“No. More. Protests.”
Bossiness. Definitely had to have a minus column.
He gave me a kiss on the cheek, then headed for the door. “Six o’clock in your green silk dress?”
I gave him a sharp salute. “Yes, sir. Will that be all, sir?” He rolled his eyes, then opened the door and found an even larger crowd standing outside. “You’d better stay out of sight,” he warned, then disappeared into their midst.
When the onlookers saw me in the doorway, a ripple of excitement went through them like a wave, and suddenly a reporter with a mic hurried toward me, followed by a cameraman and two reporters carrying mini-tape recorders.
“Miss Knight!” they called over each other. “Can you tell us what happened?”
“Has your life been threatened?”
“Will you give a statement?”
I stood on tiptoes to see over the crowd. No sign of Marco. “Okay if I get my coat first?”
Yanking my wool peacoat and beret from the hook by the back door, and yelling for Lottie to bring my clipboard and a pen, I donned the garments during the seconds it took me to get back to the sidewalk, arriving breathlessly just in time for a photographer to shoot his first photo of me. Then, with the camera rolling, and the photographers clicking away, I answered the reporters’ questions and told my story. And during it all, Lottie was handing out business cards and collecting the signatures of outraged citizens-finally-who were actually booing Uniworld by the time I finished.
“Do you think that was wise?” Grace asked, when Lottie and I came back inside. “Painting Uniworld as-what were your words-pigheaded money-grubbers? Should you have waited until after your meeting with Mr. Raand to talk to the press?”
“Too late now,” Lottie said, counting the names. She showed me the petition.
“One hundred seven! We’re one-fifth of the way there.” I high-fived her, then glanced at Grace. “Don’t frown. This is way better than meeting with Raand. He’d just blow me off.”
Grace sighed. “I only hope you haven’t made a worse enemy of Uniworld.”
“I’m not afraid of them, Grace.”
“I’m reminded of a quote by Sir Isaac Newton,” Grace said.
Of course she was. Everything reminded Grace of a quote.
“ ‘Tact is the knack of making a point without making an enemy.’ ”
Huh. She had me there.
When I arrived home at my apartment at five fifteen that evening, my best friend and roommate, Nikki Hiduke, was in the bathroom preparing for a dinner date with her new beau, Deputy Prosecutor Gregory Morgan, or, as I thought of him, Deputy Damn-I’m-Handsome!
“Hey, what’s up?” I called as I shuffled through the mail left on the table.
“Abby,” Nikki cried, hurrying out with a tube of lipstick in her hand, her blond hair starched into stiff spikes like a very tall, slender Lisa Simpson’s. She gave me a hug. “I saw the news. I’m so glad you’re okay. I can’t believe those bastards tried to burn down your store.”
“They weren’t trying to burn it down, Nik, just to frighten me. Remember the woman from PAR telling us about Uniworld’s scare tactics?”
“Sure, stuff like hate mail and smear campaigns. She didn’t say anything about burning bricks.” Nikki glanced at the clock. “Quick! Turn on the TV. They should be doing a recap of the local news now, and you’re the lead story!”
Sweet. I dropped the envelopes and dove for the remote on the coffee table, startling Simon, Nikki’s white cat, who had curled on the sofa for his predinner nap. He arched his back and hissed, then realized it was me and came to climb on my knees and rub his cold nose against my chin as the television flickered.
“Yes, Simon. I see you. Love you, too, Simon. Have you gained weight? Get off, Simon. My knee is numb!” I placed him beside me so I could watch the reporter’s interview. “Do I look pale?” I asked Nikki.
“You look fine. By the way, I didn’t know you were going to be at the Home and Garden Show collecting signatures this morning or I would have volunteered to help.”
“You did know. I told you yesterday.”
“Seriously?”
Lately, Nikki was so wrapped up in Morgan that she couldn’t even remember what she had for breakfast. To think Morgan once annoyed her as much as he did me. But those good times were over.
“Wow. You sure let Uniworld have it,” Nikki said.
“Look at that crowd, Nik. They were totally with me.”
Nikki got up close to the screen. “Is that a flower pin on your beret?”
“It’s a brooch I found in a shipment of flowers, and please don’t say it’s nasty.”
“Are you kidding? It’s retro. Look how fashionable you are. Jillian will be so jealous.”
That would be a first. My uber-fashionista cousin strove to possess whatever the latest trend dictated. If I were to best her, well, things could get ugly.
The report ended, so I clicked off the TV and headed for my bedroom to dress for dinner. “Maybe all this bad press will do the trick, and I won’t have to go to court to ask for an injunction.”
“Let’s hope that’s all the bad press does,” Nikki called from the bathroom. “After that flaming brick incident, I’d be a little nervous.”
“Do you sincerely think anyone from Uniworld would do anything to me now? I mean, who’d be the first on the suspect list? Anyway, Reilly was going to talk to Nils Raand, the head honcho at the distribution center, about meeting with me to discuss the situation, so hopefully we can come to a peaceable agreement.”
I paused, catching sight of a magazine lying on my bed. “Today’s Bride? Did you buy this for me?”
“It came in the mail. No note with it. Hey, are you going out tonight?”
I pulled my green dress on over my head, fuming. I’d bet anything Marco’s mom sent that magazine. “Marco is taking me to Adagio’s. Why?”
“Greg just got a dining membership at the country club, and his Lexus is in the shop, and I hate to take my old beater, so… can I borrow your car?”
Borrow my Vette? My pride and joy? Okay, yes, I was a tad particular about whom I let use my carefully repaired and repainted 1960 Corvette but, truthfully, Nikki wasn’t the most mindful driver in the world. “I guess so. But be really, really careful, okay?”
“It’s just a car, Abby. Besides, nothing bad happened last time I used it.”
Unless you counted those two scratches on the bumper and the odor of greasy onion rings that clung to the interior for
Seriously, I wanted to know. How could I refuse her?
Marco lifted his wineglass and waited until I did the same. We were in the elegant Adagio’s, New Chapel’s one and only cosmopolitan restaurant, at a cozy corner table for two, set with real china, white linen tablecloth and napkins, and a votive candle in a crystal goblet. Marco had worn a black and gray tweed jacket over a black shirt, with gray pants, and looked so sexy it was hard for me to stay in my chair.
Gazing at me over the flickering candlelight at our table, he said, “You in that green dress?” He dropped his voice to a throaty growl. “Dangerous.”
“Thank you. And you in, well, in anything? Totally dangerous.”
He touched the rim of his glass to mine, suddenly serious. “To us.”
“Yes, to us.” He wasn’t going to choose now to have our discussion, was he? I mean, we’d barely sat down.
His dark eyes held my own. “To our future.”
My cell phone rang. Marco waited, glass in the air.
“Sorry. I’ll just turn that off.” I set down my wine and pulled my phone out of my purse. “Um, maybe I should take this. It’s Nikki. I told you she’s using my car, right?”
“Twice. That’s okay. I know you’re worried. Go ahead.”
