But soon his work would be complete.
He walked to the window, where he could see his full-length reflection in the glass, a pale image of a tall, muscular man with a full head of hair, sharp features, intelligent eyes.
He prided himself upon being a near-perfect specimen.
A man any woman would want.
A man who only wanted one woman.
A man who intended to have that one, unique woman.
Soon.
CHAPTER 17
“So do you and Carter have a truce?” Rinda asked.
She and Jenna were sitting in the theater’s office and sorting through the pre-sold tickets.
“We were never at war.”
“But you two were sure prickly around each other.”
“Prickly? Oh, give me a break.” Jenna shook her head. “Forget the matchmaking, Rinda, okay? And don’t try to deny it. I see what you’re up to, and it won’t work.”
“I think you two would—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But forget it.” The last thing Jenna needed now was the distraction of a man, any man, in her life.
“He’s kind of a hunk.”
Jenna had noticed. “So what? Who needs a hunk?”
“I wouldn’t mind one.”
“Then you date him.” She counted all the tickets for section A and placed them in a stack on Rinda’s desk. “The man’s a pain in the ass.”
“So you do like him.”
“Give me a break.” She started counting out section B and lost track. “He’s stubborn, all business, seems to go by his own rules. A cowboy.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Lots wrong with that,” she argued, and hated the fact that Rinda could see right through her. “Let’s forget Carter for the moment, okay?”
“Fine…let’s see here…” Rinda leaned closer to the computer monitor. The seating chart was computerized, but the old desktop was straining, its capacity stretched to the limit with the new software Wes had added in the past couple of weeks. In his estimation, the new programs would make life at the theater easier; so far, just the opposite had proved true as the old hard drive struggled with even the most simple commands. Biting her lower lip in concentration, Rinda was trying to print out a chart while Jenna, in a folding chair scooted close to her friend’s desk, was counting out the preprinted tickets that had not yet been sold.
The furnace roared in the background, blasting out hot air that quickly dissipated in the drafty, old theater, and notes from a piano drifted through the rooms as Blanche was tinkering with the score of the next production. “What is it you have against Carter?” Rinda pestered, still staring at the screen.
“I thought the subject was closed.”
“It’s a simple question.”
“Well, other than the fact that he gave me a citation and then acted like I was some Hollywood prima donna the first time I went to his office, I’ve got nothing against the man.”
Rinda looked over the tops of her computer glasses.
“Just admit it, Jenna. The man gets under your skin,” Rinda said, as Oliver hopped onto the corner of her desk. Absently, she petted the cat’s tawny head.