Peter hadn’t yet noticed her packages.
“Is this your fiancée?” The petite brunette rose from her seat, turning to face Carly.
“Yes. Roger’s daughter.” He gestured between the two women. “Carly Wexler, Regina Grey.”
“Nice to meet you,” Carly said.
“Same here. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I wish I could say the same. “All good, I hope.”
“All fathers have nothing but wonderful things to say about their daughters.” Regina smiled and took a long sip of bottled water. “And of course,” she continued, “Peter speaks highly of you as well.”
“Of course.” Away from the office Peter was preoccupied with work. At the office he was preoccupied with Carly. Yeah, right. This pint-sized barracuda certainly didn’t need any courtroom training in how to go for the jugular.
Peter wrapped one arm around Carly’s shoulders. “You know I enjoy seeing you, but two surprises in one week?”
“Shocking, I know. Next time I’ll call.” She could no longer keep the hurt out of her voice.
“That’s not what I meant, but this is unexpected. What are you doing here?”
The compulsion to share her news with Peter had evaporated as quickly as it had come. “Nothing important. I thought I’d bring dinner.” She raised her arms to show him her bag of goodies.
“Oh. Well. Uh, we’ve already...” He stammered and flushed a deep crimson.
“Eaten. I can see that. Don’t worry. You two are busy, so I’ll be going.”
Peter brushed a strand of hair off her cheek. “After the florist on Saturday we’ll do wedding bands. How’s that?”
She plastered a smile on her face. “Sounds great.” But for some reason this didn’t feel like a compromise she’d won. In fact, his gesture seemed out of place, like that of a man who’d bought his wife flowers to assuage his guilt over an affair. She ought to know. She’d seen her father exhibit those signs often enough, growing up.
With his hand on the small of her back, Peter guided her out and toward the bank of elevators. Not five minutes after she’d arrived, Carly took the same elevator down with the same full picnic basket and expensive bottle of champagne in her hands. Some surprises backfired, she thought. And this had been one of them.
THREE
With mellow jazz music playing on the stereo, Carly settled herself on a plush pillow in front of her cocktail table. She
unpacked the gourmet meal and uncorked the bottle of champagne.
She poured champagne into a wineglass and lifted it in the air. “Congratulations,” she muttered and downed the bubbly wine. She poured some more and enjoyed the bubbles as they tickled their way down her throat. No matter how lousy she felt, at least the expensive champagne wouldn’t go to waste.
When the doorbell rang the first time, she ignored the sound. The second chime was a more prolonged spurt. “Go away. This isn’t an open party.”
At the sound of the third ring, she picked up a drumstick and padded barefoot across the hardwood floor. She peered through the peephole and cursed the heavens. How could she possibly forget about this man if he showed up on her doorstep uninvited?
Drawing a deep breath, she opened the door. “Did you smell the chicken all the way uptown?” she asked.
“Cute.”
That crooked grin did funny things to her heart.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked.
She bowed and waved Mike into her small apartment. The haven where she was safe from everyone and everything. Including her own feelings. But no more.
She shut the door behind him and followed him inside. He glanced around the living room and frowned. “You shouldn’t be drinking alone.”
“I’m not, I’m celebrating.”