disappointment was that Phoebe hadn't married some rich movie producer or become Mrs. Brad Pitt.
Phoebe's feet were now more firmly planted than her mother's had ever been. But she still had a hard time believing she was smart. That was why she told very few people of her career aspirations. Because what if the test results were wrong? What if she flunked out? She would feel like a complete fool.
Wyatt was the last person she would tell. It was much easier if he continued to think of her as a blond beautician. Then she wouldn't have to live up to any unrealistic expectations.
When she let Wyatt in a few minutes later, she realized her apartment was clean but that she was a mess. She probably hadn't so much as glanced in a mirror since noon.
'Help yourself to some coffee,' she said. 'I'm going to change into more comfortable clothes.'
Wyatt's soft chuckles followed her down the hallway toward her bedroom. She stepped inside the room, closed the door, then put her face in her hands. Had she actually just told Wyatt Madison she was going to slip into something more comfortable?
Wyatt took a few seconds to fantasize about what outfit Phoebe might change into. A negligee? A net cat suit? Yeah, right. He'd thumbed through one too many Victoria's Secret catalogs. He'd be lucky if she didn't return in a flannel granny gown. He'd learned over the years that was how most women defined
When he'd visited her apartment before, he'd been too busy fighting back the flood waters to notice much about it. Now he paid attention.
The decor seemed a reflection of Phoebe, he decided. The colors were delicate-peach, yellow, pale aqua-but the white leather sofa was functional and sturdy-looking. Nothing about the apartment screamed professional decorator, yet Phoebe obviously had a feel for comfort and practicality. The oatmeal carpet was thick and soft, but it wouldn't soil easily. She didn't have a lot of cluttery knickknacks that would require dusting.
She did have books, a whole bookshelf full of them. Curious, he walked over to it and perused her titles.
They surprised him a little. He might have expected the romance novels and the few self-help gems. But a biography of Madame Curie, and Stephen Hawking's
Then a title caught his eye. The book was sitting crossways on top of a row of magazines, so apparently she'd been reading it recently. And the title made his throat close up:
So, Phoebe was looking for a husband.
He might have guessed. She was that age when women, understandably, started thinking about having babies. He knew now, after reading her employment forms, that she was twenty-eight. But whatever advice she was getting out of that book, she wasn't acting obvious. In fact, he distinctly remembered her saying she didn't have time for a man.
Maybe that was part of the plan.
He couldn't resist flipping through the book. The chapter names were intriguing: 'Dating and Mating in the Workplace'; 'Don't Forget Your Neighbors'; 'What Your Mother Never Told You'; 'Bars and Why You Can't Find A Good Man At One'; 'Work On Yourself Before You Work on Him.'
Phoebe had actually written notes in the margin. She was serious about this, then.
He looked closer at the chapter on neighbors. Was that his name scribbled at the top of one page? He never found out for sure, because he heard her bedroom door open. He quickly closed the book and replaced it on the shelf, then sat down on the sofa and tried to look bored.
The moment Phoebe reentered the living room, Wyatt was forced to abandon any notions he had that Phoebe was out to snag him as a husband. She'd put on a worn pair of baggy gray sweats and slicked her hair into a no- frills ponytail. She'd also taken off her makeup.
Damn if she still didn't look sexy. She was the only woman he'd ever met who could make such a get-up look enticing. But she didn't seem to be doing it on purpose.
'Coffee?' she asked.
'I don't drink coffee. But please, go ahead.' He followed her into the kitchen.
'How about juice?' she asked. 'Orange? Cranapple?'
'Orange would be good.'
Wyatt's mind was still on one question that begged to be answered: If Phoebe Lane was looking for a husband, why had she eliminated him from the running? It might be because he'd proved himself a grumpy recluse, but he didn't think that was it. He'd explained to her why he was working so hard, and she'd seemed to understand.
What, then? He was single-never married, in fact-so she wouldn't have to deal with any baggage. He was gainfully employed and financially sound. Of course, she hadn't asked to see last year's tax return, but she would know just from the kind of job he had and the car he drove that he had a bit of disposable income.
He might not be cover-boy material, but he had an okay face, all his teeth and a body that reflected the fact that he worked out.
Did she just not like him? Maybe he was too old for her. She'd made a big deal about his age. But he knew what was in these how-to-find-a-husband books. His insatiable curiosity had led him to read articles in
Phoebe hardly knew him at all.
His competitive instincts rose to the surface. Did she have her eye on someone else? Where had she disappeared to all day today? And, damn it, what was not to like about him?
The decision was made. He would charm the socks off Phoebe. Nothing else, just her socks. He didn't want to marry her, didn't want to lead her on. But he didn't like being dismissed. He would at least show her he had worthwhile qualities.
'So, tell me about tomorrow's show,' she asked, as they moved into the small kitchen.
'It's a little more complicated than today's was. We're doing a fashion segment with clothes made out of recycled tires-'
'Tires?'
'Yes. We have four models coming in, plus two additional guests, which means a lot of makeup. I'll need you at the studio by six.'
He expected her to groan, but she just nodded.
'You did warn me there would be some early mornings required. That's fine. How is the rest of the week shaping up?'
As they talked about upcoming shows and waited for the coffee to finish brewing, Wyatt's mind churned. What would a woman like Phoebe respond to? Certainly not compliments about her looks. She probably heard how beautiful she was night and day. She definitely wouldn't enjoy a physical come-on, not after what had happened to her earlier today. So massages were out.
Power. Would she like that? But somehow he couldn't imagine himself dangling his authority over her, ordering her around. Besides, she might quit.
With a shrug, he decided he would just have to be his usual charming self.
Phoebe poured Wyatt a big glass of juice, then herself a cup of coffee. Her kitchen seemed far too small with the two of them standing in it.
He looked great, just fabulous. It seemed every time she saw him he was
She was the one who looked as if she ought to be begging for spare change on the nearest street corner. But
