She's Got Mail!: She's Got Mail! / Forget Me? Not. Darlene Gardner

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СКАЧАТЬ that a Starbucks napkin?” the receptionist asked, making Rosie wonder if this woman was more caught up with brands than injuries. “That’s why I prefer decaffeinated,” the receptionist said, jabbing her wand into the air for emphasis. “Too much caffeine makes people do weird things.”

      Ben heaved a weighted sigh. “Heather, it has nothing to do with caffeine. A kindly convenience store cashier offered me this napkin filled with ice.”

      “Wow,” Rosie said softly. “You can get everything at convenience stories these days. Even medical help.”

      Ben flashed her a disbelieving look. In a low growl, he said, “It’s you.”

      She straightened. “We had an appointment at seven-forty-five.” When his blue eyes narrowed, she bit her tongue, wishing she hadn’t blurted the appointment thing. The man obviously had a very good reason for being late.

      “Sorry,” he said, sounding about as unsorry as anyone she’d ever met. “I would have been here on time, showered, dressed appropriately, and unslugged if somebody had gotten into work at a reasonable time, not some nocturnal predawn hour. Otherwise, I could have briefly used the shared space.” He clenched his jaw muscle, then winced. Adjusting the napkin, he glanced at Heather. “You’re early.”

      “I was late yesterday, so I’m early today,” she said, adjusting a strap on her shift before sitting back down. “Making up for that hour.”

      “Making up, all right,” he murmured, glancing at the mascara wand. “I’d love a Scotch,” Ben said to no one in particular, “but all I need is early-morning booze breath to complete this gone-to-hell look. After picking myself up from the alley asphalt, I had to park four blocks away. Do you believe on the way back, somebody mistook me for a vagrant and slipped me a quarter?” He gave his head a shake, then winced again. “But all’s not lost. Maybe Meredith can use this down-and-dirty, slugged look as a new theme when she breaks up with her next boyfriend.” He headed toward his office. “Would you be a pal and get me a cup of coffee? Black.” He disappeared through the doorway. “Like my heart.”

      “Oh, I almost forgot! Your eight o’clock will be a few minutes late!” The receptionist brushed her hair back with her mascara-wand-free hand. “I’ve never seen him like this!” she whispered urgently to Rosie. “Even the time that Christmas tree fell on him and we had to call 911.”

      “Christmas tree?” Rosie repeated, blinking. But the receptionist was engrossed in putting away the mascara and digging around in a little polka-dot bag from which she extracted various tubes and bottles. “I’ll get the coffee,” Rosie murmured, unsure who exactly Ben had called “pal,” considering he seemed a bit peeved with both of them.

      Okay, maybe a little extra peeved with Rosie, but considering they had to negotiate sharing the parking space, she decided it was best if she were his pal. That’s what Athena, the goddess who joined men as an equal, would do. Yes! Athena was the perfect goddess persona to adopt for this encounter.

      Rosie-Athena headed to an arrangement of coffee stuff on a corner metal table. Reaching it, she scanned the pot, sugar and cream containers, and the collection of Hollywood mugs. Rosie felt a mild surge of guilt as she recalled that the James Dean cup still sat on her desk. Well, she’d return it later. For now, should she pick the mug with the movie title Singin’ in the Rain? No. There might be sunshine outside, but Ben looked as though he were having a rainy day. And he definitely didn’t look as though he wanted to sing. Nix that one.

      Blonde Venus? No. He’d visibly flinched when he’d glanced at that yesterday. My Fair Lady? Hmm. Some Like it Hot? Hot coffee. He’d like it. Yes!

      Rosie poured the steaming liquid into the cup, checking out its picture of Marilyn Monroe wearing some clingy dress and playing a ukulele. Did Benjamin Taylor like that kind of big-breasted, blond-bombshell type? An uncomfortable feeling skittered around Rosie’s stomach. Maybe she’d quaffed her nutri-quasi-Twinkie bar too quickly. Still staring at Marilyn’s red lips, fluffy blond hair and killer curves, Rosie realized the skittering wasn’t indigestion—it was…emotion.

      Jealousy?

      Impossible. So what if Benjamin Taylor is impossibly cute, even with that chicken-tuft hair and a swollen jaw, how can I possibly be jealous about a slugged lawyer and a dead movie star? Even as these thoughts tumbled through her mind, some internal voice offered an answer. Because Marilyn Monroe represents everything you aren’t—she’s sensual, sexy, and has a body that could stop a herd of stampeding cattle.

      Rosie put the pot aside and grabbed the My Fair Lady mug for herself. Audrey Hepburn—as Eliza Doolittle—wore an ill-fitting jacket, a wrinkled skirt and a smudge of soot on her nose. Is that how I look to men? Rosie tried to forget the clump of mud that had stuck to her forehead yesterday. She turned the mug and stared at another picture of Audrey Hepburn as the suave, refurbished Eliza Doolittle—an elegant, classy lady who eventually wooed her man.

      Rosie stared longingly at the image. Maybe if Mom hadn’t been so busy helping run a farm and raising five kids—four of them boys—I might have learned the secrets of being feminine and elegant. Rosie slid a glance at the receptionist, who was carefully outlining her lips with some sort of pink-leaded pencil. I could never draw a straight line, much less outline my mouth. I’d slip, skid off my top lip and end up drawing a big wobbly circle around my nose.

      As Rosie poured coffee into the My Fair Lady mug, a yearning filled her. A yearning to be a new Rosie. Not a lip-lining, movie-star Rosie. But an adventurous Rosie whose dreams were bigger than the gulch, bigger than Real Men magazine. Isn’t that what Boom Boom and Mr. Real had done? Escaped from humdrum to bongo drum?

      Picking up the mugs, Rosie grinned. Too bad there wasn’t a goddess named Boom Boom, who inspired women to bongo their way from a mediocre life to an exciting one. Rosie paused. Just as she stirred sugar and milk into her coffee, why couldn’t she also stir a little Boom Boom into her Athena?

      With an extra oomph to her step, Rosie strutted into Ben’s office.

      5

      “I DIDN’T ASK YOU to bring the coffee,” Ben grumbled, pressing the ice-filled napkin to his jaw. He warily watched Rosie place a steaming mug in front of him.

      “I’m not your pal?” she asked sweetly.

      Too sweetly. Either she overdosed on sugar in her own coffee, or she wanted something. Like to take over the parking space. Just the way Meredith was taking over his bathroom. Nice, mediating, peacemaking Ben had had it. “You’re a thief.”

      “Okay, you’ve had a bad morning. But I’m not a thief. I didn’t steal that spot—today’s my day.”

      Now what was she trying to do? Pacify him? Oh, she was one to take the high road. Yesterday, when she’d been the mud-splotched one, different story. He opened his mouth to say as much, but when she crossed her legs, all he could focus on were a pair of shapely calves that tapered to a pair of slim ankles. Those were the kind of killer legs that would look fantastic in a pair of… “Loafers?”

      “What?”

      She wore a pair of scuffed brown loafers. His gaze shot back to her face as though he hadn’t done the leg-loafer tour. But his mind reeled that a woman with supermodel legs dressed like a spinster librarian. The combination was startling. Titillating. After being married to a woman who changed styles more often than Cher, it was stimulating—mentally СКАЧАТЬ