"I didn't realize she was still so hurt, so unhappy."
"She'll be all right." Margo patted Kate's knee. "We'll see to it."
"I'm, ah, not going to go into another accounting firm."
"Of course you're not."
"Everybody seems to know what I'm going to do before I do" Kate griped. "Bittle offered me a partnership."
"Congratulations."
"I turned him down this afternoon."
"My, my." Margo's million-dollar smile flashed. "Haven't we had a busy day!"
"And Roger Thornhill is the embezzler."
"What?" Margo's cup clinked into its saucer. "That slimy weasel who two-timed you with your own client?''
"The very same." It pleased Kate to see that she could say something that got a rise out of Margo. "It was the way he acted when I ran into him at Bittle today. He's smart enough to have figured out how to siphon funds, and I was his main competition for the partner slot. He gets a little playing money and screws me at the same time."
"You've been to Kusack with this?"
"No, apparently Byron, the cop, and your husband, whom I will deal with shortly, already knew."
"And left you in the dark." Understanding perfectly, Margo pulled Kate to her feet. "Occasionally men have to be reminded that they are no longer hunting out of caves, fighting dragons, or blazing trails west while we huddle around the fire. I'll help you remind Josh."
At nine forty-five the next morning, Kate opened the till at Pretenses. She would run the shop alone that morning. She took some pride in her competence. Laura was at her office at the hotel, and Margo remained on maternity leave. She decided to relish these last few minutes before she unlocked the door, turned the sign to Open.
She'd brought her own CD's. Margo preferred classical. Kate preferred the classics. The Beatles, the Stones, Cream. After putting the music on, she went into the powder room, filled the copper watering can. She was going to enjoy the pleasant little duties of nurturing an elegant business, she told herself.
She was not going to think about Byron De Witt.
He was in the penthouse suite by now. Probably in some meeting or on a conference call. He might be glancing over an itinerary for a trip to San Francisco. Didn't he say he had to fly up?
Didn't matter, she reminded herself, and stepped out on the veranda to water the tubs of pansies and impatiens. He could fly anywhere he wanted—to the moon, for that matter. Her interest in his affairs was over. Finished. A closed book.
She had her life to worry about, didn't she? After all, she was beginning a whole new phase. A new career with a new goal to aim for. She had dozens of ideas to improve and expand the shop floating around in her head. Once Margo was back in gear, they would have a meeting. An efficiency meeting. Then there was the fashion show right around the corner. The advertising had to be placed. They needed to discuss other promotions for the holidays.
What they needed was a regular weekly brainstorming and progress meeting. She would set it up, fix it into the schedule. You couldn't run a successful business without regular structured meetings. You couldn't run a life without structure, without specific plans and goals.
Why the hell couldn't he see that she had specific plans and goals? How could he have thrown marriage at her, knocking down all of her carefully placed pins?
You didn't marry someone you'd known barely a full year. There were stages to a relationship, careful, cautious, and sensible stages. Maybe, just maybe, after two years, after you'd worked out the kinks in the relationship, after you fully understood each other's faults and foibles and had learned to accept them or compromise on them, you began to discuss the possibility of marriage.
You had to outline what you wanted out of marriage, assign roles and duties. Who handled the marketing, who paid the bills, who took out the trash, for God's sake. Marriage was a business, a partnership, a full-scale commitment. Sensible people didn't just jump into it without first fine-tuning the details.
And what about children? It was obvious who had the children—if there were going to be children—but what about assignment of responsibilities? Diapers and laundry, feedings and doctors' appointments. If you didn't nail down the details of responsibilities, you had nothing but chaos—and a baby needing to be taken care of by a responsible adult.
A baby. Oh, God, what would it be like to have a baby? She didn't know anything about having a baby. Think of all the books she would have to read, all the mistakes she was bound to make. There were so many… things you had to have for a baby. Strollers and car seats and cribs.
And all those adorable little clothes, she thought dreamily.
"You're drowning those pansies, Ms. Powell."
She jerked back, slopping water on her shoes. She stared blankly at Kusack while her mind whirled. She had just all but named a baby she hadn't conceived with a man she didn't intend to conceive it with.
"Daydreaming?" His lips curved in that now familiar paternal fashion.