Madison. She's the only one who never said anything mean—except for when she called me Chicken Little—but the rest of the time…” She filled the pause with another deep breath. “Well, she's been sort of nice to me. Defended me.” Her hands suddenly fidgeted in her lap. “So when she gets in, I'll apologize to her, too.”

“She's not coming in.” Laurence wasn't sure what stunned him more, the fact that he'd walked out on Madison, or that Harriet seemed to have been taken over by a benign pod person. Though that was a tad unfair. She was an excellent accountant and a patient teacher—when she wasn't being heckled by the terrible trio. Her attitude could very well have been brought on solely by Laurence's own negligence in handling her tormentors.

“Is Madison sick?”

“I fired her.”

Harriet's jaw went down, up, down, up. Finally she coughed and said, “But T. Larry, you're in love with her.”

“I am not.”

“But everyone's known for years you're in love with her.”

“They most certainly have not.” Was he so patently obvious?

“But…but…you can't just fire Madison. You know that, don't you? You can't get rid of her that easily.”

He'd never get rid of Madison, not out of his head, not from his heart, but he had no intention of discussing that with Harriet. “I accept your apology. There's no need for you to resign.” He might regret that decision later, but he didn't take it back. “Everything will be fine. You can go back to work now.” He stood, waved his hand imperiously and was amazed to see that Harriet did exactly as he said. Then he sat back down and stared at the closed door for an eternity. Or at least a full five minutes.

The sky was truly falling, or he'd simply slipped down Alice's rabbit hole and this was his own private Wonderland. Or Hell, if one chose to look at it that way.

His phone chirped. His heart leaped, and he punched the button expecting to hear her voice. “Yes, Madison.”

“This is Rhonda. Madison's not here yet.”

He cleared his throat and hoped through the magic of electronics that Rhonda didn't hear the hitch in his voice. “Then what can I do for you?”

“You've got a Mr. Daily here to see you.”

So, this was where the other shoe dropped. Of course. Harriet was skipping Harry and the suit and going straight for the blackmail. She and Dilly-Dally could split the five hundred thousand two ways now, instead of three. Who needed the lawyer anyway? He should have known better than to take Harriet at face value. “Send him in, Rhonda.”

You didn't face death by gunshot, dismemberment by chain saw, or Madison O'Donnell without learning a big lesson. Laurence would squash this new threat like a pesky IRS agent.

 

M
ADISON WAS LATE
through no fault of her own. It was all Sean. He'd insisted on driving her himself. He was fifteen minutes late picking her up, then he had to stop for gas, and by the time they got on the freeway, it was a parking lot.

Her lateness didn't for one second relate to the fact that T. Larry had fired her or that she was afraid of him. He hadn't meant it. She'd never be afraid of him. He was a pussycat. He wouldn't hurt her. Not forever anyway.

She trembled suddenly as she pulled open the lobby door. Richard wouldn't have hurt her, either, not really. At the police station, T. Larry had explained how all the things Richard did had been to get her attention, how he'd been watching her on the train for months. She'd sensed something familiar about him on that first date, but she'd written it off as a fantasy come true. Now wasn't that the dumbest thing she'd done! Never again. She'd be careful. Really, she would. Still, she did have to feel a little sorry for Richard. T. Larry had explained that he was really a pathetic loser. T. Larry had used some other names, as well, but he said he hadn't believed for one minute that Richard would have done anything to
her,
nor that Richard was capable of using all that stuff he had down in the basement against T. Larry.

She slipped in through the closing elevator doors. The quick rise made her dizzy. Or maybe it was that Madison still had the horrible feeling she'd almost lost T. Larry, and that God had somehow given her a second chance, in many more ways than one. Somewhere in the whole silly long weekend away from him, almost right away, actually, she'd decided she was going to use that chance to prove that she would be the best thing that ever happened to him.

She pushed through the double doors of Carp, Alta and Hobbs, once again feeling her usual perky self. Rhonda stared at her openmouthed.

“What?”

The woman's lips slapped shut, then moved in a whisper. “Harriet said you'd been fired.”

“Harriet?” T. Larry had told Harriet? Of all people? Well, of course, he had. Harriet's lawsuit still hung over their heads. There'd obviously been another showdown, and he'd tried the trump card again. Despite what had happened when he'd used it before.

T. Larry's door was closed. The halls were empty, but the incessant buzz of whispers filled the air. Bill turned a corner, stopped, then smiled maliciously. “Here to get your stuff?”

She didn't let him faze her. Perky, remember perky. “Bill, that smile isn't very nice. It suggests you want me to leave.”

He sidled closer as she bounced into her cubicle, setting her purse on her desk.

“I do want you to leave.”

She raised one brow.

“Now I can ask you out.”

Goodness. She'd thought all his innuendos were a big puff of air. “Why didn't you ask before?”

“I couldn't, not with T. Larry breathing down my neck.”

She tipped her head to one side and looked over his shoulder. “He's still breathing down your neck.”

Bill turned and found T. Larry less than an arm's length behind. T. Larry was breathing fire. Madison smiled. Maybe he wouldn't be too terribly hard to convince on the subject of how right they were for each other.

Piercing eyes glued to Bill's deeply reddened face, T. Larry barked at her, “I thought you were fired.”

The whispers died an instant death. Heads popped out of cubicle openings and over walls to stare.

All right, so it wasn't going to be that easy, especially with an audience. “I thought you were kidding.”

“I wasn't.”

His glower still flayed the flesh from poor Bill's cheeks. “But since you're here, find Ryman and send him to my office.”

She smiled prettily. “Say please.”

He growled. “Please.” Then he walked back into his office and closed the door.

She couldn't gauge a thing by that reaction. There was also something in the way he said Ryman Alta's name. Almost as if he couldn't restrain his anger, maybe even hated his senior partner.

With Bill's shuffling, cowed footsteps receding down the corridor, she paged Ryman and asked politely if he could spare a moment to see T. Larry in his office. Ryman grunted. Madison hung up and made her way to the copy-coffee room for her long overdue first cup of the day.

“Harriet.”

The other girl stood at the counter stirring creamer into her coffee, her ankles quite lovely as they extended out of her attractive pumps, her navy dress chic as the dickens.

“I love your dress.” Madison steeled herself for a caustic retort.

“Do you really?” Harriet's brow furrowed with concern, not anger, not malice.