Part 1 (2/2)

Jackson turned to Nick. ”So you are going to Maui, right?”

”Yes. Why?”

”Matt wants me to go with you.”

Disappointment spilled all over Genevieve's s.h.i.+ny new prospects. Talk about unfair. Every other secretary who'd gone with Nick to Maui had flown over there alone with him. Just her luck that when it was her turn, Jackson Farley was going to tag along. It would be like taking her brother, Lincoln.

Nick didn't seem any happier about having Jackson along than she was. ”What for?” Nick asked somewhat ungraciously.

”Aloha Pineapple is still having trouble with the new software. Henderson's gone over, and Mitch.e.l.l, but neither one of them has been able to straighten things out. Considering they're such a big client, Matt thinks I should go take care of it.”

”Seems like a d.a.m.ned waste of your time,” Nick said.

”Does Matt know I wasn't coming back until Friday morning?”

”Yeah. He booked me a room at the hotel, too. It's no problem if I have some time on my hands. I'll take my laptop and get some work done.”

Genevieve studied good old Jackson and wondered if she could possibly spend the night in Nick's room and not have Jackson find out. Or if he did find out, if she'd be able to explain that she wasn't going to be just another one of Nick's chickie-babes.

But she needed to be alone with Nick to give it her best shot, and here was Jackson Farley to throw a bucket of mola.s.ses into the works. She could tell from Nick's body language that he didn't want to take Jackson to Maui, but he really had no choice. He couldn't very well say no because he'd been planning a roll in the hay with one of the company secretaries.

”I want to be in the air by eight,” Nick said. ”Oh, and Genevieve's coming with me, to take notes at the meeting,” he added casually.

Jackson didn't blink an eye, so apparently he already knew about that. He just glanced at her, his expression smooth as porridge. ”Yeah, Matt mentioned she was going,” he said. ”No problem.”

He might seem okay with it, but she knew what he was probably thinking. She felt a blush coming on. Tarnation.

Having Jackson think poorly of her bothered her more than she wanted it to. Who was he, anyway? A genius in terrible clothes. ”Go find your packet of mustard,” she said, ”before that thumb blisters up on you.” She winced at her choice of words. Blisters up on you was something her aunt Maizie would say.

”Okay, I'll do that. See you in the morning.” Jackson ambled off. The tail of his s.h.i.+rt had come untucked from his slacks, which was a constant problem for Jackson because he was at least six-six and regular s.h.i.+rts weren't long enough for him.

Genevieve felt herself becoming more irritated looking at that s.h.i.+rttail hanging out. There were stores that sold extra-long sizes, if Jackson would only take the time to investigate. He could even shop online and not have to leave his precious computer. She felt the urge to erase any lingering effects from that blisters up on you remark. ”Hasn't Jackson ever heard of Eddie Bauer?'” she muttered.

Nick laughed. ”Don't worry about Farley.”

She glanced up at Nick. The way he'd said it, he seemed to be implying that he could work around Jackson during their time on Maui. And he probably could. This was one smooth guy. s.e.xual excitement curled in her stomach. ”Okay, I won't.”

”I'll pick you up at seven-thirty,” he said. ”a.s.suming you can go.” His expression told her he knew she would go.

She lowered her voice. ”You wouldn't take off without Jackson, would you?” She didn't want Jackson to go, but she didn't want to leave him standing alone on the tarmac, either.

Nick leaned both hands on her desk, which brought his face very close to hers. ”No, but you know Farley. Absent-minded as they come and perennially late. I'll bet you a bottle of Dom Perignon that he doesn't make it on time.” He smiled at her. ”And I am lifting off at eight.”

She nearly pa.s.sed out from the s.e.xy curve of that smile and the lickable shape of his earlobe. Oh, well. Jackson would have to fend for himself. ”Aye, aye, Captain,” she murmured.

”Mama, will you please do my nails? You know how important this is.”

Annabelle looked at her daughter sitting across the kitchen table. All mothers thought their daughters were beautiful, she supposed, but Genevieve really was prettier than a speckled pup, as Maizie would say. She'd inherited her father's eyes, a combination of blue and green that had been the primary reason Genevieve had been conceived. Her hair was the taffy color of moons.h.i.+ne whiskey and she had the good sense to leave it alone-a simple cut that brushed her shoulders. No perm or fake highlights to ruin what the good Lord had seen fit to give her.

No wonder some big shot wanted to take her on an overnight to Maui. Annabelle sighed. Worry about Genevieve going on this plane trip had spoiled her appet.i.te for the Big Mac Genevieve had brought her for supper. ”I expect you're fixin' to go whether I do your nails or not.”

”You bet your bottom dollar I am. And my nails are chipped. You're always telling me that chipped nails are worse than letting your bra strap show. Katharine Hepburn would never have flown to Maui with chipped nails.”

Annabelle knew her daughter was playing her like a fiddle whenever she brought up one of Annabelle's favorite stars. It worked, though, because that's what she wanted for Genevieve-the kind of elegant life portrayed in the old black-and-white movies.

Annabelle loved those movies for many reasons, including the fact that the heroines usually took trains and boats to wherever they were going, not airplanes. ”Couldn't he charter a boat to Maui? One of those hydrofoils?”

”No, Mama. He's a pilot.”

”Who cares? He could take a boat for a change.” Annabelle had made but one flight in her life, and that had been because she'd had no other choice if she'd wanted to raise her kids to be something other than backwoods hillbillies.

When Genevieve was fifteen and Lincoln only three, Annabelle had seen plain as day that if she didn't get her budding daughter out of the Hollow where the whole family lived, the girl would soon be pregnant by some mush-brain like Clyde Loudermilk, and she'd sink into the same poverty Annabelle had struggled with all her life. And because Annabelle was the only member of her clan with a regular job, she knew she'd have to go far away, or her relatives might follow her and Genevieve would be as bad off as before.

So Annabelle had settled on Hawaii, partly because she'd always liked Gilligan's Island., but mostly because you had to take a plane to get to Hawaii. None of her kin would set foot on a plane after what happened to Granny Neville. Granny Neville had been the first one in the family to take a plane somewhere, and it hadn't turned out well. After the crash they'd found her shoe two hundred yards from the spot they'd picked up her false teeth.

Fortunately, before Granny Neville left for the airport, she'd given Annabelle her most prized possession, a pair of Jockey shorts with E. Presley written with a laundry marker right on the label. Those Jockeys had paid for three coach tickets to Honolulu and money to get started in a new location.

But the plane flight to Hawaii had been the most terrifying experience of Annabelle's life. She never expected to get on a plane again and didn't want her children on one, either. Now here was Genevieve with a chance at a real good catch, apparently, and there had to be a plane involved.

”Mama, Nick flies all the time. He's a good pilot.” Genevieve spread out her fingers on the worn pine table. ”I think French this time, don't you? It's more natural looking and it'll go with whatever I'm wearing.”

Annabelle was about to ask what she was wearing, exactly, when Lincoln came in from playing basketball and opened the freezer to take out a red, white, and blue Popside. He'd begged Annabelle to buy the Popsicles because they matched his hair, which he'd dyed for the summer in colors that he said suited all the summer holidays-Memorial Day, Fourth of July, and Labor Day.

Working in a beauty salon, Annabelle had seen all kinds of strange hair colors, so she hadn't been as upset as most mothers might have been. And to tell the truth, when Lincoln wanted matching Popsicles, he'd made her laugh because it proved he was still a kid at heart. Besides, hair was minor. What Genevieve was planning, this flight to Maui, was major.

Lincoln bit into his Popsicle and talked with his mouth full. ”Hey, Gen, what I want to know is if you're gonna have, like, s.e.x with this dude, since you're staying overnight with him.”

”Lincoln!” Annabelle scolded.

”That is none of your business,” Genevieve said.

”She's right, Lincoln,” Annabelle said. ”Go back to the park and play basketball some more.”

”No way! This is the most awesome thing that's happened around here in, like, months! Maybe ever! You know Chad, the guy whose dad sells cars? He sold Nick Brogan a Z3.”

”I have no idea what that is,” Annabelle said. ”And I don't give a care, either.”

”A convertible,” Genevieve said.

”Not just a convertible,” Lincoln said. ”A Beemer!”

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