“Beg your pardon, but I don’t want any goddamn coffee and I don’t want to sit down. I came to kick his ass.” He jabbed a finger at Charles over her shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re in the middle. You’re a nice woman. But I’ve got business with this son of a bitch.”
“I’m assuming this has to do with Delia.”
As Charles stepped away from Louise, McNab rounded on him. “Damn right. You think because you take her to the fucking opera and fancy restaurants you’ve got a right to toss her over when something more interesting comes along?”
“No, I don’t. Delia means a great deal to me.”
Literally seeing red, McNab swung out. His punch found its target, had Charles’s head snapping back. He followed through with a short-armed jab to the belly before Charles recovered enough to fight back.
While they circled each other, ramming fists, spilling blood, Louise fled the room. They were rolling on the floor, in a sweaty, grunting heap when she came back. And threw a full bucket of ice water over them.
“That’s just about enough.” She slammed the bucket down, slapped her hands on her hips as both of them gaped up at her. “You should be ashamed. Both of you. Fighting over a woman like she was a juicy piece of meat. If either of you think Peabody would appreciate this, you’re very much mistaken. Now, on your feet.”
“He’s got no right to hurt her,” McNab began.
“I wouldn’t hurt Delia for anything in the world. And if I have, I’ll do everything I can to make it up to her.” Charles scooped back his dripping hair. He was getting the picture now. “For Christ’s sake, you moron, have you told her you’re in love with her?”
“Who said I was?” His bruised face went sheet white. “I’m just looking out for . . . shut up. She wants to roll with you when you’re working other skirts, that’s her business. But she’s not a job.” He pointed at Louise.
“That’s right. She’s not.”
“And nobody juggles Peabody that way.”
“Look, obviously you’re under the impression that Delia and I have been—”
“It just happened, Ian.” Louise interrupted quickly, shot Charles a warning look. “It wasn’t planned. I’m sorry if I’m responsible for this.”
“I’m not blaming you.”
“I’m as much to blame. Charles and I . . . we want a chance to make something together. Can you understand?”
“So Peabody’s just out of the picture.”
“I’m sorry.” As the light dawned, Charles got to his feet. “I hope she’ll understand. I hope we can still be friends. She’s a wonderful woman. More than I deserve.”
“You got that part right, pal.”
Drenched, aching, and more than a little sick, McNab managed to get up. “You’d better find a way to make it right with her.”
“I will. You have my word. Let me get you a towel.”
“I don’t need a damn towel.”
“Then try a piece of advice instead. You’ve got a clear path. Try not to stumble off of it.”
“Yeah, right.” He strode out, his exit hampered a bit by squeaking airboots.
“Well.” Charles blew out a breath. “That was entertaining.”
“Hold still,” Louise ordered. “Your lip’s bleeding.”
As she dabbed at it with a napkin, Charles angled his head. “I’m soaking wet, too.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I think he bruised my ribs.”
“I’ll take a look. Come on. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes and patch you up. This time,” she said, “I’m the professional.”