Dream Trilogy (17 page)

Ann took another sip of wine because that wasn’t how she’d meant to say it. “Listen to me, Margo, for once. The fact that you did send the money was appreciated. Perhaps I’d have gotten sick and unable to work and needed it. But that didn’t happen. Sending it was a loving thing to do.”

“No, it wasn’t.” It shamed her as much to know it as to admit it. “I did it out of pride. I did it to show you I was successful, important. That you were wrong about me.”

Understanding, Ann inclined her head. “There’s not so much of a difference, and the result’s the same. It was your money, and it still is. I had the comfort that you thought to send it, that you had it to send. You’d have frittered it away if you hadn’t passed it to me, so we’ve done each other a favor.” She reached out to stroke Margo’s hair, then, faintly embarrassed by the show of affection, dropped her hand back to her side. “Now take it and do something with it.”

When Margo said nothing, Ann clucked her tongue. She set down her glass, then cupped Margo’s chin in her palm. “Why are you so contrary, girl? Did you earn the money with honest work or not?”

“Yes, but—”

“Do what your mum tells you for once. You might be surprised to find she’s right. Go into this business venture on equal terms with Miss Laura, and take pride in that. Now clean up this mess you’ve made before you go to bed.”

“Mum.” Margo picked up the papers as her mother paused at the door. “Why didn’t you send this to me in Milan when you knew I was scraping bottom?”

“Because you weren’t ready for it. Be sure you are now.”

Mine. Holding out her arms, Margo circled the empty main room of the shop on Cannery Row. Technically it wasn’t hers quite yet. Settlement was still two weeks away, but the offer had been accepted, the contract signed. And the loan, with the Templeton name behind it, had gone off without a hitch.

She’d already had a contractor in to discuss alterations. It was going to cost big, and in her new frugal fashion she had indeed decided to do the simple cosmetic improvements herself. Research was under way on the rental of floor sanders, the purchase of caulking guns. She’d even looked into something wonderful called a paint sprayer. More coverage, faster. More efficient.

And the building wouldn’t actually be hers, she reminded herself. It would be theirs. Hers, Laura’s, and the bank’s. But
in two weeks’ time, she would be sleeping in that little room upstairs. In a sleeping bag if need be.

Then by midsummer, the doors of Pretenses would open.

And the rest, she thought with a laugh, would be history.

She turned at the tap on the glass and saw Kate.

“Hey, open up, will you? I’m on my lunch hour. Thought I’d find you here gloating,” she said when Margo opened the door. “It still smells,” she added after a testing sniff.

“What do you want, Kate? I’m busy.”

Kate studied the clipboard and the pocket calculator on the floor. “Did you figure out how to work that thing?”

“You don’t have to be a CPA to use a calculator.”

“I meant the clipboard.”

“Ha ha.”

“You know, the place grows on you.” Hands tucked in her trouser pockets, Kate wandered. “It’s a nice busy area, too. Should pull in some walk-in traffic. And people on vacation are always buying things they don’t have any use for. The secondhand clothes, though. Everything’s going to be a size eight.”

“I’ve already thought of that. I’m working on some other stock. I know a lot of people who ditch their wardrobes every year.”

“Smart people buy classics—seasonless classics—then they don’t have to worry.”

“How many navy blue blazers do you own, Kate?”

“Half a dozen,” she said and grinned, then thumbed a Tums out of the roll in her pocket. Her idea of lunch. “But that’s just me. Here’s the deal, Margo. I want in.”

“In what?”

“In on the building.” She popped the antacid, crunched it. “I’ve got some money to invest, and I don’t see why you and Laura should have all the fun.”

“We don’t need a partner.”

“Sure you do. You need someone who knows the difference between black ink and red.” Bending down, she scooped up the calculator and began to run figures. “You and Laura put in twelve-five apiece, cash. Now you’ll have the settlement costs, points, insurance, taxes. Which should bring it up to somewhere around, oh, eighteen each, which makes it thirty-six.” Taking glasses out of her breast pocket, she put them on as she continued to work. “Divide that by three, and it makes twelve each, which is less than you’ve already shelled out.”

She paced as she cleared figures, added more. “Now, you’ve got repairs, remodeling, maintenance, utilities, business license fees, more taxes, bookkeeping—I can set the books up for you, but I don’t have time to take on another client right now so you’ll have to hire someone or learn to add.”

“I can already add,” Margo said, stung.

Kate merely took out a small electronic memo and entered a reminder to herself to earmark time to give Margo a course in basic bookkeeping. The cellular phone in her briefcase rang, and she ignored it. Her service would have to deal with that until her current business was concluded.

“There’s the overhead for shopping bags, tissue paper, boxes, cash register tape,” she continued. “That’ll bump things back up into six figures in no time. You’ll have fees to the credit card companies since your clientele will be using primarily plastic.” Tipping the glasses down, she peered at Margo over the tops. “You do intend to accept all major credit cards, don’t you?”

“I—”

“See, you need me.” Satisfied, she bumped up the glasses again. No joint venture between Laura and Margo was going to exclude her, no matter how many funds she had to juggle. “Of course, I’ll just be a silent partner, as I’m the only one of the three of us who has a real job.”

Margo narrowed her eyes. “How silent?”

“Oh, just a peep now and then.” All the practicalities were already ordered in her tidy mind. “You’ll have to figure out how and when to replace your stock once it starts to sell, what your markup percentage needs to be to ensure your profit margin. Oh, then there’s legal fees. But we can talk Josh into handling that. How did you get him to let you use his Jag? That is his new Jag out front, isn’t it?”

Margo’s expression turned smug. “You could say I’m test-driving it.”

Lifting her brows, Kate slipped her glasses off and back into her pocket. “Are you test-driving him?”

“Not yet.”

“Interesting. I’ll write you a check for the twelve thousand. We’ll have a partnership agreement drawn up.”

“A partnership agreement.”

“Jesus, you do need me.” She caught Margo by the shoulders and kissed her dead on the lips. “The three of us love each other, trust each other. But you’ve got to make a business legal. Right now the stock is all yours, but—”

“Laura’s added to it,” Margo interrupted, and wicked humor glinted. “We’re selling everything in Peter’s office.”

“Good start. How’s she holding up?”

“Pretty well. She’s worried about Ali. The kid took it hard when Peter didn’t show up for her ballet recital. Word is he’s in Aruba.”

“I hope he drowns. Nope, I hope he gets eaten by sharks and then drowns. I’ll get over to the house this weekend and spend some time with the girls.” She took out a check, already written and signed. “There you go, partner. I’ve got to get back.”

“We haven’t cleared this with Laura.”

“I did,” Kate said breezily, as she opened the door and plowed into Josh. “Hi.” She kissed him. “Bye.”

“Nice to see you too,” he called after her, then cautiously closed the door.

Laura had warned him not to expect much. It was a good thing. “Have you and Kate been smoking grass in here?”

“That’s all she ever does on her lunch hour. We really have to get her into a program.” Thrilled with herself, Margo spread her arms. “So, what do you think?”

“Uh-huh. It’s a building, all right.”

“Josh.”

“Give me a minute.” He walked past her into the adjoining room, came back, looked into the bath, gazed up the pretty, and potentially lethal, staircase. He wiggled the banister, winced. “Want a lawyer?”

“We’re going to have that fixed.”

“I don’t suppose it occurred to you that sometimes dipping your toe in is smarter than diving headfirst.”

“It’s not as much fun.”

“Well, duchess, I’m sure you could have done worse.” He walked over, lifted her pouting face to his. “Let’s just get this out of the way, shall we? I’ve been thinking about it across two continents.”

He pulled her close, covered her mouth greedily with his. After a moment of token disinterest, she let herself melt into a kiss that tasted of frustrated lust. So unexpected. So thrilling, the way his mouth fit on hers, the way all those hard lines and planes of his body met and meshed so perfectly with the curves of hers.

It didn’t give her time to think whether it was simply that she had missed that glorious sensation of being held by a man, or if it was Josh. But because it was Josh, she needed to think.

“I don’t know how I missed how potent you were all these years.” She drew away, flashed a quick, teasing smile.

His system was straining like an engine revved too high.
“That was just a free sample. Come back here and we’ll go for the full treatment.”

“I think we’ll take it in stages.” She walked away, opened her bag, and took out a pack of cigarettes. Her elegant case was already boxed into inventory. “I’m learning to be a cautious woman.”

“Cautious.” He scanned the room again. “Which is how you got from renting a little shop in Milan to clear your debts and make a reasonable living to buying a building on Cannery Row and adding to those debts.”

“Well, I can’t change overnight, can I?” She eyed him through a haze of smoke. “You’re not going to get all lawyerly on me, are you, Josh?”

“Actually I am.” He picked up the briefcase he’d set aside, opened it. “I have some papers for you.” He looked around for a place to sit and settled on the bottom step of the staircase. “Come here. Come here,” he repeated and patted the narrow space beside him. “I can manage to keep my hands off you.”

She picked up a little tin ashtray and joined him. “I’m getting good at papers. I’m thinking of buying a file cabinet.”

He didn’t sigh. It wouldn’t have made any difference. “Is your Italian good enough to wade through this?”

She frowned at the papers he offered. “It’s a contract of sale on my flat.” Emotions whirled up inside her, regret warring with relief. “You work fast,” she murmured.

“It’s a very decent offer.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “Are you sure it’s what you want?”

“It’s the way it is. Reality doesn’t always chew well, but I’m trying to acquire a taste.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Just let me feel sorry for myself a minute.”

“You’re entitled.”

“Self-pity’s a bad habit of mine. It’s hard to shake. Damn it, Josh, I loved that place. Sometimes I’d just stand on the
terrace and think: Look where you are, Margo. Look who you are.”

“Well, now you’re someplace else.” It wasn’t sympathy she needed, he decided, but a good boot in the butt. “And you look the same to me.”

“It’s not the same. It’s never going to be the same again.”

“Toughen up, Margo. You’re starting to wallow in it.”

She jerked up. “Easy for you to say. Joshua Conway Templeton, the bright star of the Templeton empire. You never lost anything. You never groped your way sweating to get a grip on something everyone told you you couldn’t have. No one ever told you you couldn’t have anything and everything you wanted.”

“That’s the breaks, isn’t it?” he said easily. “You played, duchess, and you lost. Whining about it isn’t going to change a thing, and it’s very unattractive.”

“Thanks so much for your support.” Fuming, she snatched the contract out of his hand. “When do I get the money?”

“There’s time, and there’s Italian time. If you’re lucky, you may have it settled in sixty days. The bottom line’s on the next page.”

He watched her flip it over. Her eyes were hot as they skimmed down, the heat clouded with distress. “That’s it?”

“You didn’t have a lot of equity built up. The bank gets theirs first, then the government takes its share.”

“It’s better than a stick in the eye,” she muttered. “Barely.”

“I drew on your account to square your American Express bill. I don’t suppose it occurred to you to fly back here coach.” When she only stared coolly, he shook his head. “I don’t know why I said that. You’re back under the max on your Visa card, but I’d go easy on it. After you distribute the net from the sale of the flat, you’ll only be about a hundred and fifty thousand in the hole, excluding interest and penalties.”

“Pin money,” she said dryly.

“You shouldn’t plan on buying any pins for a while. Now, as your representative, I’m willing to clear your debts, and assist you in dealing with any you incur while initiating your business. You got a name for this place yet?”

“Pretenses,” she said between her teeth as he flipped out more papers.

“Perfect. I’ve drawn up the necessary agreements.”

“Have you?” she said slowly. “In triplicate?”

Warned by the tone, he looked up, met her icy stare equally. “Naturally.”

“And just what would I be agreeing to, Counselor Templeton?”

“To pay back this personal loan in regular installments beginning six months after the date of signing. That gives you some breathing space. You also agree to live within your means during the term of the loan.”

“I see. And what are my means, in your legal opinion?”

“I’ve worked up a budget for personal expenses. Food, lodging, medical.”

“A budget?”

He’d expected an explosion. Even, perversely, hoped for one. Margo’s tantrums were always so . . . stimulating. It didn’t appear that he was going to be disappointed.

“A budget?” she repeated, storming to him. “Of all the unbelievable, bloody nerve. You arrogant son of a bitch. Do you think I’m going to stand here and let you treat me like some sort of brainless bimbo who needs to be told how much she can spend on face powder?”

“Face powder.” Deliberately, he scanned the papers, took a pen out of his pocket, and made a quick note. “That would come under ‘Miscellaneous Luxuries.’ I think I’ve been very generous there. Now, as to your clothing allowance—”

“Allowance!” She used both hands to shove him back a
step. “Just let me tell you what you can do with your fucking allowance.”

“Careful, duchess.” He brushed the front of his shirt. “Turnbill and Asser.”

The strangled sound in her throat was the best she could do. If there had been anything, anything at all to throw, she’d have heaved it at his head. “I’d rather be picked apart, alive, by vultures than let you handle my money.”

“You don’t have any money,” he began, but she barreled on as she whirled around the room. Watching her, he all but salivated.

“I’d rather be gang-raped by midgets, staked naked to a wasp nest, be force-fed garden slugs.”

“Go three weeks without a manicure?” he put in and watched her hands curl into claws. “You go after my face with those, I’ll have to hurt you.”

“Oh, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He moved very fast. One instant he was leaning lazily on the wobbly banister and the next he’d flashed out, grabbed her. He took a moment to enjoy the dark fury on her face, the lethal glint in her eyes, before he crushed her snarling mouth under his. It was like kissing a lightning bolt—that heat, the jolt of deadly power, the sizzling sting of fury.

He knew that when he finally got her into bed, it would be a full-blown storm.

She didn’t resist. That would have given him too much satisfaction. Instead, she met him force for force and pleased herself. Until they both stepped back, gasping.