Midnight Touch

“Aren’t you presuming a hell of a lot, sport?” Her cheekbones flashed at him and her eyes glinted dangerously.

He looked into her eyes for a long moment and watched her color rise adorably. “No,” he said simply.

She flushed scarlet. “Wrong answer.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Kate didn’t reply. A pulse beat, wild and irregular, in her throat. It told him all he needed to know.

“So, about the project. We are still teaming up, aren’t we? Or are you welshing on our deal, concerned about your self-control around me?”

Her mouth opened, and then she shut it with a snap. “Listen here, sport. I don’t welsh on deals and I don’t have any issues with self-control. Got that?”

He nodded. Did she call everyone sport when she was angry at them? It was vile. “So why don’t we both think of a few businesses over the next couple of days and get back in touch?”

“Why don’t we just meet tomorrow?”

Because I’ll be fondling ladies’ feet all day. “I work tomorrow.”

“What is it that you do, again?”

“Accounting,” he lied. It was sort of true. He did keep the books for the business.

“Can’t you meet for lunch? It’s nowhere near tax season,” she pointed out.

He shook his head with regret. “I have a client whose books are in bad shape.” Yeah, if Peggy doesn’t start balancing the checkbook when she orders supplies, I’m going to wring her little red-headed neck. Again, it wasn’t a total lie….

“Well, okay. I guess we can talk about it when you come for the delicious tripe dinner with Wendell on Saturday,” she said. “And now that I know your true colors, I won’t even feel bad about inflicting him on you. You deserve him.”

IT WAS A sad fact of life that Wendell Spinney IV, Kate’s cousin, looked much more like a pig than, well, a pig. Wendell had been born with sparse blond hair, a wide, moon-shaped face, florid skin and a nose that had an unfortunate tendency to turn up at the end. While he didn’t snort, per se, he wore a permanently disgruntled expression that made him look as if he were about to do so.

Kate stared ahead impassively as they walked from her car to her residential building. Like most of the high-rises in Miami, it was tall, sleek and white. Glass doors protected the entrance and inside was a veritable jungle of tropical plants and a small fountain, as well as a modern concierge desk well-manned by helpful staff.

Her cousin swept his muddy-blond hair off his forehead and complained for the seventeenth time about the humidity. “Tell me again why you decided to move to Hell’s Sweaty Armpit?” he asked, the damp circles under his own arms growing.

“Business school,” she reminded him.

“And what’s wrong with Wharton?”

She sighed. “Everybody we know goes to Wharton.”

“So? That’s a good thing. And it’s still in America. You don’t have to learn Spanish up there.”

“Careful, Wendell—your flabby racist underbelly is showing. I happen to like Miami, humidity and all, so if you want to stay in my condo, you’d best watch your mouth.”

He curled his lip. “And if you want my votes for your muscular dystrophy charity then you’ll watch yours.”

She’d forgotten how loathsome Wendell could be, but apparently she was going to remember over the next five days. Goody. They stepped into the elevator and she punched the correct button. They rode up in silence.

The elevator opened at her floor, and they got off, Wendell rolling his suitcase behind him. They arrived at her door and she opened it, ushering her cousin inside.

Immediately he went to the sliding glass doors and took in the view. “Not bad,” he said. “What did you pay for this place?”

Typical Wendell. Before she could answer, the clatter of mini-pig hooves on the hardwood floors had him turning around. “Katy, what in the—” His jaw went slack at the sight of the porcine visitor.

“Wendell, this is Gracious. She’s staying with me for a few days, while her owner is out of town.”

“The hell she is! I’m staying with you for a few days.”

“So is she.”

Wendell squinted at the pig in disbelief. “I’m not living with a barnyard animal.”

Gracious grunted at him, backed up, sat down and squealed, laying her ears back. Then she looked up at Kate, clearly echoing Wendell’s sentiments. Kate translated the squeal to mean, “I’m not hanging out with that fat, preppy cretin.”

“You’re both going to have to deal with one another,” she said, her lips twitching.

Gracious heaved herself to her feet and waddled over to sniff out Wendell’s suitcase. She nudged it with her snout and knocked it over.

“Hey!”

She laid her ears back and cocked her head at him. Then she started snuffling around the zipper.

“Get away from there!” Wendell ran forward, waving his arms, but didn’t have the desired effect. Gracious snorted, squealed and redirected her energies: she charged him.

Wendell changed directions on a dime and fled in the other direction, but the pig was fast—who knew?—and pursued him into the kitchen, knocking against his calf with her snout. Wendell leaped for the counter and hauled himself up onto it belly first, his legs flailing. “Kate, do something!”

Gracious appeared very pleased by his response. Kate could have sworn she was grinning. She squealed and then snorted for punctuation.

“You threatened her, Wendell. For all intents and purposes, you charged her first. She was just standing up for herself.”

“Lock her up!” he yelled.

“Gracious, come here.” Kate tugged gently on the pig’s collar, and after a couple of tries got her to follow her into the bathroom. “Look, sweetie, there’s a nice fuzzy rug to lie on, okay? I’ll get you an apricot. Don’t let the mean man hurt your feelings.”

“Mean man?” Wendell hollered. “For God’s sake, Katy! Do you have a goat in the bedroom? Chickens in the pantry?”

Kate shut the door on Gracious and went back to the kitchen, hands on her hips. “Wendell, you can come down now. Let me show you to your room.”

He slid off the granite countertop and onto the floor with a grunt. Then he stalked to his suitcase, wiped imaginary specks of pig drool off the zipper, and towed it after him to the guestroom, where he eyed the air mattress with even more outrage. “You can’t expect me to sleep on that! I told you to get a bed.”

“That is a bed.”

“No, that’s a rectangular balloon.”

“Wendell, this room is going to be my office and I don’t want it filled with a huge guest bed that will hardly ever be used. It’s going to be occupied by a desk and a chair and a filing cabinet.”

“You said you would get a bed.” His tone was belligerent.

Kate looked heavenward. “Take it or leave it. If it bothers you so much, I can make you a reservation somewhere.”

Wendell grumbled a bit more and partially unpacked his suitcase into the room’s closet, pointing out that she had no chest of drawers, either. Then he requested a cappuccino.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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