After Hours
“The subject hasn’t come up.”
“You mean it hasn’t occurred to you, or you haven’t gotten around to asking her yet?”
“I don’t suppose it would do any good for me to point out that this is none of your business?”
“Has it ever done any good in the past?”
“No,” Rhys admitted.
“Right. So…?”
Rhys dropped into a chair and leaned back, his long, denim-covered legs stretched in front of him, his eyes focused bleakly on his soft leather moccasins. “I’m not going to marry her.”
“Why the hell not?” Graham bellowed, making Rhys wince and hold the receiver a bit further from his ear.
“Several reasons. Chief among them that I sincerely doubt the lady would be interested.”
“And just why might that be? She’s interested in you now, isn’t she?”
Rhys thought of the past weekend. He’d left Angie that morning only because he’d desperately needed a couple of hours of rest and knew he wouldn’t get them as long as she was in the same house with him. Judging from the dazed look in her purple-shadowed eyes, she had been in much the same condition. He’d driven straight home, never even considering a stop by the office, taken a quick shower and fallen into bed for three hours of deep, undisturbed sleep. He’d be worried about getting old if it wasn’t for the fact that he hadn’t made love that many times in that few hours even at the height of his sexual experimentation in his late teens.
“She’s interested at the moment,” he conceded.
“And what makes you think it won’t last?”
“Come on, Graham, you saw her. She’s young, beautiful, intelligent.”
“And you’re Quasimodo.”
Rhys ignored that. “I’m fourteen years older.”
“And you’ve got the body of a thirty-year-old and the mind of a twelve-year-old. So what?”
He couldn’t quite swallow the chuckle. “Dammit, Graham.”
“Fine. You don’t want her—I’ll marry her. I’m a year younger than you and infinitely more attractive. She’ll be taking a major step up.”
Rhys stately clearly and crudely what his former best friend could do with himself once the call was concluded.
“Well, stop being such an humble jackass, Wakefield. It would have been obvious to a blind man that you’re head over heels in love with the woman. And she was equally dazzled by you for some incomprehensible reason. So instead of taking advantage of the best thing that’s happened to you in years by marrying her immediately, what do you do? You sit around and whine that you’re not good enough for her. ‘sdisgusting.”
“You’re paying me back, right? For telling you that Michaelson woman was only after your money. Just because it turned out I was right, you’ve never really forgiven me.”
“Of course I forgave you. You saved me from a fate worse than death. But it also set a precedent for well-intentioned interference. So I’m following suit. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Rhys—and don’t expect me to ever repeat that, because I’m quite sure one or both of us would puke if I did. But anyway, if ever I’ve seen a man more in need of a wife and kids than you, I didn’t know it at the time.”
“So how come you’ve never taken your own advice?” Rhys demanded, resisting the urge to challenge that statement, which he knew would only lead to a lengthy, fruitless argument.
“Hey, I’ve been looking for a woman with the face of an angel, the voice of a musical instrument and the eyes of an innocent temptress. I’m thoroughly hacked off that you found her first.”
Rhys couldn’t help smiling at the flowery description. Angelique would hate it. He couldn’t help agreeing with it. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a wife and kids if someone gave them to me.”
“You’d love ‘em, Rhys,” Graham answered, his gruff voice suddenly serious. “With the same single-minded devotion you give that blasted company of yours. And they’d be damned lucky. Give it some thought. I gotta go. Talk to you later.”
“Graham, wait, I—” Rhys exhaled in frustration when he found himself talking to a dial tone. His head ached dully when he recradled the receiver. It wasn’t an uncommon reaction to one of Graham’s whirlwind conversations.
The call left him restless and slightly bemused. He roamed aimlessly around his house for half an hour, noting for the first time that it could use more furniture. He’d only lived there for four or five years, so he really hadn’t paid much attention before. He’d bought it because he hated apartment living—all those people under the same roof with him. When he’d moved in, he’d brought with him the furniture he’d already accumulated. He wondered if Angelique would be interested in helping him fix the place up a bit.
He thought about going to the office, but the idea didn’t appeal to him at the moment. There was nothing really pressing for him to do there, so he’d be just as bored and just as fidgety. He thought again of Angelique, and his body immediately responded with a renewed surge of energy, causing him to shake his head in wonder. The woman was dangerous, he decided. And because his reactions to her made him nervous, he made no effort to call her. He needed time to get himself under control before seeing her at work the next morning, he thought grimly.