‘Well,’ Arden said briskly, ‘let’s make sure there are no errors this time.’
Lithgow nodded. ‘Miss Squires is arranging for your ticket now, and you’ll have the letter of reference within half an hour. The cheque will take a bit longer. New York will have to OK it,’ he added quickly, when Arden frowned. ‘Today’s a holiday back home, had you forgotten? It may take until Thursday.’
He was right, but it wasn’t the end of the world; it meant only that another few days would pass before she could leave Costa Rica. Still, her stomach knotted at the thought. She wanted to leave, to go back to all the things that were familiar and safe.
‘I’ll have Miss Squires call you as soon as I get the OK.’
But the days dragged by, with Julie offering excuses for the delays until finally, one afternoon, Arden decided she’d had enough. She called Lithgow’s office and demanded to speak to him.
‘Tell him he’s got a choice,’ she said. ‘Either he talks to me now or he talks to my attorney later.’
Lithgow came on the line almost immediately. His tone was apologetic and conciliatory.
‘Miss Miller,’ he said, ‘I know you’ve been patient—’
‘More than patient,’ Arden snapped. ‘And you’ve repaid my patience by wasting my time.’
‘No. I have not. New York hasn’t OKed your cheque, and—’ He swallowed audibly. ‘Please don’t do anything precipitate.’
‘Precipitate?’ Arden laughed. ‘Waiting all these days for the money you owe me is hardly “precipitate”!’
‘I know—and I’m going to take care of things at once. I’ll have it delivered to you within the hour.’
The phone went dead. Well, then, that was settled. All it had taken was a bit of muscle. Arden sighed deeply. She ached to leave this country, to put everything that had happened behind her. She sank down on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands. She wanted to stop thinking about Conor, about all the times he’d made her look like a fool.
There was a knock at the door. Arden sprang to her feet and breathed a sigh of relief. Lithgow must have sent her cheque by special messenger. Smiling, she flew to the door and flung it open.
Conor! It was Conor who stood in the doorway, not a uniformed messenger.
‘Hello, Arden.’
She stared at him, stunned. Her throat worked and finally she managed to whisper his name.
‘Conor?’ She swallowed. ‘What—what—’
‘We have things to discuss, Arden. And I really think we should discuss them in private.’
In private. In this tiny room, with a bed that took up half the floorspace? Her gaze flickered over him, taking in the handsome fare, the broad shoulders that seemed to push against the confines of his dark blue T-shirt, then dropped to the faded jeans that hugged his hips...
‘What’s the problem, Arden? Are you concerned about the impropriety of having a man in your room?’
Her mouth hardened. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said coldly.
‘I told you, we need to talk.’
‘How did you find... ?’ She puffed out her breath. ‘Of course. Pablo told you.’
‘Yes.’ His gaze slipped past her. ‘It’s hardly the sort of place you’re accustomed to, is it?’
There was an edge to his words that made her flush. ‘I won’t be here long.’
‘No.’ His lips pulled back from his teeth, and he made a sound that was not quite a laugh. ‘No, I’m sure you won’t.’
Her flush deepened. ‘Either tell me why you came here, or leave.’
Conor shouldered his way past her. ‘This won’t take long. I’ve had a rough week, so let’s get this over with.’
Yes, Arden thought as the door swung shut, he must have had a difficult week. There were shadows under his eyes and lines of exhaustion etched alongside his mouth.