Read Prelude to a Wedding (The Wedding Series Book 1) Page 23
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Norma Schaff, in her mid-fifties and razor-sharp of mind and wit, was made of sterner stuff than Janine Taylor. At least Bette would have sworn to that before Norma Schaff had to face Paul Monroe. She lasted two-and-a-half days.
To finish out the week, Bette tried a new approach, sending Jonathan Roiter. He finished out the day, which Darla termed a moral victory, and then said he’d rather swab toilets than go back Monday morning.
“Paul Monroe’s on line three,” Darla announced as she held open the door for Jonathan’s departure. “And before you tell me to take this call, too, I think you should know that he said he wants to talk to you this time.”
Bette stared at the phone a moment, then looked up at her assistant and friend. “I don’t understand it, Darla.”
“Me either, but I think the only way we’re ever going to have a shot at understanding it is if you get an explanation from him. You know the odd thing is, he sounds perfectly charming on the telephone. I wonder what he’s doing to these people.”
Bette waited until the door closed, took a deep breath that should have steadied her more than it did, then picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Bette. How are you? It’s good to hear your voice. Have you had a nice week?”
Darla was right. He sounded perfectly charming. Pure irritation swept aside uncertainty.
“I’ve had an absolutely miserable week, as you well know since you are directly and solely responsible for it. What have you been doing to those people we send to your office?”
“Me? Nothing. I haven’t laid a hand on a single one of them. Why?”
Nobody could sound that innocent and really be innocent. “Why! Because we’ve had three of our best people come back this week—three people in one week! —saying they would never work for you again.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that!”
“It’s just that I’ve been feeling sort of crazy this week—”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
She knew he heard her, but he ignored it.
“But my feeling crazy’s easy enough to fix.”
“Oh, really. How do you suggest we fix it?”
No, no, no, Bette! Her brain listened, aghast, at the opening her mouth had given him, and she braced to be run over by the Mack truck he would surely drive through it. She could have sworn the phone line hummed with his glee.
“Go out with me.”
As Mack trucks went, that wasn’t so bad. A mere four-ton—or four-word—model. But he didn’t fool her. This truck was just the lead vehicle in a caravan. Because after going out, there would be talking and laughing, then holding hands, kissing in the moonlight, embracing in the dark and who knew what else... Only she did know what else. Just the thought of it changed the pattern of her breathing and heartbeat. And that was the problem. If she went out with Paul Monroe. the man most likely to be named least likely to be her type of man, she could fall for him hard. More than she already had. She had to be firm. “No!”
“You don’t have to shout.”
She might have overdone the firmness, but she hadn’t actually shouted. “I didn’t shout.”
“Could have fooled me,” he grumbled, and to her dismay she felt her lips quirk up in a smile.
“No,” she repeated, definitely not a shout this time, perhaps because the word was mostly aimed at herself.
“I heard you the first time.” Something in his voice made Bette put a hand to her throat, made her want to take all the words back and erase that—was it pain?—from his voice. “All right, so you don’t want to go out with me.” Yes, I do want to go out with you, she thought, but I won’t. I can’t. “Then I guess you’ll just have to send another temporary assistant Monday morning.”
Whatever she’d heard in his voice had disappeared. His last words were almost cheerful. She swallowed, hard. “Yes, we’ll send you another new assistant Monday morning.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Have a nice weekend, Bette.”
“You, too, Paul. Goodbye.”
She hung up, but left her hand on the receiver. She knew she’d have an absolutely miserable weekend—for the same reason she’d had a miserable week.