Elizabeth settled down to work and, as usual, soon became lost in the job. She loved interior design, loved the challenge of making a home both beautiful and functional, as well as suited to the owner’s character. For Sandra Eiland, she wanted something that kept the flavor of the old Southwest, with an air of light and spaciousness, but also conveyed Sandra’s sleek sophistication.
The ringing of the telephone finally disrupted her concentration, and she glanced at the clock, surprised to find that it was already after three o’clock. Chickie answered the call, listened for a moment, then said, “I’ll find out. Hold on.” She swiveled in her chair to look through the open door into Elizabeth’s office. “It’s the guard downstairs. He’s a substitute, not our regular guard, and he’s checking the offices, since he doesn’t know anyone’s routine. He says that almost everyone else has already gone, and he wants to know how late we’ll be here.”
“Why don’t you go on home now,” Elizabeth suggested. “There’s no point in your staying later. And tell the guard I’ll leave within the hour. I want to finish this sketch, but it won’t take long.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Chickie said yet again.
“No, there’s no need. Just switch on the answering machine. I promise I won’t be here much longer.”
“Well, all right.” Chickie relayed the message to the guard, then hung up and retrieved her purse from the bottom desk drawer. “I dread going out there,” she said. “It might be worth it to wait until after sundown, when it cools down to the nineties.”
“It’s over five hours until sundown. This is July, remember.”
“On the other hand, I could spend those five hours beguiling the cute guy who moved in across the hall last week.”
“Sounds more productive.”
“And more fun.” Chickie flashed her quick grin. “He won’t have a chance. See you tomorrow.”
“Yes. Good luck.” By the time Chickie sashayed out of the office, scarlet skirt swinging, Elizabeth had already become engrossed in the sketch taking shape beneath her talented fingers. She always did the best she could with any design, but she particularly wanted this one to be perfect, not just for the benefit to her career, but because that wonderful old house deserved it.
Her fingers finally cramped, and she stopped for a moment, noticing at the same time how tight her shoulders were, though they usually got that way only when she had been sitting hunched over a sketch pad for several hours. Absently she flexed them and was reaching for the pencil again when she realized what that tightness meant. She made a sound of annoyance when a glance at the clock said that it was 5:20, far later than she had meant to stay. Now she would have to deal with the traffic she had wanted to avoid, with this murderous heat wave making everyone ill-tempered and aggressive.
She stood and stretched, then got her bag and turned off the lights. The searing afternoon sun was blocked by the tall building next door, but there was still plenty of light coming through the tinted windows, and the office was far from dark. As she stepped out into the hall and turned to lock her door, Tom Quinlan exited his office and did the same. Elizabeth carefully didn’t look at him, but she felt his gaze on her and automatically tensed. Quinlan had that effect on her, always had. It was one of the reasons she had stopped dating him, though not the biggie.
She had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d been waiting for her, somehow, and she glanced around uneasily, but no one else was around. Usually the building was full of people at this hour, as the workday wound down, but she was acutely aware of the silence around them. Surely they weren’t the only two people left! But common sense told her that they were, that everyone else had sensibly gone home early; she wouldn’t have any buffer between herself and Quinlan.
He fell into step beside her as she strode down the hall to the elevators. “Don’t I even rate a hello these days?”
“Hello,” she said.
“You’re working late. Everyone else left hours ago.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.” He changed the subject abruptly. “Have dinner with me.” His tone made it more of an order than an invitation.
“No, thank you,” she replied as they reached the elevators. She punched the Down button and silently prayed for the elevator to hurry. The sooner she was away from this man, the safer she would feel.
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to.”
A soft chime signaled the arrival of a car; the elevator doors slid open, and she stepped inside. Quinlan followed, and the doors closed, sealing her inside with him. She reached out to punch the ground-floor button, but he caught her hand, moving so that his big body
was between her and the control panel.
“You do want to, you’re just afraid.”
Elizabeth considered that statement, then squared her shoulders and looked up at his grim face. “You’re right. I’m afraid. And I don’t go out with men who scare me.”
He didn’t like that at all, even though he had brought up the subject. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?” he demanded in a disbelieving tone.
“Of course not!” she scoffed, and his expression relaxed. She knew she hadn’t quite told the truth, but that was her business, not his, a concept he had trouble grasping. Deftly she tugged her hand free. “It’s just that you’d be a big complication, and I don’t have time for that. I’m afraid you’d really mess up my schedule.”
His eyes widened incredulously, then he exploded. “Hellfire, woman!” he roared, the sound deafening in the small enclosure. “You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for over six months because you don’t want me to interfere with your schedule?”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “What can I say? We all have our priorities.” Deftly she leaned past him and punched the button, and the elevator began sliding smoothly downward.