Meg nodded, cheeks too full of Rosie’s homemade banana muffins to even speak.
“Oh, that’s a real shame.” Bonnie huffed out a sigh before stuffing her mouth with the rest of her muffin. A lump bobbed in her skinny throat as she swallowed. “He’s dreamy.”
“And knows it, which makes him not so dreamy if you ask me.” Meg took a drink of her coffee, nose scrunched at the thought of falling for anyone like Devin Caldwell. No, he’d cured her of trusting flirty, double-tongued men like him, so she supposed she owed him a debt of thanks. After all, that very distrust had protected her heart in Paris. She took another bite and chewed. Just like it would protect her heart at home.
“You’re right,” Bonnie said with a hike of her chin. “I think Conor’s handsome too, but he knows it as well, so I prefer the intellectual type who have no idea they’re appealing.”
Meg chuckled. “Mmm . . . I wonder who that might be?”
“I have no earthly idea,” Bonnie said with a dainty tip of her cup, one pinky in the air.
Meg grinned despite the muffin bulging in her cheeks. She swallowed it in a gulp. “So . . . when do I get to redecorate?” She set her cup down and leaned in, arms folded on the table.
“What do you mean?” Bonnie blinked, adorably reminiscent of a baby owl. “The waiting room looks perfect—what more can you do?”
Meg’s tongue rolled in her cheek. “Oh, I don’t know—shine up the receptionist maybe?”
Heat surged in said receptionist’s cheeks, causing her to fan her face as furiously as the rapid blink of her eyes. “Oh my, let me save both of us a lot of embarrassment and assure you I am hopelessly dowdy and quite certain any effort to ‘shine’ will be futile.”
Meg huffed out a sigh, gaze thinning with determination. “Close your eyes.”
“I beg your pardon?” Bonnie’s long, slender fingers splayed to her sunken chest.
“I said ‘close your eyes’—please.” Meg swished her hand at her good friend, prompting a bewildered flutter of Bonnie’s lids before they finally slammed closed. “Now . . . I want you to envision Evelyn Nesbit in that Coca-Cola ad, you know the one where her hair is piled loosely on her head except for the two banana curls down her back?”
Bonnie nodded slowly, the pinch of her brows undeniable proof she saw no connection.
“All right, now I want you to replace Evelyn’s face with yours in your mind’s eye, seeing yourself without glasses . . .”
“But I can’t see without my glas—”
“Humor me,” Meg said in a firm tone, giving Bonnie’s fingers an affectionate pinch. “Now remember the dress I had on last week, the blue silk that you loved?”
Bonnie caught her breath, eyes still closed. “You mean the one with the gold piping?”
Meg grinned, satisfied she’d hooked her interest. “Yes, that’s the one, and my sister Alli has one just like it.” She paused for effect. “In red—”
A gasp parted from Bonnie’s lips. “Like a rich scarlet red?”
“Yes, ma’am—with black piping . . .” Meg let that settle in, her grin growing at the lengthy sigh that trailed from Bonnie’s lips. “Except she tossed it in the rag basket just last week.”
Another gasp, this time harsh enough to pop her eyelids. “No!”
Meg clasped Bonnie’s hands. “Yes! And if I lengthen the hem, it will be perfect for you.”
“Oh, Meg!” Bonnie sagged back, hand clutched to her chest once again. “I couldn’t . . .”
“Yes you can—Alli insists, and so do I. Except there is a catch . . .”
A lump bobbed in Bonnie’s long neck, as big as the muffins Meg brought in for the staff meeting. “What?” she whispered.
“You have to come to dinner so you can try it on and let me fix your hair and makeup.”
“Oh goodness, I don’t know . . .”
“No, but I do, and I’m telling you right now that when I am done with you, George Crane will say, ‘Peggy who?’ ”
The fullness of Bonnie’s normally lush lips flattened into a thin scowl. “Peggy O’Keefe is an insatiable flirt who ogles anything in pants.”
“Ah-hah! You know that and I know that, but sweet, deluded George thinks Peggy is the marvel of the mailroom, a veritable angel from heaven.”
“Humph . . . the fallen kind.” Bonnie’s hand flew to her mouth as if she’d just realized how awful that sounded. Her cheeks flamed. “Oh, I’m a terrible person.”
Meg’s smile was soft. “No, just a human one, Bonnie, who has a bit of the mama-bear mentality when it comes to George Crane. And Peggy is human too, just like us, so only heaven knows what painful trials she’s endured to make her demean herself so much. I think we just need to pray for her, don’t you?”
Bonnie nodded, her manner considerably humbled. “It wouldn’t hurt to pray for me too, I suppose, after that catty remark.” Expelling a noisy sigh, she peered at Meg with a tilt of her head. “Goodness, Meg, we’ve been working together for almost a month now, and I’ve never heard a negative word from your lips about anybody. Do you ever talk badly about anyone? Because it seems like you are near perfect when it comes to the feelings of others.”
Heat broiled Meg’s face. Near perfect? Ha! She thought of all the terrible names she’d secretly called Devin Caldwell over the years and vehemently shook her head. “Trust me, Bonnie, I’ve profaned Devin Caldwell’s name till it’s lower than dirt, so don’t—”
“What’s this? ‘Lower than dirt’—is that what I heard?” Conor strolled into the conference room with a steaming cup of coffee and a grin. He tossed a glance over his shoulder past Teddy and George to target Devin with a curious gaze. “I’m not sure, but I think our Meg just relegated you to the worm family, Dev . . .”
Megan’s jaw remained frozen, heat blasting her cheeks at the sight of Devin Caldwell in the doorway, his face an even ruddier shade of shock than her own.
George chuckled and set his coffee cup on the table, easing into his chair with a broad smile. “Either that or she thinks you’re pretty down to earth.”
Hearty laughter filled the room, coaxing a sheepish smile from Devin’s face, which was as crimson as his red paisley tie. Its four-in-hand knot bobbed along with his Adam’s apple as he buried one hand in his pocket, his coffee mug held stiffly in the other. Despite an impeccable navy suit, gold cufflinks, and stylish high-collar pinstripe shirt, his posture was as wooden and unsure as an awkward little boy—one obviously not used to being the butt of anyone’s jokes.
Sympathy squeezed in her chest despite all the years Devin had ridiculed her. A silent sigh feathered her lips. Not a very nice feeling, is it, Mr. Caldwell?
“So, what exactly did you do to our sweet little Meg anyway, Dev, to elicit such ‘mud’-slinging?” George took a sip of his coffee, one of his mammoth ears twitching the slightest bit.
Avoiding Meg’s gaze, Devin pulled his chair out from the table too quickly, bumping George’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he muttered as he placed his mug on the table with a wobble, splattering coffee onto the polished surface. His face scorched scarlet.
Bonnie launched from the table faster than the skyrockets at Uncle Logan’s Napa Estate on the Fourth of July. “I’ll wipe it—”
“No!” Devin halted her with a raised palm and a very tight smile. “I mean, no need, Miss Roof, but thank you.” He fished a folded handkerchief from his suit coat and proceeded to mop up the spill, jaw compressed despite a smile as starched as his collar.
Bonnie skidded to a stop, her cherry-red cheeks a close match with Devin’s. “More coffee, then?” she offered, obviously noting that half of his cup had ended up on the table.
Devin shook his head, wadding his handkerchief before burying it into his pants pocket. “No thank you, I’m not sure I can be trusted.” His eyes met Meg’s briefly, a touch of that famous Caldwell charm shadowing his smile. “No need to test manners already in tatters.”
“Yeah, if he needs more coffee, he can just squeeze it from his
handkerchief, right, Dev?” Conor strolled over to take a seat next to Meg. “And as far as manners go, Meg can teach you all you need to know. She gives me the evil eye every time I snitch one too many cookies or donuts.” He eyed the plate of muffins. “Hey, Teach—are those for us?”
“Oh—yes!” She shot to her feet, anxious to move beyond her embarrassment and Devin’s. Offering a schoolmarm smile, she rounded the table, dispensing the stack of plates she’d brought in. “And only one per person, Mr. O’Neil, so don’t get greedy or I’ll send you to the principal, understood?”
“Me?” Conor said in mock offense, hand splayed to his beige silk vest. “What about Dev—he’s the one you called a worm.”
Heat swarmed the lacy collar of Meg’s silk blouse, most likely making her powdered face and auburn hair a perfect match. “Conor O’Neil, I did not call Mr. Caldwell a worm . . .”
Conor shrugged, cheeks chunky with muffin. “Worm, lower than dirt, same difference.”
“Actually, Con,” Teddy said in a low, tentative jest, “in a court of law, Meg would win.” Stretching across the table with a soft grunt, he took a muffin, his full face a perennial shade of pink except for the spray of freckles across a surprisingly delicate nose. “Lower than dirt doesn’t necessarily constitute a worm, you know. It could mean a grub, crickets, ants, termites—”
“Snakes, rats, tarantulas—” George offered, licking crumbs from his fingers.
“Hey, now you’re getting personal,” Devin said with a chuckle.
Conor licked a splotch of chocolate from his lip. “Well, it sure sounds personal.” He angled back with a quick brush of hands, scrutinizing Devin with a curious gaze. “Our Meg—one of the sweetest, kindest people I know—thinks you’re lower than dirt?” He shook his head, ignoring the finger Meg pressed to her lips. “I for one would like to know why.”
She inwardly groaned as she resumed her seat, quite sure she had no need of rouge today. “Conor, please—can’t we just change the subject?”
“I agree,” Devin said, gaze flicking to hers. “But not before I even the score.”
Meg’s fingers froze, paralyzed on the coffee cup halfway to her lips.
With exasperating calm, Devin took another bite, gaze thoughtful as he chewed, eyes locked with hers. He upended his cup, then slid it in her direction, a twinkle gleaming in warm eyes the color of his coffee. “And since you know how I take it, Meg—do you mind?”
She vaulted to her feet despite wobbly legs, instantly submitting to the same hypnotic control Devin Caldwell wielded over her and every other girl at school. “Oh, not at all—”
“I’m teasing,” he said softly. His eyes shone with a sincerity that shocked despite the mischief in his tone. “Besides, Miss McClare, do you really think it’s wise to let the girl to whom I was always a snot-nosed hooligan doctor my coffee?”
All she could do was stare, paralyzed by the gentleness of his tone and his penitent smile. “Will you forgive me, Meg, for treating you so poorly over the years?”
She swallowed hard and nodded, barely able to believe that Devin Caldwell was making amends. “Of course I forgive you,” she whispered, “if you’ll forgive me for—”
“Saying he’s lower than dirt?” A smile twitched on Conor’s lips.
“Implying he’s a worm?” Teddy volunteered.
“Calling him a snake and a rat?” George popped the rest of his muffin in his mouth.
Meg laughed despite the burn of her cheeks. “I did not call him either of those nasty names, George Crane, and you know it.” Her throat constricted as she met Devin’s gaze across the table. “Although I suppose I did say something about being . . . lower than dirt, possibly implying you’re a worm, but I apologize, Devin, because it was wrong . . .”
His eyes softened. “Yes, it was, because we both know I was not a worm.” Inhaling deeply, he expelled a sigh laden with regret, scanning the table as if to offer a group apology before he focused on Meg once again. “The truth is, I was lower than a worm to Miss McClare in school, and I just hope she can find it in her heart to let me make it up, especially now that we have to work together so closely.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. For the sake of sanity, Meg, say something . . . She ingested a deep draw of air to regain her confidence before she managed a hint of a smile. “Maybe . . . if you’ll forgive me for trampling your pride in every spelling bee and science fair from first grade through eleventh.”
The others chuckled, easing the tightness in her chest as Devin extended a hand. “Deal . . . if you promise to forgive me when I outshine you as the DA’s star intern.”
She laughed and shook his hand. “Ah . . . now there’s the Devin Caldwell I know and love—a competitor to the core.”
“Love?” The brown eyes gleamed with mischief. “Don’t toy with my emotions like that, Miss McClare.”
“Ha! She toys with mine all the time, so what makes you think you’re any different?” Conor clunked his empty cup on the table, grin widening when Linda Marie appeared at the door. “As does the lovely Miss Finn, who, I might add,” he quipped, hamming it up by clutching his cup to his chest, “I hope will have pity on us with another pot of her truly miraculous coffee.”
Linda Marie strolled in with a sassy smile, arms folded across a particularly snug shirtwaist. “I’ll have pity all right, Conor O’Neil,” she said with a pretty toss of her head, her chestnut pompadour sporting a navy bow to match her form-fitting skirt. “On poor George and Teddy, that is, for having to work with the likes of you.” Awarding Conor a playful smirk, her attention instantly lighted upon Devin with a coy smile. “And, of course, poor Devin too,” she said in a voice too sultry for an office, “whose cup I will gladly refill along with yours when I return with Mr. Turner’s.”
“Sure, fawn over all the heartbreakers,” George said in a good-natured grouse, “while Teddy and I are forced to get our own.”
Heartbreakers. Meg gulped when Devin flirted back with Linda Marie, employing his trademark flash of teeth.
Coffee. I need coffee. She bolted to her feet. And distance . . . lots and lots of distance. “Uh, I need a refill before our morning meeting, so I’ll be happy to replenish coffee all around.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Devin snatched her cup and rose with great fanfare, hand splayed to his chest. “I’m the new kid on the block, so I’ll help Linda Marie. I’m sure she knows how these jokers take their coffee, but how ’bout you?”
“No, really, Devin, you don’t have—”
“Yes, he does, Meg—let ’im.” George jotted notes with the paper and pencil he’d brought.
“Yes, Meg, let me.” Devin’s smile weakened her resistance. “It’s the least I can do after acting like a buffoon last week, expecting you to deliver my coffee.” He winked. “Besides, it might win me points with Andrew for top-intern status.” He paused, one dark brow cocked in question. “I’m guessing you’re a cream-and-sugar type of girl?”
“Uh . . . yes, please—heavy on the cream, light on the sugar, thank you.”
He followed Linda Marie to the door, shooting a grin over his shoulder. “Thought so—sugar to feed that sweet disposition and cream to enhance the peaches-and-cream glow.” He gave a quick salute. “Sit tight, ladies and gentlemen—we’ll be right back.”
Sit tight? No problem. Meg’s body was so rigid now, she could barely breathe, the notion of Devin Caldwell flirting with her—Megan McTubby—unraveling any poise she may have had. Her eyelids fluttered closed. Lord, please—do not let Devin Caldwell reduce me to one of his simpering, love-struck females!
She tried to settle her nerves with a deep inhale, smiling as she pretended to listen to the good-natured ribbing between Conor and George. Idly snatching her pen from the table, she rolled it between her fingers while forcing her body to calm. She needed to evaluate the situation through intellect, not pulse rate. The very last thing she wanted was attraction to a sweet-talking, overconfident rogue like Devi
n Caldwell. A “pretty boy,” as Cassie had dubbed Jamie early on in their relationship. Only Jamie had a heart for underdogs like Meg had once been, where Devin had made a practice of ridiculing them. How could she ever trust a man like that or even feed his ego, which was already well overfed? Meg sighed. The truth was she couldn’t, especially not one bent on “top-intern status.”
Her jaw went slack. Top-intern status . . .
She blinked. Oh my goodness, that was it—the way to protect herself from Devin Caldwell. The same way she’d protected herself all these years from his ridicule, only now she would use it to protect herself from his charm.
A slow smile inched across her lips.
She would challenge him.
Because as sure as the dimples in those chiseled cheeks, if there was one thing Devin Caldwell possessed in great abundance other than charm, it was pride.
And everyone knows that pride goeth before the fall.
Her teeth tugged on the edge of her grin.
His.
17
Logan resisted a scowl as he escorted Cait across the posh marble lobby of The St. Francis Hotel, thinking Turner’s new residence matched him perfectly—stuffy and overstated.
“Goodness, Logan, it’s a welcome-home party for your niece, not a funeral.” Caitlyn’s glance held a hint of a tease, her beauty far surpassing anything The St. Francis had to offer. A calming mix of lavender with a hint of spicy clove roused his senses as she leaned close, obviously hoping to keep her jest discreet. They both nodded at a cluster of society matrons chatting in the pillared lounging area, where gilded ceilings and crystal chandeliers provided a lavish setting for scarlet sofas and gold Tiffany lamps. Cait’s smile was a whole lot warmer than his, but then Andrew Turner showing off at a $2.5 million-dollar hotel designed to rival the great hotels of Europe was nothing to smile about. Not when it upstaged Logan with his family.
“Mezzanine,” he muttered to the elevator attendant, lips compressed as they stepped into the ornate gilded conveyance that would take them to the second story. He drew Cait back to allow others to enter behind them, his body stiff against rich wood-paneled walls graced with expensive artwork. The doors closed, and she bent near once again, voice low. “Well then, can you at least pretend you enjoy my company, Mr. McClare?” she said softly in his ear, a definite smile in her tone. “I’d rather my self-esteem not suffer quite as much as you.”