"Am I crazy?" she'd cried. "Did I just give a stranger the key to my apartment?"
Mason had nodded sagely.
"No sweat, Char," he'd told her. "The guy's okay. I can tell."
Then he'd promptly left for Chile, leaving her to test just how good his judgment was.
But ever since, she'd thought about nothing else. Ross Bennington. Her new husband. Every time she let herself think that, a flash of something wild made her tingle.
"It's just a business arrangement," she said aloud to the empty air.
I know that, the empty air seemed to reply. But who says business can't be fun?
Her eyes danced behind the stylish glasses. She smiled, leaned forward on the desk and began to practice saying wifely things.
She got stuck right away on "Hello, dear, how was your day?" One was supposed to say that when one's spouse came in from work, if she remembered her television fam ilies right. But in this case it didn't fit. She was the one coming in from work, and he was the one there waiting for her. So he should be asking her, right?
She frowned. Forget the wifely sayings. She had books to go over, accounts to check. Fixing her glasses more firmly against the bridge of her nose, she settled in, rus tling papers and trying to focus her mind.
But it was no use. Her gaze kept straying to her cell phone . One little call would let her know for sure whether he was there or not. One little call.
She gritted her teeth and picked up the phone, flicking it quickly to her home number.
"Hello." The masculine voice made her jump, even though it was just what she'd hoped to hear.
"Hello," she replied, grinning in spite of herself. "Who is this?"
"Ross Bennington," he said promptly. "Ubiquitous and in dispensable husband to the lovely and talented Charity Ames. Why do you ask?"
She laughed. Oh yes, it was going to be lovely!
"Just to hear you say that, of course. How are things going? Did you bring your things over? Are you all moved in?"
"Why don't you come on home and find out for your self?"
"Oh, I couldn't do that."
But why not? She hung up, thought about it, then took the evening off, leaving Nancy in charge. Missing the din ner hour was something she rarely did, but tonight she couldn't keep her mind on the restaurant. So she packed up two full servings of Chicken Kiev into Styrofoam boxes and made her way out to her little ancient Fiat Spider in the parking lot.
For just a moment she sat behind the wheel and looked out at the ocean. Was this still Charity Ames, she wondered? The same thirty year old woman who'd decided men weren't worth the bother? The same woman who'd thrown herself com pletely into her career and been happy to do so? Was this really her, hurrying to the apartment because a man was waiting? If she didn't watch out, she might grow to like things this way.