Blame It on the Blackout. Heidi Betts

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      She gave Cocoa one last stroke as the cat continued to lick her plate clean. “Be a good girl. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

      To her surprise, the limo pulled up just as she reached the double glass doors of her building. Draping a fringed black shawl around her shoulders, she went out to meet the car.

      She half expected the driver to come around and hold the door for her, but instead the door opened on its own. Her steps faltered as a foot emerged, followed by a leg, an arm and finally a head of sandy-blond hair. She’d thought Peter was simply sending a car for her, that she would meet him at the hotel where the dinner was being held. Now, it looked as though she would have to ride there with him. In the back of the limo. In close proximity.

      He stood on the curb, waiting for her, looking like the California version of James Bond in his black tuxedo, and she had to remind herself to breathe, then put one foot in front of the other until she reached his side. He smiled brightly, letting his gaze slide over her as he reached out a hand for hers.

      “If possible,” he said, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze, “you look even more amazing tonight than you did yesterday.”

      The compliment washed over her like a warm breeze, causing the corners of her mouth to lift.

      And then, from behind his back, he produced a single long-stemmed red rose. “For you. I thought you might appreciate it more than a corsage.”

      Although a small lump filled her throat at his thoughtfulness, she laughed. Peter could be incredibly charming when he wanted, but until this moment, she’d never been the recipient of that seductiveness.

      She knew it wasn’t real. He was only being polite for this one night because she was doing him a favor by accompanying him to the fund-raiser.

      Still, for her, for now, it was real. And there was no reason she shouldn’t enjoy it while it lasted. Soon enough—like first thing Monday morning—it would be back to work, back to their usual employer/employee relationship.

      She lifted the bloom to her nose and inhaled its rich fragrance. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”

      When their eyes met over the top of the rose, she thought she saw something deep and meaningful flash across his features, but it was just as quickly gone—if it had been there at all.

      Clearing his throat, he moved away from the limousine and waved an arm for her to precede him. “Shall we?”

      She nodded, stepping into the plush rear of the limo. Peter slid in beside her and the car rolled forward.

      “Would you like something to drink?”

      A bottle of champagne, already open, sat chilling in an ice bucket on the opposite seat. He poured a few inches of the golden liquid into a cut crystal glass and handed it to her before filling a flute for himself.

      Lucy wasn’t much of a drinker, and normally she never would have started in the car on the way to an event where she knew she would probably consume even more alcohol. But tonight, her nerves were jumping like kernels of corn over an open fire. Maybe a few sips of champagne would calm them down.

      “Thank you again for coming with me,” he said as the cool bubbles tickled their way down her throat. “I already feel more relaxed about the evening than if I were going alone or with a practical stranger.”

      If the majority of Peter’s dates were “practical strangers,” he certainly cozied up to them enough to invite them in at the end of the night.

      She took another gulp of wine to wash away the depressing thought. Peter’s love life was none of her business. His personal life was none of her business. Only his professional life, filling the hours from nine to five, were any of her concern. And sometimes a slice of overtime, such as tonight. But other than that, he could do whatever he wished with whomever he wished, and it wouldn’t bother her a bit.

      “This isn’t a favor,” she felt the need to clarify. “It’s part of my job.”

      “Yes, but you didn’t have to come along. You could have said you were busy, already had a date, or just plain refused.”

      She could have…if she’d thought of it.

      The rest of the drive passed in silence until they pulled up in front of the Four Seasons on M Street, very close to the city limits of Georgetown. Peter set aside their empty glasses as the driver came around to open their door, then stepped out and turned back to offer Lucy his hand.

      Arms linked, they walked into the elegant hotel lobby. A large banner and smaller, raised signs announced the City Women benefit and directed guests to the bank of elevators leading upstairs. Several couples were already there, and Peter and Lucy joined them.

      The last ones in, they were at the front near the doors. She could feel the heat of Peter’s hand at the small of her back, through the sheer material of her shawl. She tipped her head to look at him over her shoulder, noticing the thin line of his mouth, the tightness in his jaw. Her eyes narrowed, and she was about to ask if he was all right when the elevator doors opened with a swish. The pressure at her back increased as he urged her forward, into the plush, paneled hallway and in the direction of the crowded ballroom.

      Round tables draped with hunter-green and pink linens to match the City Women’s trademark colors filled the room, each seating ten to twelve people. At the front, a raised platform held long, rectangular tables on either side of a tall podium.

      As soon as his eyes landed on the microphone he would be using for his acceptance speech, Peter made a choking sound and stuck a finger behind the collar of his shirt, as though the small black tie was cutting off his air supply.

      “You’ll be fine,” she assured him, laying a hand on his elbow and running it down the length of his arm until their fingers twined. “Now we’d better get up there before Mrs. Harper-Whitfield starts ‘yoo-hooing’ for you over everyone’s heads.”

      He groaned. “Please, no. Not Mrs. Harper-Whitfield.”

      Laughing, they started through the crowd, nodding and saying hello to acquaintances, stopping to chat only when they weren’t given much choice. When they finally reached their seats, the City Women directors and founding members flocked to Peter’s side, thanking him for coming, complimenting him on his latest donation or software creation.

      Lucy sat beside him, a smile permanently etched on her face for the stream of admirers who paraded past, wanting a moment or two with the esteemed Peter Reynolds.

      Finally dinner was served, and they were left mostly to themselves while everyone enjoyed delicious servings of thinly sliced beef, steamed broccoli, lightly seasoned new potatoes, and fruit tartlets for dessert. Hundreds of mingled voices filled the room, making a private conversation difficult.

      Lucy realized, too, that Peter was inordinately nervous about getting up in front of such a large group. But no matter how slowly he ate, the meal was soon over and the City Women president was addressing the crowd, describing the organization’s accomplishments of the past several months and relaying some very moving success stories.

      As soon as the speaker began talking about that one special contributor who had helped to fill their shelters with computer equipment and offer women avenues other than remaining in abusive situations, Lucy felt Peter tense beside her. His entire body went taut, and СКАЧАТЬ