Starting from Scratch (15 page)

“Y
ou going on a date?” Andrea asked incredulously that Friday when Elisha asked her to stay with Beth in the evening.

She hadn't called it anything at all, but if she had, it wouldn't have been a date. Dates were for people who still nurtured the hope for a social life. She'd given that notion up after Garry left.

“It's not a date. I'm going out to play poker with some friends.”

The game didn't seem to matter to Andrea. The destination, however, did. The teenager eyed her. “In the city?”

“No, just a few miles away, actually.” She'd had no idea that Henry and Ryan Sutherland lived so close to one another. She hadn't made the connection until she'd looked it up on her BlackBerry this morning and the address had sunk in. The world was a grab bag of constant surprises to her. “I need you to stay home with Beth until I get back.” She didn't estimate that it would be too late in the evening. She'd win, put Sutherland in his place and be back by eleven. Maybe eleven-thirty.

Andrea looked at her moodily. “Why don't you hire a sitter?”

“I am,” Elisha said brightly. “You.” She'd babysat for the neighbors when she was younger than Andrea. There was no reason why the girl couldn't stay with her sister.

Andrea lifted her chin defiantly. If she was stuck, she was going to make the most of it. “Sitters get paid.”

She'd expected something like this. Maybe she was getting better at the game. Still, she asked, “You want money for watching your sister?”

Andrea blew out a loud sigh. “No, I want money to make up for my not going out tonight. I can't do that if I'm going to be here babysitting.”

She supposed Andrea had a point. And if she went along with it, she'd at least seem as if she was willing to compromise. That had to earn her some points with the girl. “Well, since I'm spoiling your plans for the evening, I'll pay you for watching Beth.” It had been almost thirty years since she'd babysat and had no idea what the going rate was. “How much?”

Andrea shrugged. “For you, I'll take five bucks an hour.”

Fifty cents had been the going rate when she had sat for the O'Hara twins. It should have been fifty cents an hour plus combat pay. In comparison, sitting for Beth was a walk in the park.

“I'll make sure I'm not gone too long,” Elisha promised.

Andrea stood back and gave her the once-over in slow, sweeping glances. And then she laughed dismissively. “Looking like that, you should be back before you even leave.”

Elisha narrowed her eyes. She saw nothing wrong with the casual pants and loose, nondescript blouse she was wearing. She wasn't sure if this was the outfit she was ultimately going to wear, but the look on Andrea's face made her feel insecure. “Looking like what?”

“Lame.”

Elisha glanced down at her outfit. It was neat, clean and the colors didn't clash. It was a poker game, for God's sake. “You think this is lame?”

The small noise Andrea made had definite rude overtones. “Well, not for a grandmother.” And then she frowned. Elisha saw that her niece was looking at the glasses that she'd shoved on top of her head. “You gotta wear those glasses?”

“Only if I want to read the numbers on the cards. I've gotten rather blind when it comes to close work.”

Andrea's expression said she didn't think much of the excuse, but she'd let it slide. For now. “Okay, then how about your hair?”

Instinctively, Elisha put her hand to her hair, as if to protect it from any insults that were coming. “What about my hair?”

Andrea had begun to circle her like a drill sergeant in the middle of a major inspection. “Well, for one thing, it hasn't seen fit to come out of the nineties.”

Elisha turned her head so that she could keep her niece in her sights. “Excuse me?”

“Your hairstyle, very yesterday. And the color's dull.” Having come full circle, Andrea stopped to stand in front of her again. Judging by the girl's expression, she hadn't passed whatever test Andrea had subjected her to. “Like your clothes.”

Back to the clothes again, Elisha thought, just a little annoyed at all this critiquing. “I'm going to play cards, Andie, not try to seduce somebody.”

“Good thing, because you sure wouldn't be able to, not unless it was some guy with a seeing-eye dog.”

Elisha pretended to wince. “Ouch.” The comment had been harsh, but she wasn't about to let Andrea see that it had hurt her. That made her too vulnerable.

“Sorry, I call it as I see it. You've got to get with it,” Andrea insisted. “People know you're my aunt now.”

“And you have an image to maintain,” Elisha guessed.

Her expression said the conclusion was self-evident. “Well, duh.”

Elisha looked over her shoulder toward Beth. The little girl had been standing there, listening to the entire exchange. Might as well have the peanut gallery put in their two cents' worth, she thought.

“How about you, Beth?” She beckoned the girl forward. “Do I look bad to you?”

Crossing to join them, Beth raised her face up to her. “You look like Aunt Elisha.”

Beside her, Andrea stifled a laugh. Elisha wasn't sure if Beth's comment was a good thing or a bad thing. It certainly did nothing to bolster her sagging morale. She'd been doing fine until she'd gotten the once-over from Andrea. Of course, they moved in different worlds, she and Andrea. But she had to admit that the woman looking back at her from the mirror over the fireplace did look a little, well, matronly.

When had that happened?

When had she stopped looking hot? She could remember looking hot once. Could remember hearing one of her boyfriends refer to her that way. And she could remember when her appearance had been all-important to her.

It stopped being important to her the day that Garry left.

After that, she got too tired, too wrapped up in her growing career at Randolph & Sons to really care what she looked like as long as it was presentable. Her eyes widened as she looked, really looked at herself, perhaps seeing herself for the first time in years.

Somehow, she'd allowed herself to slide into the stereotype of a middle-aged woman without even realizing it was happening. Certainly without putting up a fight to prevent it.

Elisha suddenly glanced down at her midriff. Well, at least she'd lost those annoying pounds that had seen fit to sneak up on her over the years, although she wouldn't have recommended the method that had brought her to this lighter weight.

Exhaling a cleansing breath, she looked at Andrea. “Okay, what do you suggest?”

Andrea struggled not to look as smug as she felt. “Let me do your hair and makeup.”

Given some of the things that passed as acceptable in the under-thirty set, she wasn't altogether sure if that was such a good idea. Especially since Andrea suddenly looked eager. “Whoa, are you still mad at me?”

Andrea paused to consider the question. Right now, they were living within the boundaries of a tentative treaty. “No, I guess not.”

She would have preferred hearing more enthusiasm in the girl's voice, but she supposed she would take what she could get.

“Okay, then I guess you can have access to my face and hair.” Andrea was already grabbing her by the hand and leading her up the stairs to her room. “If I like what you do,” Elisha qualified, “I'll go with it.”

“What can I do?” Beth wanted to know as she hurried up the stairs behind them.

Thank God she still had one of them in her corner. She looked over her shoulder at the little girl as Andrea led her into her room. “You can tell me if she's messing me up.”

Beth seemed more than happy to be accommodating. “Okay,” she chirped.

Andrea's room was a compilation of piles. Piles of clothing, piles of books, piles of DVDs and CDs. Somehow, to the teenager, there was order in the heart of the chaos. Andrea brought her over to a chair and gestured toward it.

Elisha had no idea why she was even concerned about the way she looked. She'd always made sure that her clothes, suits mostly, were always cleaned and pressed. But beyond that, she no longer gave her wardrobe much thought.

Yet it seemed important to look good tonight. She supposed she wanted to look her best while delivering the death blow.

“All right, Andrea,” she said, sitting down. “I'm all yours.” It was a swivel chair and she pivoted it into position. “Just be gentle.”

Andrea rolled her eyes even as she went into her bathroom to retrieve her arsenal.

 

Ryan stood in the doorway, one hand leaning on the doorknob. He was staring at the woman who had just rung his bell.

This was his editor?

There'd clearly been some kind of change since he'd last seen her. The woman had on a leather jacket with a red turtleneck peering out from the top, but what had actually caught his attention was the pencil-slim black skirt she was wearing. It ended several inches above her knees.

He hadn't even realized that Elisha Reed had skin above her knees. She'd always made him think of some kind of prim, proper stereotypical spinster who'd given herself over to a career in letters. Obviously, he was going to have to rethink his initial conception of the woman in light of her appearance now.

The skin above the knees looked quite appealing. She had nice legs, he decided. And cleaned up a hell of a lot better than he thought she might.

He raised an eyebrow, not finished with his perusal. “Max?”

She stifled the urge to tug on the edge of Andrea's skirt. She wasn't used to anything so short, and the way Sutherland was looking at her was making her nervous. He was probably trying to rattle her so that she wouldn't play well. Well, she was on to him.

As if to show him that, she tossed her head. The hair that Andrea had spent the better part of an hour and a half lightening and working over moved in response. Rather than wearing it up and away from her face, the way she ordinarily did, it fell in waves just a little shy of her shoulders. She wasn't sure if she liked it yet, but it was different.

“Yes.”

Sutherland stepped back, admitting her into the house. She was very aware that he was giving her a very slow once-over. “You do know that it's regular poker we're playing and not strip.”

Inside, she turned to look at him. “Yes, why?”

“Just making sure.” His face was a mask, damn him. “Not that the latter might not be interesting,” he allowed. “It just never occurred to me to play it before since there were only male faces around the table.”

Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all. But she'd come so far and she wasn't about to let him see that she was having second thoughts. She had to see this through.

“Regular poker is all I'm here to play,” she informed him crisply.

“And you intend to cheat.”

Now he had her mad. Except for one algebra test back in ninth grade, she'd never cheated on anything in her life. “What?”

Still keeping her in the foyer, his gaze was unrelenting. “Lady, you came to play dressed like that hoping to distract the rest of us.”

She shot him a look. “Would you like me to put on a burka?”

He considered the idea for a moment. Granted, the woman wasn't model thin, but then, women who looked as if they'd fall over at the first sign of a spring breeze had never interested him. He liked to feel something in his arms when he held a woman.

“Might not be a bad idea,” he told her. “You're blonder.”

“Sunshine.” She caught the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

He knew better. “In a bottle?”

“Maybe.”

Ryan nodded his approval. “Becoming.”

The smile started inside of her before it ever reached her lips. “Thank you.”

“Doesn't mean I'll let you cheat.”

She met his gaze head-on. “Wasn't planning on it.”

With a nod, Sutherland turned to lead the way to his game room.

T
here were five players around the circular table in Sutherland's game room, all men. All, Elisha judged, around the bestselling author's age.

Looking at them, she could almost feel the brotherhood they shared. Though they varied in size and appearance, all looked fit, as if they could go on a fifty-mile forced march with sixty-pound backpacks at the drop of a poker chip. She had a feeling that love of poker was not the only thing the men shared. They probably shared a common past, as well. A past, if her limited information was correct, that no one else would ever be completely privy to. People in that world were never entirely debriefed, not even before God.

Sutherland nodded toward the only other vacant seat at the table besides his own. “You can take that chair.”

She did as suggested, noting out of the corner of her eye that at least one of the men, the one with the salt-and-pepper mustache, had half risen in his chair.

Nodding at the man, she smiled, then looked back at Sutherland. “Aren't you going to introduce me, Mr. Sutherland?”

“Yes, ‘Mr. Sutherland,' where are your manners?” the man closest to her left asked just before winking at her. As blond as Sutherland was dark, he had eyes so brown that they almost looked black. She wasn't sure if he was being friendly out of kindness, flirtatious out of habit, or having fun at her expense out of the perverseness that Sutherland had exhibited most of the time she'd dealt with him.

Though she kept a smile on her face, she felt every inch a fish out of water. This was
not
the kind of situation she was accustomed to.

“Same place your common sense is,” Ryan retorted in response to his friend's question. With a frown, he went around the table, shooting off names as if they were rounds being fired from an automatic weapon. He didn't even bother pointing, but she assumed that he was naming them in the order they were sitting. “Murphy, Finn, Gonzales, Conway and Jovanovich.”

In response, each man bobbed his head, except for the winker. Murphy just winked again.

Elisha nodded in response, trying her best to look as if she was comfortable in these surroundings. As if playing cards with a bunch of strange men was something she did all the time. Then, because Sutherland hadn't, she introduced herself to them. “I'm Elisha Reed, his editor.”

Finn, a man with a ruddy complexion and hair the color of a newly harvested carrot, smirked. “She going to be editing you tonight, Sutherland?”

Slanting her eyes toward Sutherland, she noticed that the thin line that comprised his lips grew thinner still. She saved him from making a response by saying, “And I take it that you're all former Navy SEALs, or former colleagues of his?”

Gonzales seemed amused by her innocent question. The smile on his face was kindly. Sutherland could take a lesson from him, she thought.

“If we told you what we were,” he confided, lowering his voice to an appropriate stage whisper, “I'm afraid we'd have to kill you.”

She would have liked to think he was joking, but she wasn't a hundred percent sure of that. Banking down her uneasiness, she looked at Sutherland again.

His frown was creating ruts on either side of his mouth. “This is poker, Max, not a game of Truth or Dare,” Sutherland snapped at her. “Are you here to play, or to talk?”

No, she wasn't going to be the field mouse to his mountain lion, she told herself. Instead, she raised her chin pugnaciously, showing him, she hoped, that she wasn't about to go cowering off in some corner.

“I didn't realize they were mutually exclusive.” Then, because she saw he was about to bite off another terse comment, she answered, “I'm here to play.”

“Good.” He picked up the first deck of cards and broke open the seal around the box. “Then let's get on with it.”

He'd never been what she would have described as easygoing, but Sutherland seemed to be unusually grumpy tonight, even for him. She wondered if it had anything to do with her being here.

Too bad. A bet's a bet.
And she intended on winning hers.

 

Sutherland's mood did not get any better as the evening unfolded. Especially when she wound up winning far more hands than she lost. At the end of a long evening of intense playing, Elisha found herself acknowledged the big winner. Not that a great deal of money had changed hands. However, most of it had wound up with Elisha.

The men took their losses graciously. She hadn't heard a single foul word from any of them, not an easy feat if their origins had been the kind she'd initially surmised. She had to admit that she was grateful not to have been submitted to an evening of mindless, aimless cursing. She prized words far too much not to take offense at what she'd always felt were only vulgar place holders.

And then finally, with the chips gone and the beer consumed, the men called it a night.

Jerez Jovanovich glanced back over his shoulder as he slipped on his jacket and prepared to take his leave. He laughed as he looked at Elisha before turning to his host. “You might have mentioned that you were bringing in a ringer.”

The frown Ryan had been sporting in one form or another all evening grew more intense. “I was bringing her in to teach her a lesson.”

That made it even more humorous. “And what lesson would that be, my friend? How to plan for an early retirement on someone else's money?” the man asked with a laugh.

The rest of the men gathered in the foyer, reaching into the closet to claim their outerwear.

“If anyone learned a lesson tonight, it's the rest of us,” Murphy chimed in. Standing, he was shorter than the rest. But he made up for it with determination that on occasion bordered on obsession. “Bringing a woman into the mix is too distracting. Shakes things up too much.” Murphy allowed his eyes to sweep over her, even though she was still sitting at the table in the other room.

Gonzales laughed. “Speak for yourself. Me, I like things shaken, not stirred.”

Finn directed his words to Elisha. “Anytime you want someone to come to Atlantic City with you—” he reached for his own coat and put it on “—give me a call. I'm your man.”

“I'll be first alternate,” Conway volunteered with enthusiasm, raising his hand like some schoolboy.

“You'll be first jackass,” Sutherland snapped, ushering the men out and closing the door on them. He could hear the hoots of laughter on the other side before the men went to their cars. Flipping the lock, he turned around to face Elisha.

The dark cloud across Sutherland's brow intensified. From where she stood, he seemed to sink deeper into the dark hole he'd occupied for most of the evening.

Why?

Drawing her courage to her, Elisha left the shelter of the game room and walked into the foyer. “Something wrong?” she asked, her expression serious as she fished her jacket out of the closet.

“What could be wrong?” he barked. “You played well.”

Was that an accusation? Didn't he know that she would have never put in an appearance here if she couldn't at least play decently? She'd taken him for a fair judge of character. This couldn't have been a surprise. “Told you I did.”

He'd thought that she meant she played well for an editor. For a woman. The women in his world couldn't be placed in the same class as a riverboat gambler. But Elisha could. “Where the hell did you learn how to play like that?”

She smiled. “Just natural talent, I guess.” She shrugged dismissively. Then, because he was apparently waiting for more, she added, “I picked up a lot of tips watching the dealers at the casinos.”

Sutherland snorted, an angry bull waiting to be led into the arena for what could, quite possibly, be his death. “Now I suppose you'll want me to incorporate your notes into my manuscript.”

So, that was what was bothering him. That and he was probably one of those men who hated being shown up. She hadn't won to show him up, she'd done it to make him more accessible. To show him that she could be in his world and that when he was in hers, he was to show her a measure of respect for what she did.

“That was the agreement,” she said lightly.

His eyes were steely daggers as he looked at her. She could almost feel the sharp points. “What if I don't want to honor it?”

“You will,” she told him confidently. “Because you are all about honor, Mr. Sutherland.”

“You took me for three hundred dollars, Max. You can drop the ‘Mr.' part.”

Her eyes held his. “I'd rather drop it because we're friends.”

That was something that hadn't been in tonight's bargain.

Something else hadn't been in tonight's bargain. His reaction to her.

He didn't like it.

“I don't make friends easily.”

Her mouth curved, making her look younger than he knew she was. Making her look like a girl. She probably knew that, which was why she was smiling the way she was.

“I already gathered that,” she told him. “Still, you have some.” Something wary entered his eyes, as if he was telling her to tread lightly. Why? What was it that he was afraid of? Even as she wondered she almost laughed. What would he say if she accused him of that, of being afraid? What would she say after he choked her for daring to say it? she wondered humorously. “Those men at the table tonight, for instance.”

“Collectively, I've known them more than a hundred years.”

“Tough club to get into.” And then, because she'd been taught to try another door when one was locked, she said, “Had to be a first day for all of them, though. I'd like my chance at a first day.”

“Why?”

She didn't let his malevolent expression get to her. Or at least not show him that it got to her. “Because, for one thing, it's easier working together if we're not adversaries.”

He was quick to point out the obvious to her. “It's easier still if you just go along with everything I give you.”

But she shook her head. “Then I wouldn't be doing my job and I could be replaced by a rubber stamp.” She refused to allow herself to look away. Instead, her gaze challenged him. “Is that what you want?”

He realized that he'd been watching her lips a little too intently as they formed words.

“Maxwell,” Sutherland warned darkly, “I think you'd be better off if you didn't ask me what I wanted.”

For most of her life, there'd always been this part that liked challenging the unknown, that liked to walk into a dark room and let her imagination run wild before she turned on the light, chasing the specters away. She also had more than her share of curiosity. She liked to think it was what made her a good editor.

“Why?”

He didn't answer her at first.

And then, instead of using words, Sutherland showed her.