Trace of Fever
Page 10
“About?” she asked hopefully.
“We’ll get acquainted over lunch.”
Still recovering from that sudden spin, Priss said, “Oh! Yes. Lunch would be great.” I could kill you over lunch. There’d probably be plenty of time.
“But not just yet.”
Confused, Priss said, “What?”
Murray surveyed her with a critical eye—and disdain of her person. “You’re not exactly a fashion plate, now, are you? If I’m to be seen with you in public, we need to do some…adjustments.”
“Adjustments?”
“Surely you realize that more flattering clothes are required, along with a makeover of sorts.” Before she could protest, Murray said, “My treat of course.” And then with a smarmy smile, he continued, “It’s the least I can do.”
Sounding bored, Trace asked, “Want me to take care of it?”
Murray nodded. “Yes, that will work. Take her shopping for a new wardrobe, and then make an appointment at the salon. Total do-over, Trace. Hair, makeup, waxing…” He gave a salacious smile. “Whatever she needs.”
Priss tried not to look as appalled as she felt.
Trace continued to look bored. “No problem.”
By way of dismissal, Murray said, “On your way out, stop by Alice’s desk and set the lunch appointment on my calendar.”
“Do you have a specific date in mind?”
Still holding Priss’s arm and giving her that very non-paternal appraisal, Murray shrugged. “Whenever I’m free after she’s had the work done.”
“Got it.”
Priss gaped at the autocratic management of her life. No one had even bothered to consult her. “Shopping?” She tried to sound appreciative. “That’s so…generous of you, but really, I don’t need—”
Hell loomed near again. “Do you realize what an important man Murray is? Do you realize his stature in society? He can’t be seen with you when you look so—” she searched for a word, and settled on the not-so-insulting “—common.”
“Oh, but…” But Priss really wanted to deck Helene. Just one good palm shot to the nose, hard enough to leave her a bloody mess, but not hard enough to drive her cartilage into her brain. Priss forced a nervous smile. “It’s just that I didn’t want to impose.”
Hell made a rude sound. She scooped up the contents of Priss’s purse and dumped it all in her arms. “You imposed the minute you showed up here claiming a relationship. Accept Murray’s generosity. You need it.”
“Down, Helene. That’s not necessary.” Chuckling at the exchange, though it wasn’t in the least funny, Murray asked her, “Isn’t that right, Priscilla?”
“Well, of course…. I mean…” She struggled to get everything back in her purse. “If you’re sure that’s what you really want to do—”
He dismissed her ramblings. “Drive her home, Trace. Make sure that she’s secure.” He gave Trace a telling look. “Wherever she’s staying.”
“I’ll see to it.” And again Trace took her arm to lead her from the room.
Behind her, Priss heard Hell muttering something indistinct and she heard Murray laughing some more while playfully shushing her.
After closing the doors behind them, Trace gave her arm a jerk, drawing her from her thoughts. “Come on, then.”
Mulish, Priss made him drag her every step. He only went as far as the poor receptionist’s desk. “Hey, hon. Can you check Murray’s calendar for me? He wants me to set up an extended lunch.”
“Sure, Trace.” After tucking her short brown hair behind her ear, Alice began typing. Her slender fingers flew over the keyboard. While she did that, Priss again studied Trace. He spoke so kindly to Alice, in a tone he hadn’t used on Hell, or on her. He actually sounded…gentle. Kind.
So, did old Trace have something going on with the mousy secretary? Priss considered it—and shook her head. No, not likely.
Alice peered up at Trace with big brown eyes. “He’s free tomorrow for a few hours.”
No, no, no. She wasn’t ready yet.
Trace frowned, and to Priss’s relief, he said, “That’s not enough time for me to prep her.”
Alice glanced at Priss with new sympathy. “Oh. I see.”
Oh, what? What did she see? Priss wondered. Put out that Trace so thoroughly ignored her, she started over to a leather chair to sit, but without looking away from Alice, Trace caught her wrist and kept her ensnared beside him.
“Early next week he has three hours free. That’d give you through the weekend to…finish.”
“That’ll work. Pick a swanky place and set the reservation. Wherever Murray likes best, okay? I’ll get the details from you later.”
Priss tapped her foot in impatience. She couldn’t cross her arms, not with the way Trace kept her trapped in his hold, so foot tapping was the only way to express her annoyance.
But then Trace’s big foot came down over hers, not hard, but with a clear message. He didn’t even look at her while he gave the silent order for her to be still. The jerk.
“Got it,” Alice said.
“Thanks, honey.” He straightened again and, after removing his foot, turned his dangerous stare on Priss. “Let’s go.”
Without a word of complaint, she followed him to the elevator. She was more than ready to breathe in some fresh air untainted by corruption and evil.
“We’ll get acquainted over lunch.”
Still recovering from that sudden spin, Priss said, “Oh! Yes. Lunch would be great.” I could kill you over lunch. There’d probably be plenty of time.
“But not just yet.”
Confused, Priss said, “What?”
Murray surveyed her with a critical eye—and disdain of her person. “You’re not exactly a fashion plate, now, are you? If I’m to be seen with you in public, we need to do some…adjustments.”
“Adjustments?”
“Surely you realize that more flattering clothes are required, along with a makeover of sorts.” Before she could protest, Murray said, “My treat of course.” And then with a smarmy smile, he continued, “It’s the least I can do.”
Sounding bored, Trace asked, “Want me to take care of it?”
Murray nodded. “Yes, that will work. Take her shopping for a new wardrobe, and then make an appointment at the salon. Total do-over, Trace. Hair, makeup, waxing…” He gave a salacious smile. “Whatever she needs.”
Priss tried not to look as appalled as she felt.
Trace continued to look bored. “No problem.”
By way of dismissal, Murray said, “On your way out, stop by Alice’s desk and set the lunch appointment on my calendar.”
“Do you have a specific date in mind?”
Still holding Priss’s arm and giving her that very non-paternal appraisal, Murray shrugged. “Whenever I’m free after she’s had the work done.”
“Got it.”
Priss gaped at the autocratic management of her life. No one had even bothered to consult her. “Shopping?” She tried to sound appreciative. “That’s so…generous of you, but really, I don’t need—”
Hell loomed near again. “Do you realize what an important man Murray is? Do you realize his stature in society? He can’t be seen with you when you look so—” she searched for a word, and settled on the not-so-insulting “—common.”
“Oh, but…” But Priss really wanted to deck Helene. Just one good palm shot to the nose, hard enough to leave her a bloody mess, but not hard enough to drive her cartilage into her brain. Priss forced a nervous smile. “It’s just that I didn’t want to impose.”
Hell made a rude sound. She scooped up the contents of Priss’s purse and dumped it all in her arms. “You imposed the minute you showed up here claiming a relationship. Accept Murray’s generosity. You need it.”
“Down, Helene. That’s not necessary.” Chuckling at the exchange, though it wasn’t in the least funny, Murray asked her, “Isn’t that right, Priscilla?”
“Well, of course…. I mean…” She struggled to get everything back in her purse. “If you’re sure that’s what you really want to do—”
He dismissed her ramblings. “Drive her home, Trace. Make sure that she’s secure.” He gave Trace a telling look. “Wherever she’s staying.”
“I’ll see to it.” And again Trace took her arm to lead her from the room.
Behind her, Priss heard Hell muttering something indistinct and she heard Murray laughing some more while playfully shushing her.
After closing the doors behind them, Trace gave her arm a jerk, drawing her from her thoughts. “Come on, then.”
Mulish, Priss made him drag her every step. He only went as far as the poor receptionist’s desk. “Hey, hon. Can you check Murray’s calendar for me? He wants me to set up an extended lunch.”
“Sure, Trace.” After tucking her short brown hair behind her ear, Alice began typing. Her slender fingers flew over the keyboard. While she did that, Priss again studied Trace. He spoke so kindly to Alice, in a tone he hadn’t used on Hell, or on her. He actually sounded…gentle. Kind.
So, did old Trace have something going on with the mousy secretary? Priss considered it—and shook her head. No, not likely.
Alice peered up at Trace with big brown eyes. “He’s free tomorrow for a few hours.”
No, no, no. She wasn’t ready yet.
Trace frowned, and to Priss’s relief, he said, “That’s not enough time for me to prep her.”
Alice glanced at Priss with new sympathy. “Oh. I see.”
Oh, what? What did she see? Priss wondered. Put out that Trace so thoroughly ignored her, she started over to a leather chair to sit, but without looking away from Alice, Trace caught her wrist and kept her ensnared beside him.
“Early next week he has three hours free. That’d give you through the weekend to…finish.”
“That’ll work. Pick a swanky place and set the reservation. Wherever Murray likes best, okay? I’ll get the details from you later.”
Priss tapped her foot in impatience. She couldn’t cross her arms, not with the way Trace kept her trapped in his hold, so foot tapping was the only way to express her annoyance.
But then Trace’s big foot came down over hers, not hard, but with a clear message. He didn’t even look at her while he gave the silent order for her to be still. The jerk.
“Got it,” Alice said.
“Thanks, honey.” He straightened again and, after removing his foot, turned his dangerous stare on Priss. “Let’s go.”
Without a word of complaint, she followed him to the elevator. She was more than ready to breathe in some fresh air untainted by corruption and evil.
