Footloose

Driving to the gate, he pulled to a stop again, putting the car in park. He got out and opened her door. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’m sure,” she said, her voice determined as she rose to her feet and stood for a couple of seconds as if to get her bearings.

He found an old paper receipt in the console and scratched his cell number on it. “Call me,” he said, handing it to her.

She glanced at the paper, but just smiled enigmatically. “Thanks again.”

He watched her walk down the driveway and wondered why he felt like he was the one who’d been hit by a hurricane.

CHAPTER THREE

OKAY, SO MAYBE the three-hurricane thing hadn’t been such a good idea after all, Amelia thought the next morning as the sound of her alarm clock scraped like a thousand razors in her skull. She felt renewed sympathy for the state of Florida for the pounding of hurricanes it had taken throughout the years.

Images of the night before skittered through her brain. She’d started a list. It had begun sensibly, but then that hot guy had made suggestions. Had she really kissed the man she’d met last night? She pulled her sheet over her head in embarrassment. What was his name? Something that started with a J. John, Jim. Jack. He had been so hot, so good-looking and sexy, and she’d just bet he possessed little to zero ambition. She was lucky he hadn’t taken advantage of her.

Or maybe not so lucky, she thought, as a kick of defiance raced through her. The advantage to being taken advantage of was that she wouldn’t have to take responsibility for being a bad girl. Remembering how his biceps had felt beneath her fingertips and the contrast of his light eyes against his tanned skin, she closed her own eyes and relived the secret pleasure of feeling desirable. She wondered what it would take for her to find the nerve to have a fling with a guy like that.

A siege of protests stormed through her mind. She was starting to think that this sexual attraction thing was like a muscle and she needed to build up to it.

She might be ready in a couple of months, she told herself and pulled the sheet back down.

A hangover wouldn’t keep her from beating Lillian Bellagio into the office. The one thing that had kept Amelia from dissolving into a puddle during her breakup was the knowledge that she was good at her job. She could make order out of mayhem on any day that ended with y. The love of her life may have kicked her to the side of the road, but the people at Bellagio thought she was all that and a bag of chips. Her boss, Trina Roberts, had even confided that several supervisors had engaged in little battles to keep her in their departments. Gingerly lifting her head from her pillow, Amelia eased out of bed and walked to the bathroom, wishing she could mainline ibuprofen.

She glanced in the mirror and saw the same old pale face staring back at her. Her blond hair rebelled at her meticulous efforts with the flat iron yesterday, sticking out in every direction represented on the compass. Will had preferred her hair super straight. That had been easy when she was young, but once puberty hit, her hair had turned wavy and more unruly.

She scowled at her reflection. She should cut her hair and dye it black. Add black lipstick and several piercings and she would look like a rebellious teenager.

Disgusted with her indecisiveness, she stripped off her nightshirt and got into the shower. After she lathered her hair and body and rinsed, she glanced down at her bright pink toenails in approval. One small step for independence.

Will had preferred neutral colored nails. But Amelia had learned that her brightly painted toenails gave her a little lift. One question about her preferences answered. Now she only had a million more questions about herself to ask.

Thirty minutes and three cups of coffee later, with her hair pulled into a low ponytail, she dressed in a cotton skirt and blouse and walked toward Lillian Bellagio’s offices in the south wing of the house.

Knowing Lillian had ditched her last three assistants in record time, Amelia hadn’t let the balmy climate and the sumptuous Bellagio estate fool her. Although Lillian’s calendar was filled with garden club meetings and luncheons, Bellagio’s grande dame had zero tolerance for sloppy staff, business or otherwise.

After confirming Lillian’s usual breakfast of tea with cream, a peach scone and a small bowl of fresh fruit, Amelia turned on her computer and checked Lillian’s e-mail for reminders and notices. Then she scanned her own messages and responded to her mother’s daily e-mail, along with a note from one of her sisters. She printed off the tentative itinerary for the next board meeting and made a list of the most recent requests for Lillian’s presence and/or the presence of her money.

Fifteen minutes before the planned time for their morning meeting, Lillian walked through the doorway, her perfectly groomed white hair smoothed into a stiff bob that Amelia was certain would defy gale-force winds. Lillian had arrived increasingly early each morning. Amelia wondered if the woman was trying to catch her off-guard. After taking care of several Bellagio disasters, Amelia wasn’t about to let Bellagio’s most demanding, fickle and finicky board member one-up her. It was a matter of pride.

“Good morning, Amelia.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Bellagio. How are you?”

“Very good, thank you. Have you ordered my tea?”

“Yes, ma’am. I asked them to hold it until you arrived so it wouldn’t get cold. Excuse me,” she said and pressed the intercom button. “Beatrice, could you please bring Mrs. Bellagio’s breakfast?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the kitchen assistant said. “I’ll be right up.”

“Thank you,” Amelia said and moved to a chair in the sitting area where Lillian preferred to plan her day.

“You’re the most prompt assistant I’ve ever had,” Lillian said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bellagio.”

“You’re different from the others,” Lillian continued, and thanked Beatrice when she delivered her breakfast tray. She prepared her tea. “You keep your belly covered and I don’t see any tattoos. You’re efficient to a fault. I like that. A little old-fashioned. I was like that at your age, too,” Lillian said. “Perhaps I was a bit too old-fashioned. I understand you got out last night. As long as it doesn’t interfere with your work, you should do it more often.”

Amelia’s stomach clenched. How much did Lillian know? Did the woman have spies everywhere?

“It’s okay,” Lillian went on, searching Amelia’s face. “I know the only reason you were assigned to me is that I’m considered a pain and you’re considered a magician. It’s a shame I won’t get to keep you. But I can tell you’re headed for bigger things.” She paused a moment. “I was told about your broken engagement. A couple of words to the wise. Never chase a bus or a man. Another one will be along in ten minutes. You may as well enjoy yourself while you’re here.”

Amelia stared at the woman in surprise. For the past ten days, Lillian had been polite, but reserved and impersonal. Now it was almost as if Amelia had passed some invisible test.

The older woman smiled. “I can see you must have believed the rumors. My reputation is notorious. It comes in handy sometimes. Can you imagine how many of those macho Bellagios would roll right over an old lady like me if I didn’t cause a little fuss every now and then?”

Intrigued, Amelia smiled cautiously. “I can see your point of view.”

“Good,” Lillian said. “I suspect you and I will get along very well, but if you tell Alfredo or any of the others that I’m anything but a shrew, I’ll tell them you’re a liar.” Her sugary southern accent didn’t fool Amelia. She’d bet Lillian could gut any beast that caused her trouble, and that included a human male.

Lillian lifted her cup of tea to her lips. “I have a guest arriving next weekend. I’d like to host a small party. It’s short notice. Can you plan it?”

Amelia felt a little kick of excitement. The party presented a small challenge, but she loved pulling off the impossible. When presented with a professional crisis, her brain immediately began to supply her with a range of solutions. Planning a party under such short notice was no different.

“I’ll need a guest list with phone numbers and addresses, your budget, any food preferences or allergies and the mood you’d like to create. I can have something preliminary for you this afternoon.”

Lillian nodded in approval.

Amelia was thrilled with a legitimate excuse to procrastinate dealing with her trainwreck of a personal life. She could plan all of Lillian’s social events for the next year in less than a week, but she knew that putting her own life together would be like building a house one brick at a time.

THE PARTY WAS A HUGE SUCCESS, with Lillian’s guests begging to borrow Amelia. Lillian demurred, instead instructing Amelia to take two days off as a reward for her hard work.

The prospect of facing forty-eight empty hours nearly gave Amelia hives. Why was it so much easier to manage someone else’s life than her own?

After Amelia showered, she slathered on SPF 50 sunscreen and changed her clothes three times because she couldn’t decide what to do during her free time. Finally settling on a swimsuit that she covered with a skirt and top, she grabbed a straw bag and towel and plopped a pair of sunglasses on her nose.

She glanced at the cocktail napkin with the list she’d begun during her three-hurricane evening and felt it egging her on. Jack’s bold scrawl contrasted with her softer print. She looked at some of his contributions to the list and noticed a common thread. Everything was to be done naked. Not sure whether to laugh or to panic, she grabbed the napkin and stuffed it into her purse.

She walked a half-mile down the road to a public beach and spread out her blanket. Reclining in the sun, inhaling the sea air, listening to the lapping sound of the waves, her mind strayed to thoughts of Will and the European honeymoon they’d planned. She’d turned down an opportunity to be a foreign exchange student in Italy for a semester because Will had wanted their first time in Europe to be together.

“Stop it,” she whispered to herself. Rule number two for how to get over the love of your life was to replace thoughts of him with something else. Besides, she was supposed to be relaxing, clearing her mind.

She shifted on her towel and sighed. Why was relaxing such hard work? Flipping onto her tummy, she pulled her how-to book from her straw bag.

She lasted another fifteen minutes and decided to take a walk on the beach. The stingy stretch of sand, which she now knew was common to the Keys, made walking more like pacing. Back and forth, back and forth.

So fidgety her skin felt tight, she gave up on the beach and walked into the small center of town to wander through the shops. She picked up a couple of books for her niece and nephew’s birthdays, sent a postcard to her mother and eventually stopped at a popular breakfast and sandwich shop.

When no waiter showed up to take her order, Amelia considered leaving. After further observation, she overheard the owner, a frazzled but friendly woman with white hair, apologizing. Her cook had called in sick and the owner had to do everything herself until extra help arrived.