Before I Melt Away

“After you’re crowned emperor, what’s left?”

“Exactly. Sometimes I get what I want. But I always want what I get. It’s enough.”

“Admirable.” She picked up her menu, thinking he might as well call himself emperor. He’d single-handedly revolutionized the PC, the industry, and practically the world. It was a no-brainer he had enough. While she was still struggling to get her business off the ground.

“Easy for me to say?”

Annabel blinked up from Lighter Fare. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Read my mind.”

He gave a slow grin. “I invented a mind reader, too, didn’t you hear? Little chip, implanted in my temple.”

She laughed, thinking that the familiar comfort of having known him a long time ago, contrasted with grown-up sexual edginess, made their chemistry even harder to resist. “Ah, so that’s how you do it.”

“Most people would be thinking the same thing. That it’s easy for me to say I’m satisfied, when to all appearances I have everything.”

“Probably.” She didn’t want to go into the fact that he seemed to be able to read her mind when she couldn’t possibly be thinking what everyone else would be thinking.

“So maybe I am perceived as the emperor now. But I was satisfied when I was working for Microsoft. And I was satisfied when my start-up company netted thirty thousand annually—when the HC-1 was considered a novelty sci-fi gimmick that would never catch on. So I’d like to think wanting what I get is a true philosophy.”

“Very Zen of you.” She picked up her water glass and took a sip, not entirely convinced. People happy with less didn’t generally end up with so much more.

“But I have to tell you something even more important than my life’s philosophy.”

She put her glass down. “What’s that?”

“You are incredibly beautiful all grown-up, Annabel.”

All grown-up Annabel was very glad she wasn’t still holding the glass, because at his comment it would have slipped from her fingers and crashed all over the lovely table. Oh, did that sound wonderful coming from him.

“Thank you.” Her cheeks grew warm. “You’re pretty spectacular all grown-up, too.”

“Thank you.” He, of course, didn’t blush. His self-control was absolute. And yes, she’d love to make him lose it.

“Can I take your order?” The matronly waitress stood at the table, bowing slightly forward, as if in the presence of royalty.

Annabel glanced longingly at the skillet breakfast on the menu, but if she started her day with that much heavy food, she’d want to crawl in bed and stay, and she had a lot to accomplish. “I’d like the yogurt-and-fruit parfait, orange juice and tea, please.”

“Smoked-salmon bagel, no cream cheese, grapefruit juice and coffee.” Quinn handed his menu to the waitress, who actually did bow before she swept away.

“Tell me about your business, Annabel.” He turned those magnificent eyes back on her. It was true what people said, that when Quinn Garrett spoke to you, he made you feel no one else existed. She’d just like to know he was genuinely feeling that way with her.

“I’m a personal chef. I do your grocery shopping, come into your home on a day you choose, cook a week’s worth of meals from menus you select, package, freeze and clean up the whole shebang.”

“Wow. Where do I sign up?”

She smiled, and let the eye contact go a little too long, just for the cheap thrill. “I will also come into your home, cook, serve and clean up your dinner party—sit-down or buffet.”

“Maybe I’ll hire you while I’m here. My place has a fairly decent kitchen.”

Her heart leaped, for professional reasons this time. Quinn would no doubt be entertaining high-powered Milwaukee elite. She could make some valuable contacts. “You’re not at the hotel?”

He shook his head. “I’ve rented a furnished apartment.”

“So you’re staying on for a while?”

“It looks that way.”

She was so pleased she actually laughed. “Oh, that’s great.”

The waitress arrived with juice, leaving Annabel’s gushing enthusiasm hanging in the silence between them.

Fawn on, little sister.

Quinn nodded his thanks to the waitress, then fixed Annabel with his dark brown eyes again. “I want to see a lot of you while I’m here.”

Oh, my. It was on the tip of her tongue to say You can see all of me, but she thought that was a little grossly eager. “I’d like that.”

“Good.” He sat back as if satisfied the deal had been cemented.

Annabel gave herself a figurative smack out of fantasyland. See a lot of her? Hello? Do we have lots of time to be lollygagging around with People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive?

“Though actually, I’m pretty crazy busy at this time of year. People want to party, so the holidays are my most profitable time.”

“We’ll work it out.”

Absolute confidence. Annabel leaned back to give the waitress room to set down breakfast. That’s what made people like Quinn—and Napoleon—succeed. She was confident her business would do well, but not absolutely confident. She needed to ratchet that up a few notches, get herself in a position of more security so she could—

“I assume your nights are free.”

The spoonful of yogurt made it only halfway to Annabel’s mouth. “My nights?”

“Yes.” He glanced up calmly from his bagel, on which he was arranging salmon, tomato slices and capers, a combination she’d already filed away in her mental recipe holder. “How much sleep do you need?”

“I…not much. Five or six hours.”

“Then we’ll have nights together.”

Stay away, blush, stay the hell away. Did he mean…what did he mean? Did his—

He reached across the table, laid his finger against her lips, shushing her, even though she hadn’t said anything.

“Don’t think. Don’t wonder. Just agree.”

Her mouth opened. Then shut. She hadn’t a clue what to say.

“Annabel.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“What time will you be home tomorrow night?”

“Um…midnight.” He didn’t move his finger while she answered, and the sensation of her lips moving over his skin started her heating up.

“I’ll be at your house at midnight. Wear whatever mood you’re in.”

Her head started spinning. She was barely able to grasp any of this. Wear her mood? “What do you mean?”

“Surprise me, Annabel.”

“Oh.” She still whispered, unable to produce tone, breathing high and fast, color blooming in her cheeks. “Yes. Okay.”

“Good.” His voice dropped; he moved his finger gently back and forth on her mouth, as if he were a hypnotist, luring her into a trance. “I think I’ll be able to surprise you, too.”

3

To: John Brightman

From: Quinn Garrett

Date: December 19

Subject: Annabel

John, I looked up your sister. It was great to see her, we had breakfast yesterday morning. She does seem very work focused, but aside from that, she’s obviously healthy and sane, so I wouldn’t worry too much. I’ll see if I can drag her away for some fun while I’m here. Maybe something more sophisticated than stealing her Barbie’s underwear and outfitting her hamsters in it.

I’m hoping she’s forgotten that incident.

Quinn

To: Quinn Garrett

From: John Brightman

Date: December 19

Subject: Re: Annabel

Ralph, the panty-wearing hamster! As I recall Annabel was not amused. Didn’t she stop speaking to us for two days? I’d forgotten she even had Barbie, I’m not sure she ever really played with it. But bring the panty episode up when you see her next. If she doesn’t laugh now, I really will worry.

Thanks for the report. If business keeps you there over Christmas, see if you can tempt her into some celebration. You remember what a big deal Christmas was to my parents. I hate thinking of her holed up alone in her house every year.

(For some reason, she accuses me of being a mother hen. Can you, ahem, imagine why she’d think such a thing?)

John

QUINN PULLED his car close to the curb opposite Annabel’s house, lifted the vase of red, pink, white and yellow roses from the seat next to him, and emerged into the cold air, the smell of coming snow mingling with the delicate floral scent.

He’d called earlier to make sure Annabel would be out when he delivered the flowers. He wanted the chance to speak with her assistant, Stefanie, in person, get a better sense of what Annabel was about, how others perceived her, before he went too far with John’s “rescue” idea. After all, John lived on the other side of the country. How much could he really know about Annabel’s life and what she needed? On the other hand, he was her brother, and from what Quinn could tell, they were fairly close siblings.

Either way, he wanted to find out as much about her as possible. And if that made him sound slightly obsessed, so be it. The depth of his fascination defied logic.

She reminded him of her father, a big, no-nonsense, military man with a larger-than-life personality, impossible to please, measuring out compliments and love to his children in sparing doses so as not to spoil them. At thirteen, Annabel had had a tempestuous relationship with him, two kindred spirits butting heads, though she’d had plenty of her mother’s softer side, too. Now, if John were to be believed, it seemed her father’s genes had won out.

There were other feelings, too, beyond fascination. Feelings that had invaded him in force when she opened the door the other night and he got his first close-up look at his memorized brown-eyed, brunette, apple-cheeked adolescent image of her grown taller, softened and filled out here, slimmed and carved in there. An instant recognition, a year’s worth of good memories and brotherly affection had swarmed him. Add to that, entirely in the present, a wave of sexual attraction so strong he could barely keep from making a move on her right there.

He’d gone home that night and lain in bed, unable to sleep thanks to the fantasies his mind would not stop inventing. And the thought had come to him with the calm certainty that thoughts often came to him—as if he could predict his own future, or as if he’d already lived his life and was simply remembering—that he would experience the explosive passion of their coming together in more than just fantasy. Soon.

He climbed the steps to her front door, rang the bell and waited, glancing around at the attractive rows of bungalows and stone houses that varied by differing roof and trim colors. A nice middle-class family neighborhood. Interesting that she hadn’t chosen to live in a trendy downtown area, or in the more sophisticated neighborhoods north of the city where her cousin lived. Money had not been a problem in her childhood, as it had been chronically in his.

So what did she hunger for? Fame? Recognition? Approval? Money entirely her own? What drove her? Her father’s barely concealed disdain for women aspiring to or attaining high places? Quinn would find out. It was no accident that he’d mentioned the biography of Napoleon at breakfast the previous morning. He’d sensed that same chronic restlessness in her, a restlessness that would doom her to a lifelong search, unless she learned to find peace in the here and now. Maybe that peace was what John wanted for his sister.

The arched wooden door opened slowly to reveal a thin, pale young woman with fine, shoulder-length blond hair, who looked as if she hadn’t slept in a week. He’d expected Stefanie to be a carbon copy of Annabel, at least in energy and spirit.

“Stefanie?”

“Yes.” She extended a small, cool hand that felt as if it might break in his grasp. “Hello, Mr. Garrett.”

“Quinn, please.”

“Quinn. It’s nice to meet you. What beautiful roses. Come on in.”

He followed her into the familiar living room, tastefully if sparsely decorated in muted colors, lacking life and energy without its owner there, caught bundled in pajamas and an old robe by an unexpected nocturnal visitor. He’d sensed Annabel’s discomfort, her longing to be as sleekly and confidently put together as she’d been the next morning at breakfast. Little did she know how that first rumpled sight of her had fueled his dreams that night.

“Would you like to put the roses in Annabel’s office?” Stefanie glanced at him, then away. There was something furtive about her, something self-protective; he couldn’t quite grasp what it was yet. Was she uneasy around him? Anxious about letting him in without Annabel here? Or simply nervous by nature?

“That would be fine.”

She led him through the dining room and around the corner, into a room astoundingly devoid of color and personality. How could someone as colorful as Annabel—he’d seen her only in red so far—surround herself with so much bland professionalism?

He put the flowers on her neatly organized desk and stepped back next to Stefanie to consider them. The effect of the brilliant splash in the dull room was nearly violent. “I guess you can’t miss them.”

Stefanie laughed. “I offered to decorate for the holidays, but she refused.”

“Really.”

Stefanie shrugged, obviously unwilling to offer up the opinion of her boss he was after.

“Why do you think that is?”

“Oh. Well, she’s so busy. And the holidays are always so busy. And I guess…she’s…” Stephanie’s frantic gestures subsided as she seemed to run out of possible explanations. Or politically correct ones.

“Busy?”

“Yes.” Stefanie laughed abruptly. “Things might be going well, but they could be going better.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Is that what she says?”

“It’s her motto, she had me tape it to my computer.” Stefanie turned to walk into a room across the tiny hall. “Here.”

Quinn followed and nodded at the black-lettered sign adorning one of Holocorp’s HC-2s. More, more, better, better…as he feared. “I take it that wouldn’t have been your decorating choice?”

“Oh, I don’t mind. It’s a good motto. She certainly puts it into practice. I swear she never takes a day off. Never even an hour. When I leave every day I get the feeling she’s not even close to winding down. She’s amazing.”

Not quite the word he’d use. He pointed to the tiny tree on Stefanie’s desk, lights blinking on and off, tiny plastic presents under the green fake-needled branches. “Nice touch.”

Stefanie blushed, bringing welcome color into her pretty face. “Silly, I suppose, but I need something to remind me of Christmas. I love this time of year.”

She emphasized “I” just enough to send the message that Annabel didn’t. “Bob Cratchit working for Scrooge?”

“Oh, no, she’s not bad. I like her a lot—she’s a great person.” Stefanie stooped to turn up a space heater blasting away in the already-warm room, and put her hand protectively on her abdomen. “Sorry, but I can’t stay warm in this house.”

“Why don’t you ask Annabel to turn up the heat?”

“She teases me all the time how cold is good for me. I finally just bought a heater.”

Quinn frowned. First rule of good management, whenever you can, keep your employees happy in whatever ways you can. The little things mattered. “I see.”

“I don’t want you to think it’s a problem.” Stefanie stared at him anxiously. “It’s definitely not a problem.”

Quinn forced a smile. It was a problem. One so easily resolved. “How long have you been working for Annabel?”

“Since she started Chefs Tonight, a year or so ago.”

“What did you do before that?”

“Oh, well, I was a hostess at a couple of restaurants, a waitress. Seems I’m always involved with food in some way. But I like working here.”

“You don’t get lonely stuck in a back room all day?”

“No, Annabel’s here a lot, and she has really sweet neighbors on both sides, Kathy across the street—she runs a day care—and Chris to the north, we have lunch sometimes. This is a great block. The kids are out playing all summer long and after school, it’s very cheerful.”

“So Annabel is close to her neighbors.”

“Oh. Well, not exactly. But I’ve gotten to know them and they’re great people. See, Annabel is so busy she doesn’t really have time for friends. There’s her brother, John, who you know, I guess, and then once in a while there’s a new guy who calls for a while until she breaks it off…she always breaks it off.” Stefanie rolled her eyes. “Trail of broken hearts around the city. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Quinn chuckled, filing the information away. Was Annabel so driven she couldn’t fall in love? Too blind to see the opportunities? Or did she deliberately choose men who couldn’t touch her and interfere with her work? “I’m an old friend of the family.”

“Oh. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean… I mean, I know she knew you before, but then the roses today…I thought…” She winced and put her finger to her head as if it were the barrel of a gun. “Shut up, Stefanie.”

“A natural assumption.” He was definitely in luck—Stefanie was a talker. “What did Annabel do before this?”

“She had another business. With…a friend.” Stefanie’s expression closed down. She put her hand again to her abdomen, rubbed briefly and stifled a yawn.

“Something went wrong.” He spoke gently, to encourage her confidence.

“Oh, well, they wanted different things, I guess. Tanya has a shop in Hartland, Tanya’s Good Taste. Candy and all kinds of gourmet foods. She’s doing really well. But I probably shouldn’t be telling you any of this. You should probably ask Annabel.” Stefanie moved around to sit heavily at her desk, as if her legs wouldn’t hold her up anymore.

“Okay.” Quinn’s instinct sharpened. He walked to the back window, gazed out at the tiny backyard, the two-car garage easily taking up half. Then he turned his head so he could speak softly and Stefanie could still hear him. His next move was unorthodox, but he needed to see her reaction. “When are you due?”

An enormous gasp came from behind the desk. “Oh, my gosh. How did you know?”

He turned and smiled. “Congratulations.”

“Did Annabel tell you? Does she know?” A worried frown creased her forehead, and she clutched her stomach as if the idea of Annabel finding out made her violently ill.

He shook his head. As he suspected. “If you haven’t told her, she probably doesn’t know.”

“I haven’t told her.” She stared at her hands, fidgeting in her lap. “See, I’m due July Fourth, and with Memorial Day and the holiday, that’s a busy time for us, and I’m not sure…I mean I’m afraid…”

Quinn’s lips tightened. “She can’t fire you.”

“Oh, I know. But…well, I don’t know how she’ll manage. She once said she was glad I wasn’t planning to have children. I mean that’s what I told her in the interview and it was true then, but this happened by accident and Frank and I found we really want this baby, so here I am. And if I want to ask for maternity leave…well, it’s a mess.” She bit her lip. “I shouldn’t even be telling you all this.”

“It won’t go further than me. But you need to tell Annabel.”

“I know, I know.” Stefanie lifted one hand and let it drop hopelessly in her lap. “I just dread it.”

“Tell you what.” He approached her desk and leaned his hands on its edge. “Wait until after the first of the year.”

She lifted her head. “Why then?”

He winked. “I have a few reasons, fairly personal.”

“Oh.” An enormous grin lit up her tired face. “So maybe I wasn’t so wrong about the roses?”

“Possibly not.” He smiled. He liked Stefanie. And she’d told him enough to confirm what John had said, and convince him that Annabel could use a little nudge in a calmer direction. “Tell me something, Stefanie.”

“Yes?”

“Does Annabel have anything important scheduled tomorrow, anything she can’t miss?”

Stefanie chuckled and flipped a page of the calendar on her desk, drew her finger down the neatly made entries. “She would undoubtedly disagree, but from what I can see, no, nothing. Ted’s doing the Henkels, no parties for once.”

“Excellent.”

“So…” Stefanie looked up slyly. “Is it fair to assume Ms. Brightman won’t be in the office tomorrow?”

“I think that’s a very fair assumption.”

“Good.”

“You approve?”

“Definitely.” Stefanie leaned toward him over her desk and glanced into the hall as if she was afraid someone would overhear her next words. “Call me crazy, call me hormonal, call me whatever you want…but I think this time Annabel’s met her match.”

ANNABEL BOLTED from her garage to the back door, racing the icy winds whipping down her driveway, which not only wanted to remove any and all moisture from her exposed skin, but also made her breath jump back down her throat and huddle there for warmth. The cold front had arrived right on schedule; the windchill must be down in negative Fahrenheit territory.

Brrr.

She fumbled with her keys, reluctantly snatching one sheepskin mitten from her hand so her fingers could select the proper one more easily. Hurry, hurry. Eleven-thirty—she only had half an hour to shower and dress, to wear whatever mood she was in.

What mood was she in? Right now, jittery and frantic. She felt in her bones that Quinn would be precisely on time.

But jittery and frantic would not make an attractive presentation.

At all.

She jammed the key in the lock, twisted, turned and burst through the door. Leaped up the back stairs and smacked her keys onto the tiny phone nook cut into the wall, then dashed into her office, already shrugging out of her parka, to hang—

What was this?

She flicked on the light, pushed her thoroughly blown hair off her face and stared. The most amazing assortment of roses. Yellow, pink, white, red, oh, my goodness. Hand to her chest, she moved toward the card, daring it to be signed by who she so wanted it to be signed by.

Not a grateful client. Not a family member wishing her well. Not a friend sending joys of the season. Not that any of those had ever happened.

But, please, one sexually amazing corporate giant? Maybe a little smitten with her? Enchanted at the very least? Maybe saying as much? Or how he could not wait to see her tonight?

Maybe?

She plucked the envelope from the plastic-pronged holder and pulled out the card, parka still dangling off one arm. Black ink. Strong masculine handwriting.

To Annabel. So you can stop and smell them. Quinn.

Huh?

Damn and scowling disappointment. So you can stop and smell them? For crying out loud, he sounded like her brother.

What was with men, particularly high-powered men? They couldn’t handle women who wanted to get places. Just like her father, who made her mom give up a promising career as a lawyer to be his full-time wife. Bet Quinn never told his male colleagues to take it easy. Bet he was never concerned about their mental health or their personal development. But oh, no! Women shouldn’t hurt their delicate little selves shooting for anything like the big time.

God forbid. After all, what would men have to lord over them if women made success look as good as they did?

She jerked the second half of her coat off and hung it in the closet at the back of the room. Whether they liked it or not, she’d been born to take her place among the leaders. When other girls had been playing dress-up or planning trips to the shopping mall, she’d been playing Risk, plotting to take over the world. While other girls had batted their eyes and played stupid, sat on the sidelines and cheered, Annabel had excelled at her studies with pride, taken the field and played ferociously.

The closet door swung under the force of her shove, hit the jamb with a satisfying thud, then bounced back open slightly. She took a deep breath and turned to face the flowers again. They were beautiful. And unless she wanted to “wear her mood” and show up dressed for heavy combat, she’d better calm down.

Granted, maybe, possibly, yes, okay, she had a teeny-weeny chip on her shoulder. Her father had made it clear that women weren’t ever going to take the place of men on the battlefield of life, and that those who tried somehow betrayed their gender. He’d encouraged her brother, applauded his achievements, and while Annabel was his special little girl and always would be, she got the sense that when John had chosen teaching instead of big business, he’d left a hole Dad never bothered hoping Annabel could fill. Certainly not with something as girly as food service.