Her Best Friend (9 page)

And when Quinn went back to Sydney…well, she’d pick herself up and dust herself off the way she always did. And who knew, maybe a miracle would occur while they worked together to restore the Grand to its former glory. Maybe after all these years her heart would be able to let Quinn go and he could become simply her dear, beloved friend. Nothing more.

She smiled a little grimly.
Good luck with that one.

She got out of her car, took a deep breath and strode into the Grand, game face firmly on.

“Trying to make me look bad, Whitfield?” she said as she entered the theatre from the corridor.

She stopped in her tracks when she saw the man standing in the middle of the space, his head tilted back as he studied the ceiling. He was wearing a dark double-breasted suit, even though it was a Sunday, and his shiny red tie matched his florid cheeks.

“Mr. Ulrich,” she said.

What the hell was he doing here?

“Hope you don’t mind. I saw the back door was open and I thought I’d step inside to wait for you since it looked like it might rain.”

Amy narrowed her eyes. It was clear and sunny outside and Barry needed a slit cut into the back of his suit jacket to accommodate his dorsal fin.

“Actually, I do mind. And the back door wasn’t open.”

Ulrich’s face creased into a complacent, confident half smile. “Unsecured, then. Not the smartest move, putting all these priceless heritage-listed architectural features at risk.”

Amy wished she was wearing something a little more intimidating than her purple-and-green-striped long-sleeved T-shirt, jeans and sparkly hot pink sneakers. She really wished she hadn’t put her hair in pigtails this morning.

“I really don’t think it’s appropriate that you’re here. I’d like you to leave.”

Ulrich’s lips twitched as though he found her endlessly amusing.

“I want to talk to you,” he said.

“Then we can make an appointment to talk another time. I’m busy now.”

“You don’t look very busy to me.”

“Well, I am. So if you don’t mind…”

She gestured toward the door. Ulrich didn’t budge. She didn’t like the way he looked at her, as though she was a fly he wanted to swat. Fear goosed its way down her spine. She knew he’d never dare touch her, but she couldn’t help feeling vulnerable, standing here alone in the semidark with a man who clearly wished her to hell.

“So predictable, Ames. Bet you were here at sparrow’s fart, right?”

She spun toward the door as Quinn entered, two coffee cups and a white bakery bag in hand. Never had she been so glad to see him.

There was a slight hitch in his step when he saw Ulrich, then he continued to her side.

“I was just explaining to Mr. Ulrich that the Grand is mine now and that I don’t want him entering the property when I’m not around.”

She opened her eyes meaningfully as she looked at Quinn. He frowned and she knew he’d gotten the message that Ulrich had been here before she’d arrived.

Quinn handed Amy one of the coffees, his warm fingers brushing her cold ones as they swapped grips on the cup. Instantly the shaky feeling inside her faded. It was impossible to feel intimidated when Quinn was by her side.

Quinn took a sip of his coffee before he spoke.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Barry, trespassing is a criminal offence,” he said. His tone was friendly, relaxed, but there was a hard light in his eyes.

Ulrich laughed. “Relax, mate. I’m not here to do any harm. In fact, I’m here to make Ms. Parker the offer of a lifetime.”

“I’m not interested in listening to any offers,” Amy said.

“You haven’t even heard what it is yet,” Ulrich said. “How do you know you’re not interested?”

“Because I’m not interested,” Amy repeated.

Ulrich carried on as though she hadn’t spoken, pulling some papers from his suit pocket. “I want to buy the Grand off you. I’ve got a contract here—”

“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m willing to give you a hundred thousand more than you paid for it.”

“Amy’s given you her answer,” Quinn said. “Nobody likes a poor loser, Ulrich.”

The developer’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “Don’t be a silly girl. Look at the deal. Talk it over with your boyfriend. Think about how many nice pairs of shoes you can buy yourself with a hundred thousand dollars of easy profit.”

“Enough. It’s time for you to go,” Quinn said.

Ulrich didn’t take his eyes off Amy. “Take the contract.”

He thrust the contract at her like a weapon, his color high. She glared at him, arms still locked over her chest.

“No.”

“Take it.”

Suddenly she was staring at Quinn’s broad shoulders as he stepped between them.

“You can walk out or I can throw you out. Want to flip a coin over it?” He sounded like a stranger, his voice was so cold and angry.

Ulrich hesitated a moment, then he said something under his breath and walked away, heels striking the wooden floor sharply with each step.

“That man—” She broke off. She was so angry she didn’t know where to put herself.

The way Ulrich had looked at her…

His smug arrogance…

Quinn lifted the white bakery bag. “I bought almond croissants. With any luck they’re still warm.”

“Croissants? Are you kidding?” She wanted to spit nails, not consume baked goods.

He tucked his coffee into the crook of his arm and unfolded the top of the bag. He pulled out a sugar-dusted pastry and offered it to her. “Have a croissant.”

She shook her head impatiently. The last thing she felt like was eating.

“Ames, don’t give him the satisfaction of rattling you.”

“I’m already rattled.”

Quinn put some gravel in his voice, creating a reasonable proximity of Ulrich’s impatient bark. “Take the croissant, Amy.”

His eyes were laughing at her, inviting her to join in.

“Quinn…”

“Take it. Take it, I say.”

He thrust it toward her melodramatically. Despite herself, she felt her mouth twitch at the corners. “Stop it.”

“You know what you have to do to make that happen.”

She rolled her eyes and plucked the croissant from his hand. “I’m still angry,” she said as she pulled off a chunk of buttery pastry.

“Sure. But consider this—he’s a douche bag, you own the Grand and we’ll install a big-ass lock on the door today so he can never get in here again. Still want to waste half an hour fuming over the guy?”

She chewed and swallowed. “No.”

“That’s my girl,” Quinn said, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

His body was hard along her side. Her stupid heart gave an excited kick in her chest.

“If you’re trying to out-patronize Ulrich you’re off to a good start,” she said, trying to ignore the tumult that had started up within her body.

He looked at her, tucked under his arm. “Come on, I’m not even close. I haven’t even mentioned pretty shoes yet. The guy’s a pro.”

He had a small milk mustache from the foam on his latte. Before she could stop herself, she reached up to wipe the foam away with her thumb. His stubble scraped across her skin, the roughness a startling contrast to the silky firmness of his upper lip.

Her belly tightened. How many times had she imagined those lips kissing her?

And not just on the mouth.

“There was a time when you’d have let me walk around all day wearing that,” he said.

“Those were the days.”

Feeling overwhelmed, she shrugged out from beneath his arm.

“Before I forget, Mom asked me to ask you over for dinner tonight,” she said, concentrating on brushing powdered sugar off her T-shirt so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. “She’s cooking lasagna to celebrate me buying the Grand.”

Quinn’s face lit up. “I would crawl over broken glass for one of your mom’s lasagnas.” He rubbed his hands together in boyish anticipation.

“Fortunately all you have to do is turn up and be mildly entertaining.”

“I’ll brush up on my witty anecdotes after lunch.”

“That should do it.”

He tugged on one of her pigtails before turning away to dump his empty cup in the garbage. She stared at his broad shoulders, then her gaze dropped to the firm roundness of his ass.

Maybe one day she would learn to love him as a friend, and only as a friend. But that day was not going to be today.

Not by a long shot.

The tinny sound of The Bangles’ “Walk Like an Egyptian” segued into The Eagles’ “Hotel California.” Finally, some man’s music. He crossed to the beaten-up stereo to crank the volume. He’d spotted the old unit in Amy’s father’s office at the store. Amy had raised an eyebrow when he’d loaded it into her station wagon along with their other supplies.

“Hope Dad knows you’ve got that,” she’d said. “He lives to listen to the horse races on his breaks.”

“He handed it over with his blessing.”

“Sure he did.”

“He did. He understands the importance of listening to bad eighties rock while doing physical labor. Plus I offered him a case of beer.”

“Now
that
I believe.”

He’d been keeping an eye on her since this morning, but she seemed to have recovered from Ulrich’s impromptu visit. He’d played it cool for her sake, but he’d been hard-pressed not to grab Ulrich by the throat when the developer had tried to force his unwanted offer on her. Quinn didn’t think he’d ever forget the flash of relief he’d seen in her eyes when he’d walked through the door, coffees in hand. Even though he knew she’d rather eat a whole jar of olives than admit it, Ulrich scared her. As well he might. The guy was a bully, used to barking out orders and having them followed. He didn’t like being crossed, and he definitely didn’t like losing out to a woman wearing sparkly pink sneakers.

Quinn gripped the sides of the big extension ladder and hefted it several feet to the right. First thing tomorrow, he was going to set things in motion to move up the settlement date. A contract of sale was one thing, but he wasn’t going to rest easy until Amy was actually holding the deed to the Grand in her hands. The sooner he could make that happen, the better.

He grabbed the bucket and was about to climb the ladder when he heard Amy swear loudly over the top of the music.

He glanced toward the balcony, but she was hidden from his view.

“You okay?” he called.

He heard nothing but the sound of jangling guitar and the chorus of the song. He hesitated. Amy would probably be making a hell of a lot more noise if she’d hurt herself, but he decided to check on her anyway, since it was nearly time for lunch. She’d work straight through if she had her way, but he’d seen a gourmet burger place farther up the street when he’d walked to the Grand this morning and was keen to give it a try. Even if he had to drag her kicking and screaming all the way.

He exited to the foyer and started up the wide marble stairs.

“You’ve seriously got to learn some new swear words, Ames,” he said as he mounted the last few steps to the upper foyer. The rest of his speech died in his throat when he saw her.

Her back was turned and she was peeling her sopping wet T-shirt over her head. She clearly hadn’t heard him because she didn’t so much as glance over her shoulder as she let the T-shirt slap to the ground. She was wearing a red-and-white polka-dot bra underneath and he stared at her slim back and told himself to walk away.

Then she turned in profile and he saw that her bra cups were trimmed with lace where they curved over her small, high breasts. He could just make out the shadow of her nipples behind the sheer fabric. Time seemed to slow and stretch. Then she bent and picked up her sweater, pulling it over her head, and the peep show was over.

Because that was exactly what it was: a peep show.

She had no idea he was watching. And he should have either retreated or announced himself the moment that he’d realized what was happening.

But he hadn’t.