Finding the Dream (Dream Trilogy 3)

He jerked a shoulder. "I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do with it, or how she managed to con me out of three bills for that little statue."

Laura laughed. "She's good. But I'm sorry you had to run around looking for me. And now I've—"

"I like looking at you." He eased forward.

"Michael." She backed up, bumped into a shamelessly eavesdropping guest. "I really have to get into my office."

"Fine. I'll go with you."

"No, it's this way," she began when he took her arm. "I really don't have time."

"I do. I'm meeting another breeder in a couple hours." He saw the glass door with "Executive Offices" printed on it. "Is it always so noisy around here?"

"No. Check-in for a convention livens things up considerably."

It wasn't much more sedate behind the desk. Phones were ringing, boxes were stacked, people whizzed by. Laura turned into a small office with a central desk piled with tidy stacks of paper. The fax machine was humming away, spitting out an enormous stream.

"Christ, how do you work in here?" Feeling immediately hemmed in, he rolled his shoulders. "How do you breathe in here?"

"It's more than adequate, and the limited space demands efficiency." She tore off the fax and skimmed it as she picked up her phone. "Sit down if you like. I'm sorry, I have to finish this."

After punching in numbers, she cradled the phone between her neck and shoulder to keep her hands free. "Karen, yes, I've got it right here. It looks fine. They need to set up their registration desk an hour earlier. Yes, I know, but they've had to readjust their estimate on walk-ins. Yes, I know Mark's handling that, but he doesn't answer his page. No, I don't think he's gone over the wall."

Chuckling, she set the fax aside and picked up a memo. "Uh-huh. That's on my list, don't worry. If you could just… My life for you. No, I'll buy the bottle when it's over. Thanks. I want to—Hell! I've got another call coming through. I'll check with you later."

Michael took his seat, rested his ankle on his knee, and watched her work. Who would have thought it, he mused, the cool, pampered princess, up to her elbows in details. Swinging from phone to computer and back like a veteran soldier flanking the enemy.

Depending on the topic, her voice was warm, chilly, brisk, or persuasive. And she never missed a beat.

Actually, her heart missed quite a few—every time she looked over and saw him sitting there. Black denim and worn boots and dark windblown hair. Eyes that watched everything.

"Michael, you don't—"

Before she could finish, even begin to nudge him along, a skinny man with a quick smile poked his head in the door. "Sorry. Laura?"

"Mark, I've been paging you for an hour."

"I know. I was trapped, I swear it. I'm on my way to deal with conference registration setup. But there's a small crisis in the Gold Ballroom. They want you."

"Of course they do." She rose. "Michael, I need to see what this is about."

"Let's go."

"Don't you have something to do?" He made her nervous, matching her pace as she strode back into the lobby.

"I'm having fun watching you. A guy's entitled to an hour off now and again."

As they climbed a flight of wide carpeted steps, he looked around curiously. "I've never been in here before. Hell of a place."

"I didn't realize. I wish I could show you around, but…" She shrugged her shoulders. "You can take a tour on your own, but I wouldn't recommend using the elevators. We've got about eight hundred checking in today and they'll be jammed."

"Jammed into an elevator with women who write romance." He shook his head. "I can think of worse things."

The second-floor meeting-room level was as spacious as the lobby, as elegantly appointed, and nearly as crowded. Enormous chandeliers were brilliantly lit, shooting light onto brass and silver, dripping it on pots of

flowering begonias in snowy white and blood red. Along one wall, heavy drapes were open to a spectacular view of the bay.

Laura marched toward a bank of six doors topped with an ornate brass plate identifying the Gold Ballroom.