The Mommy Makeover

He glanced at his wristwatch and groaned. Two and a half hours. Maybe he should call her office and see if there’d been a change of plans. They had his cell-phone number, but maybe she was the type who suffered from the ten-broken-fingers syndrome, too.

Finn reached into his pocket for the phone, then paused. A woman was heading in his direction, but she couldn’t be the corporate crusher. No woman who moved like that could be a barracuda of the business world.

Her long hair, caught in a severe barrette, resembled a red flame in the sunshine, though he could see it was actually a combination of blond, gold, brown and red. High cheekbones competed with a sensual mouth for dominance in her arresting face. But his eyes really lingered on her lush figure, the long legs that stretched out endlessly, capped by ankle-breaking high heels.

No, it wasn’t in his stars to drive around a ripe morsel like that. With those long legs, she’d sashay right past his car…

“You, there. Look alive. I’m in a hurry.”

He stared blankly at her. Could it be?

Katelyn tapped her briefcase against the discreet limo logo on the car door. “You are the new driver, aren’t you?”

Finn straightened up, clearing his throat, hoping to clear the confusion as well. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Finn Malloy.”

Delicate brows arched upward as eyes of indeterminate color barely scanned him. She wore her indifference like the raw silk power suit that hugged her curves. “Fine. As I said, I’m in a hurry. I have to be at the River Oaks Country Club in less than an hour, but first we need to stop at my condo.”

She was in a hurry. That was rich. After he’d waited in the heat for more than two hours. “Guess your meeting ran overtime,” he commented, opening the door for her.

She grunted an unintelligible reply.

Seeing neither an explanation nor apology stirring, he closed her door and opened his own. He pulled away from the curb, the long car gliding effortlessly into the already crowded street.

Hearing a click, then smelling the distinctive aroma of a freshly lit cigarette, Finn frowned. “Ma’am. This is a no-smoking car.”

Watching in the mirror, he saw the displeasure cross her face before she inhaled deeply, then rolled down her window and stubbed out the cigarette.

He couldn’t make any exceptions. Too many passengers wouldn’t ride in a car that even faintly smelled of cigarette smoke. But she didn’t complain. He guessed she knew the tide had turned against smokers—especially since it was becoming more and more difficult to find places to smoke.

Glancing again in the rearview mirror he saw that she had donned a pair of seriously dark-rimmed glasses and was absorbed in a deep stack of papers. Apparently, she was up to her neck in work. Hell, he could cut her some slack. She probably hadn’t enjoyed being in a meeting that ran over by two hours any more than he’d enjoyed waiting for her. “So, you the one who got stuck doing homework?”

“Hmm?” she responded after a moment without looking at him, her head still bent downward.

“The papers. Are you the only one who had to stay after school?”

She finally glanced up, annoyance clouding her features. “School? You must be confused. I work for Ellington Advertising. I would have thought you’d know that from your dispatcher.”

“Right.” He’d have to remember that if he ever hired a dispatcher. Apparently, her job description didn’t include having a sense of humor.

He let the silence build in the car for a few minutes, but he wasn’t the sort of person who was comfortable with silence for long. “So, you got a big night planned at the country club?”

“Um,” she replied, once again not bothering to lift her head.

She was a real live one, he thought with disgust. She might look like a million bucks, but her conversation wasn’t worth two cents. Still, he persevered. “Gotta go home and change first, huh?”

“Ummm.”

At this rate he could talk himself to death.

“Guess you want to knock ’em dead.”

At this she did glance up. He met her frosty eyes in the rearview mirror. “I assure you it is not my intention to ‘knock ’em dead,’ nor is what I wear any of your concern.”

Frosty? Make that Antarctica frigid. He was surprised that ice hadn’t formed on the windows, despite the exterior heat. “No, ma’am.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously before she returned them to her work.

Finn reached over to fiddle with the radio knobs, considering choosing a hard-rock station he knew would blast her prim little behind right off the seat. Instead he inserted a richly melodic Rachmaninoff tape that seemed to suit anyone he’d ever driven. He preferred it to the icy silence.

He rapped his fingers against the wheel in time to the music as he navigated through the growing traffic. Choosing to forego the freeway, knowing it would be snarled during commuting hours, he swung off onto a little-known alternate route. Of course, the ice princess lived in the trendy Galleria area. He could have guessed that without the information provided by her assistant.

Accustomed to her rigid silence, he nearly jumped when she spoke. “Where are we?”

“Headed to your condo.”

“Via Guatemala?” she questioned, staring out at the unfamiliar neighborhood.

He laughed, even though he doubted she meant to be funny. “Not quite. This way we’ll miss most of the traffic. Don’t worry. I know this city better than most people know their lovers.”

There was a momentary silence and he guessed she wasn’t comfortable with his point of reference.

“Be that as it may, Mr….”

“Malloy,” he supplied. “Finn.”

“Mr. Malloy,” she continued, ignoring his first name. “I prefer to not be driven through hell’s half acre. Safety is just as important a consideration as traffic.”

“You said you have to be at the country club in an hour. If I took the freeway, we wouldn’t even be at your condo in an hour.”

“Mr. Malloy, are you deliberately trying to be difficult?”

He grinned into the mirror, meeting her eyes, which now looked to be a cloudy gray. “No, but I’ve been told it’s one of my natural talents.”

“I doubt I’d term that a talent.”

“There are enough yes-men in the world. Don’t you get a charge out of something different?”

“I don’t get a charge out of risking my life to travel home.”

“You’re not in any danger. Besides, I can protect you if we run into trouble.”

“I’m not impressed with muscles, Mr….”

“Malloy,” he supplied again. “Finn.”

And again she ignored his first name. “…Malloy. I’m impressed with efficiency.”

“And you don’t think a person can have both?”