The Perfect Christmas Part 7

"I will repeat myself this once. I did not send anyone to test you."

"Oh." The man with all the complaints had been so unpleasant that it was a natural a.s.sumption.

To hide her embarra.s.sment, Ca.s.sie tore the cellophane off her cookies and gobbled them both down.

"What did you learn from the experience?" Simon asked.

She rolled her eyes. "You didn't tell me there'd be an exam."

"It's not an exam. I asked a straightforward question."

"Well..." Ca.s.sie took a sip of her latte, then removed her other boot. "For one thing, I will never pa.s.s someone standing in the cold ringing a bell and not leave a donation. You wouldn't believe how many people simply look the other way."

"But you've ignored a bell ringer now and then, haven't you?"

"Okay, I may have, but I won't again. I don't think I've ever worked harder at anything."

The merest hint of a smile showed in his eyes.

"You find that funny? Why don't you stand out in the cold for four hours and see how you like it?"

"I prefer to write a check."

"Of course you would. It's much easier."

"Agreed. That's the point. Anything else?"

"Well, there was the lovely old man." She turned an angry look on Simon. "You must've chased him away."

"Like I said, I didn't notice any old man and I certainly didn't chase one away."

"He was definitely there. He reminded me of my grandfather. Grampa died when I was young, but I remember him so well." She grew introspective. "He was in the war, too. That old man made everything that happened today worthwhile."

She gestured at her stained coat and her stocking feet, then tentatively at her nose. "I think I'm finally thawing out."

"I'm glad to hear it."

He didn't sound glad. In fact, he sounded bored.

"Tell me about John," she urged.

Simon's deep sigh informed her that she was becoming tiresome. "What do you want to know?"

"Something. Anything. Did you a.s.sign him three tasks like you did me? What are they?"

"I won't discuss my other clients with you." The way he said it suggested she'd committed a major faux pas.

She forged ahead despite that. "Has John asked about me?"

Another sigh. "I should never have mentioned his name."

"But you did and now I'm curious. Come on, Simon, have a heart. Give me one small detail, one tiny tidbit, about my hero."

He glanced at her coat and, seeing the huge coffee stain, must have taken pity on her. "All right, if you have to know, he's an engineer."

"An engineer?" she repeated slowly.

"Your children will be left-brain geniuses."

"Children." Overwhelmed with excitement she grasped Simon's hand.

"Restrain yourself, please."

"Oh, Simon, loosen up a little, would you?"

He looked at her coldly, as though her comment didn't merit a response.

"Has John asked about me?"

He nodded.

Rubbing her palms together, she blurted out, "And what did you say?" After asking, she quickly changed her mind. "No, don't tell me-I'd rather not know."

"It wasn't unflattering, if that's what you're implying."

This was promising. "Really?"

"Are you looking for compliments, Ca.s.sie?"

"No...well, maybe." Then, because she was curious and she couldn't resist, she asked, "Do you like me, Simon?"

He regarded her for a moment, as though carefully weighing his response. "Not particularly. Wait-let me rephrase that. I don't have any feelings for you whatsoever. Except for the appropriate reactions of a professional toward his client, of course."

What would it have cost him to smile and say something nice? "You really are a dolt."

He stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. You know, if you smiled more often you might look human. You're supposed to be a psychologist-haven't you heard that a smile is a positive way of interacting?"

"I don't see any reason to-"

"Forget it. You are who you are, and I am who I am."

"That was profound." He seemed to be making fun of her.

Ca.s.sie didn't care. Simon was a means to an end, and if he found her a decent man she could love for the rest of her life, then it didn't matter if he liked her or not.

"When can I complete the second task?" she asked, eager to hurry the process along. From the sound of it, John was equally excited about meeting her.

"I'm making the final arrangements next week. I'll be in touch as soon as everything's set."

"Okay." Ca.s.sie finished her latte and dabbed at the crumbs left over from her shortbread cookies. "You're not very good at relations.h.i.+ps, are you? Personally, I mean, not professionally."

Acting as if she hadn't spoken, Simon shoved back his chair and seemed about to leave. "As I said earlier, I'll be in touch."

"Before you go, I'd like to ask how you came to this line of work."

"You already know I don't answer personal questions. This isn't about me."

"But it is."

"Au contraire. You came to me for services rendered. Do you interrogate your dentist about his background-or private life?"

"No, but-"

"You let him do his job and you walk away satisfied when he's finished. It's the same with me, or it should be. I perform a service, nothing more. I'm good at what I do and I enjoy my work."

"Always?"

"Some matches are more difficult than others. Some clients more trying." He looked pointedly in her direction.

"At least you can take comfort from knowing that once I meet John, you won't ever need to see me again."

"Yes, there is that...."

Ca.s.sie couldn't help it; she burst out laughing.

Simon seemed genuinely puzzled. "Why is that funny?"

"It wouldn't have been if you hadn't been so honest about it. You'll be happy to get rid of me, won't you?"

He stood and tossed his empty coffee container in the proper receptacle. "You did very well today, Ca.s.sie."

For a moment, she thought her ears had deceived her. "Was that a compliment, an actual compliment, from the great Dr. Simon Dodson?"

"Not really," he said soberly. "It was a statement of fact. The truth is, I didn't expect you to last all four hours. You surprised me."

"I want to meet John," she told him, disregarding the implied insult in his words.

"So I gathered, and soon you shall."

Ten minutes later, they left Starbucks together and exchanged civil goodbyes.

Ca.s.sie could hardly wait to get back to her condo so she could talk to Angie. The minute she'd showered and changed, she reached for the phone and hit speed dial.

After several rings, she was connected to voice mail. That was odd. Angie hadn't said anything about going out-but then it wasn't as if Ca.s.sie was her parole officer.

Much later that afternoon she heard from Angie.

"Where were you?" Ca.s.sie asked right away.

"Shopping. 'Tis the season, you know?" Her friend seemed to be in high spirits.

"Did you find any bargains?"

"Lots. How'd the morning go?"

"Simon said I surprised him."

"You saw Dr. Dodson?"

"Yeah, he showed up to check on me. We had coffee afterward."

"You and...Dr. Dodson? Simon?"

"What's so odd about that?"

"I don't know," Angie said. "I just can't picture it."

"It wasn't like a date or anything," Ca.s.sie insisted. "More of a...debriefing. He said he'd be in touch next week with the details about my next task. I get to be an elf. That has to be easier than what I did this morning."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Angie warned her.

Chapter 7.

H er arms loaded down with groceries, Ca.s.sie hurried over to the elevator. "Mr. Oliver, hold that door for me!" she cried frantically, trying not to drop the quart of milk dangling from her index finger.

Mr. Oliver pretended not to hear, and the doors glided shut in her face.

Ca.s.sie ground her teeth in frustration. This wasn't the first time Mr. Oliver had purposely let the elevator close as she ran toward it. She'd watched him do the same thing with other residents. Obviously it gave him some kind of thrill. She might have imagined it, but Ca.s.sie swore she saw a glimmer of s.a.d.i.s.tic humor in his eyes as the doors slid closed.

She lowered one bag to the floor and pushed the call b.u.t.ton. While she waited, she went to collect her newspaper, only to discover the slot was empty-and it wasn't even Tuesday. Apparently Mrs. Mullinex was now clipping coupons from the Sunday edition, as well.

Perhaps it was time to confront the retired schoolteacher.

Ca.s.sie took the elevator up to the fifth floor, brought her groceries to the kitchen, and walked down the hallway to Mrs. Mullinex's unit. Outside her neighbor's door, she rang the bell until she heard footsteps on the other side.

"Hold your horses," Mrs. Mullinex called out.

She answered the door, wearing her housecoat and slippers. Her head was covered in pink curlers and wrapped with a bandanna knotted directly above her forehead. It wasn't a look Ca.s.sie saw very often these days-if ever.