The Pint-Sized Secret

“Carly, remember that black dress I was looking at?”

Carly’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “The one that looked as if it would suit your grandmother?”

“Yes, that one,” Brianna said firmly. “Get it for me, please.”

“Don’t tell me—”

“Just get it, okay? No lectures.”

“You’re going to regret this,” her assistant warned.

“No,” she said with a determined shake of her head. “No, I won’t.”

The black dress, with its long sleeves and white satin cuffs and collar, was sophisticated, too, she told herself. Even if she did look a little like a nun in it, she conceded, studying her reflection in the dressing room mirror. It was perfect for an evening with a man known far and wide as a scoundrel. It would send a very definite message that she wasn’t available, that this evening was all about business. Dignified and prim, it was the perfect solution.

She marched out to buy it, feeling reassured that there would be no contradictory messages being sent later that evening. But even as she stood at the counter to pay for it, her gaze kept straying around the consignment shop for one last glimpse of that spectacular bronze dress.

“Looking for something?” Carly inquired innocently.

“No,” she insisted.

“Well, it’s gone,” her assistant said. “In case you were interested, after all.”

Brianna felt some vague little spark inside her die. For a few minutes in that dress, she had felt like a sexy, totally alive female again, instead of a responsible professional, a single mom with no illusions about the lack of romance in her life. She’d had no idea a dress could transform the way a person felt about herself.

“Somebody bought it?” she asked, trying to mask her disappointment.

“Obviously somebody recognized a knockout dress when they saw one,” Carly declared pointedly. “Snatched it right up without even trying it on.”

“Good for them,” Brianna said without much enthusiasm. She signed the credit card receipt for her basic black dress, accepted the package and left the store without a backward glance. “Let’s get back to the office. We have a lot of work to do. And Mrs. Hanover will be wondering what on earth happened to us.”

“Work?” Carly echoed incredulously. “You should be at home pampering yourself, taking a nice long bubble bath. I’m sure your secretary will cover for you, if anyone calls. And I can handle any emergencies that crop up. Not that there are a lot of emergencies with rocks that have been around forever.”

“Indulging in bubble baths is for people who don’t have a mountain of paperwork on their desks.”

“You really are going to give women a bad name,” her assistant grumbled when they arrived back at the office. “Mr. Delacourt is used to going out with society women who have nothing but time on their hands. You’re not even going for a manicure, am I right?”

Brianna grinned at her despondent tone. “You’re right.”

Carly shook her head. “Pitiful.” A moment later her expression brightened. “I know. I’ll give you a manicure, while you’re doing that all-important paperwork.”

“Manicures are not in your job description,” Brianna protested as she tossed her new dress onto the couch in her office and settled behind her desk.

“I’ll do it on my coffee break.”

“You don’t get a coffee break.”

“I do now.” She bounced out of Brianna’s office, then returned with three shades of nail polish. She held them up for Brianna’s inspection. “Which one?”

“Carly—”

Ignoring her, Carly pulled up a chair, chose the shade herself and began shaking the bottle. “This one, I think. Hold out your hand.”

Despite her very strong instinct to refuse, Brianna couldn’t seem to stop herself from doing as Carly instructed. She watched in fascination as the dark polish with its hint of bronze was applied. The younger woman glanced up and caught her expression.

“Haven’t you ever had a manicure before?”

“Not really. When you spend your life playing with rocks and digging around for soil samples, it doesn’t make a lot of sense. I’m lucky I even have nails.”

“Pitiful,” Carly decreed for the second time that day.

A few minutes later, when all the nails had been painted, she leaned back and studied them with satisfaction. “Perfect.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased,” Brianna said wryly, but she couldn’t tear her own gaze away, either. Her hands no longer looked like a workman’s. In fact, they looked almost as if they might belong to a lady.

“Maybe I will go home and take that bubble bath after all,” she said.

Carly grinned. “All right! Remember to take notes tonight. I’ll want to hear every last detail on Monday.”

“I’m not going on this date for your vicarious enjoyment,” Brianna pointed out.

“I thought you said that it wasn’t a date, it was business. I am your assistant, aren’t I? If it’s business, we should have something on record.”

“You have a very twisted mind,” Brianna proclaimed.

“Will I get the details or not?”

A faint stirring of excitement fluttered in Brianna’s stomach. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything like it. Because she owed at least some of that to her assistant, she nodded.

“You’ll get details. I’ll make it a point to remember what everyone is wearing and what food was served.”

“Forget all that. I just want to know what kind of a kisser Mr. Delacourt is.”

Brianna gulped. “Forget it. No kissing. No telling.”

Maybe if she repeated that often enough between now and six-thirty, she wouldn’t even be tempted. But something told her it was going to be a wasted effort, especially if Jeb Delacourt had other ideas.

Chapter Three

Brianna soaked in her hyacinth-scented bubble bath for a half hour, which was more feminine self-indulgence than she’d experienced in years. She fiddled with her hair and managed to coax a little curl into the short style, then added one of those fancy rhinestone-studded hair clips shaped like a butterfly. Emma had given it to her last Christmas. She’d had one of the nurses at the rehab center pick it out, then had wrapped it in paper she’d colored herself with swirls of holiday red and green.

At six o’clock Brianna slipped on the black dress and lost a little of the sparkle in her eyes. It was a lovely gown, but compared to the one she hadn’t bought, it was boring. It did nothing for her figure or her coloring. It just covered her body—most of her body, she noted glumly.

Which was exactly what she’d wanted, she reminded herself. She might want to make an impression on Max Coleman, but she needed to keep Jeb Delacourt’s mind strictly on business.

She turned away from the mirror just as the doorbell rang. Since it was barely six-ten, she doubted it was Jeb. She padded to the door in her stockinged feet and found a stranger on the doorstep.

“Yes?”