Enchanted (25 page)

“Let me help you, ma’am,” the little man reached for her hand, but she shook him off.

“Out of my way,” Ashley snarled, her eyes glaring from the tips of his curl-toed shoes to his tiny turned-up nose. “You’re not my regular man. Where is he?” Ashley demanded to know.

“His name’s Harold.”

“I don’t care what his name is. Why isn’t he here?”

“Does it really matter?”

Ashley threw up her hands. “I suppose one incompetent is just as good as another. Get my bags out of the car.”

“I’d be happy to do that for you, ma’am.”

“My name’s Miss Tate, not ma’am.”

“Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful.” The little man beamed. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “I don’t have all day. Just get my bags.”

“But this is important.”

“What is it?” she asked in exasperation. “I don’t give out money. That’s Mac’s department. See him if you want something.”

The little man winked at Mac, put his fists to his hips, and tilted his pointed
, elfin-like
chin toward Ashley’s scowling face.

Mac crossed his arms and watched the interplay between Ashley and the strange
little
man.

“No, no, no, Miss Tate. I don’t want anything. Not anything at all. I want to give you something.”

“What could you possibly give me?”

The little man pulled an oblong purple velvet box from his inside coat pocket. “I was asked to give you this,” he said while lifting the lid. He held the box out to Ashley. “My, my, my. Isn’t it the most beautiful necklace you’ve ever seen?”

Ashley’s eyes widened as the sun’s rays glinted off the three rows of brilliant diamonds studding the choker.

Mac’s eyes widened also. Hadn’t he seen that necklace before? At Holly’s? And the little man and his choice of words. My, my, my. No, no, no. They were Merry’s words.
T
he man at Holly’s
had uttered them, too
. He looked at the little man’s strange shoes, his turned-up nose. He grinned, he laughed, and the little man turned to him with a wink. Mac leaned against the Mercedes. Could this
elf--for lack of better words--
be the miracle he had prayed for?

Ashley grabbed the box out of the
fellow
’s hand. “Did you steal this?”

“No, Miss Tate. I was told to give it to you. I was also told to give you a message.”

She removed the necklace and dropped the box on the sidewalk. “What’s the message?” she asked, holding the choker to her neck, ready to fasten the latch.

The little man touched his index finger to his chin and smiled up at Ashley. “I believe the necklace is enchanted.”

Ashley laughed. “Nonsense. It’s only a necklace.”

“A beautiful necklace. One with a story behind it.”

“What’s the story?”

“They say the wearer of the necklace will fall madly in love with the first person to call her by name.”

“You’re insane.”

“No, no, no. It’s true.”

“All right, then,” Ashley said as she fastened the latch. “If you think it’s enchanted, let’s give it a try. Call me by my name.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that, Miss Tate,” he said, furiously shaking his head.

“And why not?”

The man looked at Mac with an impish grin, then back at Ashley. “I’m not particularly fond of you, Miss Tate. I’d rather have you fall in love with someone more your type.”

“How rude. I don’t believe a word of your story, and I have no intention of giving you back the necklace.”

“I don’t want it back, Miss Tate,” he said. “You deserve that necklace. I’ll get your bags now, but you be careful. I wouldn’t want you to fall madly in love with the wrong person.”

Mac watched Ashley lightly finger the surface of the diamonds, then bend to admire herself in the car’s side mirror.

He felt a hand slap him on the back. “Well, Mac, old man.” He recognized the loud, abrasive voice. Reginald Morgan, the “Prince of Porn.” “What the hell are you doing here?”

“The question is, what are you doing here? Isn’t this part of town a little out of your league?”

“Touché.” Reginald quipped, leering at Ashley’s bottom, at the way
her gown’s
red, white, and blue bow swayed with the movement of her hips. “Got to hand it to you, Mac. No one man should be fortunate enough to have a babe like
this
one
as well as
that long-legged creature I saw you with at the Plaza.”

Mac ignored the comment
.
He didn’t remember seeing Reginald Morgan at the Plaza and wanted to change the subject
.

Ashley came to Mac’s side, sliding her arm through his, but he unconsciously moved away, no longer liking the feel of her touch. He turned to look at the little man struggling with the luggage. He wanted to leave, to get away from Ashley, and now from
the
vile, disgusting creature who called himself a man.

Mac watched Reginald’s eyes dart from Ashley’s face, to her diamond choker, her small breasts, her tiny waist. He detested the man, hated his underhanded deals and the pornographic sleaze he published.

“Excuse me, sir.” The doorman stood between two
pieces of
monogrammed Louis Vuitton
luggage
. “I’ll take these up to the lady’s apartment now.”

“Thank you,” Mac said, extending a hand and a warm smile. He reached into his pocket and pulled out several bills.

“No, no, no, sir. Give it to charity.”

Mac nodded. The little man picked up the bags and started to walk away, then stopped, and turned around.

“Excuse me, Mr. O’Brien.”

“Yes?” Mac said, and for only a brief moment wondered how the little man knew his name.

“May I make a suggestion, sir?”

“Please do.”

“Why don’t you introduce Mr. Morgan to your friend?” The little man winked and, with no further words, bustled up the stairs and through the revolving doors.

“Yes, darling. Why don’t you introduce me?” Ashley purred.

Mac eyed Reginald Morgan, envisioning drool dripping out from between his fat lips and down his pockmarked chin. He looked at Ashley, at the necklace she wore. He thought about the story. He didn’t want to say her name. What if the necklace
was
enchanted? What if the
elfish
man’s story was true?

Mac saw Ashley staring at the large diamond rings Reginald Morgan wore on the stubby middle fingers of each hand. He looked at his shiny brow and saw beads of perspiration erupting from the pores at his hairline. His neck and numerous chins rolled over the top of his tightly buttoned collar,
his
pink shirt looking as sleazy as the man himself, not to mention the obnoxious gold medallion dangling from a thick gold chain around his neck.

He couldn’t hesitate any longer.
Reginald and Ashley
stared at him as he fought for a way to introduce them.

“Reginald Morgan, this is an old friend of mine.”

“Mac, darling, you know how I hate to be referred to as an old friend.”

“Pretty insensitive of you, old man,” Reginald snorted. “How could you call a gorgeous creature like this old? Why, she couldn’t be a day over twenty.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.” Ashley’s voice dripped sweetness. Men who looked like Reginald Morgan repulsed Ashley, but she obviously made an exception for vile men who reeked of money.

“Mac can be pretty insensitive at times.
” She held out
a dainty hand.
“I’m Ashley Tate.”

Reginald Morgan took Ashley’s hand and pressed a wet kiss to her knuckles. “It’s so nice to meet you, Ashley Tate.”

Mac stood perfectly still. A bolt of lightning shot through the cloudless blue sky, instantly followed by a loud, earth-shaking roll of thunder.

An odd expression crossed Ashley’s face. She pulled her hand out of Reginald’s as if she’d been shocked. She stared at Mac, a quick look of fear crossing her face, perhaps a moment of regret, and then she grinned. Her fingers found their way to Reginald Morgan’s face, then slid through his oil-slicked hair. She slipped her other hand under his unbuttoned jacket, letting it glide over his sweat-dampened shirt up to his shoulder. She moved close, pulling his head down to capture his lips.

Mac couldn’t move. He fought his senses which told him to pull them apart. As horrible as Ashley had been, did she really deserve someone like Reginald Morgan? He touched her shoulder, tried to pull her away. “Come on, Ash. Let’s get out of here.”

She slapped his hand. “Get away,” she
ordered,
and resumed her perusal of Reginald Morgan with her lips.

“God, you’re a tiger.
” Reginald gasped as he came up for air.

“Marry me and I’m all yours,”
Ashley
whispered while her tongue darted around his ear.

“I have a place in Vegas,” Reginald groaned. “We can be there in just a few hours.”

She kissed his eyes, his nose. “I want a round bed, red velvet wallpaper, and mirrors—lots of mirrors.”

“Anything, my sweet.”

“Let’s hurry,” Ashley breathed. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as her mouth once again fought for total control of his lips and tongue.

A crowd gathered. People stared. Photographers came from nowhere, and Mac listened to the click, click, click of cameras. He moved to the driver’s side of his car, pulled open the door, and started to step inside. He looked up to the building’s revolving doors. The little man stood outside, smiling down at Mac. Again he winked, and then he disappeared into the crowd.

Mac looked heavenward. He closed his eyes. “Thank you, Lord.”

Kathleen opened her eyes as the light of late morning shot through the window. She had lain awake throughout the early morning thinking of Mac, about how she had wanted him all those years ago, and now he was hers. She closed her eyes and remembered their first meeting.

She stood at the door of his office. She had already interviewed with the senior copywriter and the hard-nosed editor of
Back Country
magazine; now she had to face the man whose
Fortune
magazine picture had been on her desk all through college as she dreamed of working for McKenna Publishing. But had it been McKenna Publishing she wanted to work for, or McKenna O’Brien?

She remembered knocking, the voice she heard
on the other side of the door
,
and
wanting to run. Instead, she had wiped her damp palms on her best navy blue skirt, pushed the door open, held her head high, and walked up to the man
inside
. He took her outstretched hand and shook it firmly. She stared into his eyes. Those same smoky blue eyes she had dreamed of for years.

“So, you want a job with McKenna Publishing?” he had asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“They tell me you want to be a copywriter.”

“No, sir. I want to be senior editor of my own magazine.”

He frowned, but she’d spotted a hint of a smile.
“I see. You want to start at the top.”

“No, sir. I don’t want your job, yet.”

She smiled at the thought of those early days, and at the
memories
of all the pleasant things yet to come. But why did she have to feel so lousy now that her dreams were finally coming true?

She wiped perspiration from the back of her neck and pressed the heels of her hands against her temples, trying to squeeze out the throbbing headache. All the pleasant thoughts in the world couldn’t wipe away her misery.

The light hitting her eyes added to the pain. She scooted down into the softness of the bed, pulled the covers over her head, and went back to sleep.

oOo

“My, my, my, Mr. O’Brien. You look absolutely awful,” Merry declared when Mac walked through the door. He hadn’t shaved, and he had slept only one hour in the last thirty-six. Not only did he look awful, he felt awful. The only thing that kept him going was the one thought that kept running through his mind—I’m free of Ashley.