One Winter's Night. Susan Meier

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       CHAPTER SEVEN

      THAT NIGHT ELOISE wore a black gown paired with bright silver jewelry.

      Feeling awkward and wishing he’d called and canceled, Ricky said, “As always, you look amazing.”

      She caught his gaze, her eyes searching his. He stood very still, very proper, under her scrutiny, hoping to make her believe it had been nothing but the tequila that had made him so affectionate the night before. That he didn’t really want to kiss her. That he didn’t really want anything from her except to finish their deal.

      Eventually, she smiled slightly. “As always, you’re good for my ego.”

      She handed him her cape, and, closing his eyes, he slid it on her shoulders, so relieved that she was handling this with grace and discretion that he couldn’t even put the feeling into words.

      But an unexpected urge hit him. His end of the deal was to help her find a job. Although that hadn’t yet panned out, he would see to it that it did. And it would cost him nothing but a little time and effort.

      But she spent every darned Friday and Saturday night with him. Not to mention a Thursday and some Sundays. Buying her an evening jacket, a fur, something better than her worn cape, wouldn’t be out of line. To his bank account, it would be small token of appreciation. Just as going out with her had become difficult; going out with him couldn’t be easy either. Yet she handled it like a trooper.

      “I was actually thrilled to find a way to wear this jewelry.”

      Pulling himself out of his reverie, he realized they’d not only clattered down the four flights of stairs, but he’d missed a chunk of conversation. He opened the building door for her and she strolled outside.

      “The jewelry looks nice with your dress.”

      She laughed. “Good evening, Norman.”

      He tipped his hat. “Ma’am.”

      They climbed inside. “You don’t have to pretend you enjoy talking about jewelry.”

      “I don’t mind.” But he was clueless.

      “I just sometimes get carried away.” She sighed. “I love to dress up.” She winced. “That makes me sound like a kid. I don’t love to dress up as much as I love fashion. I love it when Olivia calls for advice.” She paused, faced him. “You do know Olivia and Tucker will be at tonight’s party.”

      That woke him up. “Really?”

      “Yes. She called this morning, then texted pictures of two gowns. She almost wore something brown until I talked her into a beautiful red Vera Wang.”

      He struggled with a smile. He’d forgotten how goofy women could get about clothes. And tonight Eloise was particularly goofy, talking nonstop, as if she were trying to prove to him that she was fine. Happy. Not going to get hysterical on him because he wanted to pretend last night hadn’t happened.

      Appreciating that, he kept the conversation going. “That’s a tragedy averted.”

      She playfully nudged his arm. “All right. All right. I get it. You think talking about clothes is silly.”

      Laughter bubbled through him. The kind he’d almost forgotten he existed. Teasing, we-don’t-have-to-be-normal, merriment. “Tucker once called and asked for advice about his tux.”

      She laughed. “Stop.”

      “I said, ‘Tucker, go with the bow tie.’”

      She swatted him. “Stop!”

      “He went with the regular tie and all night long everybody kept giving him funny looks.”

      “Stop!”

      He laughed. “Sorry.”

      But to Eloise he didn’t look sorry. He looked happy. The way he had when they were drinking tequila the night before. Three shots and some champagne hadn’t nearly put him under the table as it had done to her. But it had certainly relaxed him. And it appeared his good mood wasn’t gone.

      She blanched remembering how she’d all but asked for a good-night kiss, and she was glad he’d not only walked away, but also seemed to have totally forgotten that she stood there wide-eyed, her lips parted, her brain chanting a litany hoping he’d telepathically get the message that he should kiss her.

      Now that she knew he didn’t like her—he only felt sorry for her—she absolutely wanted him to forget her begging for a kiss the night before. If it killed her, she intended to project happiness. No sad puppy-dog eyes, as Tina said. Just a normal woman at a party. With him still happy and with Olivia and Tucker around, that should be relatively easy.

      As they got out of the limo at the Ritz, Ricky reached for her hand. His warm fingers wrapped around hers and her heart stumbled. All right, need-to-look-like-a-normal-woman aside, she desperately wanted to have another fun night. Another night when he was warm and natural. She would be alone on Christmas day. She needed good memories of these nights with him, nights when they laughed and had fun together, to think about when she played carols on her phone and tried not to remember she had no one in her life.

      They met Tucker and Olivia in the lobby. Eloise hugged her pregnant friend, who, to a baby novice, felt extremely large around the middle. “I’m so glad you’re home.”

      Tucker said, “We couldn’t miss Fred Murphy’s party.”

      His hand on the small of Olivia’s back, Tucker headed for the elevator to the ballroom, and Ricky leaned down and whispered, “He was the first banker to give Tucker money.”

      She peeked up into his sleepy brown eyes, fighting the urge to believe his keeping her up-to-date with necessary information proved he liked her. Even though that might make her memories more interesting on Christmas Day, she didn’t want to get carried away. As Tina had said, that was how women got their hearts broken. She just wanted to have a good time. Something to think about on Christmas morning.

      “So all this fuss is about a loan?”

      He shook his head. “An investment.”