Nerd In Shining Armor Part 2

Matt Murphy sat at his favorite open-air bar and nursed a gin and tonic while he watched the waves roll in on Waikiki Beach. With the moon s.h.i.+ning on the water and a couple of sailboats rocking at anchor, it was a postcard view, and he was tired of having n.o.body to share it with.

"Last call, Mr. Murphy," said the c.o.c.ktail waitress, a pretty redhead who was too young for him.

"Then hit me again. I feel sobriety creeping up on me." One advantage of giving Theresa the big house on the hill as part of the divorce decree was that his new apartment was within walking distance of this bar, so he could come down here every night, drink himself silly, and not worry about getting a DUI while he made his way home.

It wasn't a particularly good habit to get into and he knew it. Yet he hadn't come up with any healthier ways to spend his evenings, so this filled the gap for the time being.

Tonight he was feeling particularly gloomy. He'd never liked the way Nick ran through the company secretaries, and he'd had several arguments with his partner about it. But Nick had rightly pointed out that he hadn't twisted anybody's arm. A woman was free to turn him down with no fear of reprisal.

True as that was, Matt still didn't like Nick's behavior. A few years ago his partner's love life had amused him, but the joke had worn thin. Nick had worn thin, unfortunately. When they'd met in an economics cla.s.s at Hawaii Pacific, Matt had really liked the guy. But during that period, Mart's judgment of people had been suspect. Witness his marriage to Theresa.

Matt had finally caught on to the self-centeredness of both his wife and his partner, but not until he was very married to Theresa and locked tightly into a partners.h.i.+p with Nick. That aside, Nick had turned into a d.a.m.n good salesman, and the increasing value of Rainbow Systems was due in large part to his efforts. The company was now worth so much that Matt couldn't afford to buy out his partner even if he wanted to.

During one of their arguments Nick had said they should sell the whole shooting match, retire early, and loaf for the rest of their lives. Matt couldn't imagine such a thing. The fact that Nick could showed how much of a narcissist he'd become. Matt had learned that term during a counseling session prior to the end of his marriage to the other narcissist in his life, Theresa. Matt would have been hard-pressed to hand Nick his share of the company's net worth even before the divorce stripped him bare. Now it would be impossible.

So he was forced to keep his mouth shut as Nick continued his Don Juan activities. Each time Matt prayed that the chosen secretary would tell Nick where he could put his little trip to Maui. But Nick apparently knew how to pick 'em, because no one had turned him down yet. Not even Genevieve.

Matt had thought for sure Genevieve wouldn't fall for Nick's routine, but apparently she had. Having Farley go with them probably wouldn't make much of an impact, but Matt was glad he'd sent the programmer along, for several reasons. Farley would definitely handle the Aloha Pineapple situation, and it was always good for the software creators to see how the actual customers used the product so the programmers weren't working in a vacuum.

Besides, the trip might jolt Farley out of his rut. The guy needed to get a life, and this little trip might help him realize that. There was also the slightest chance that he'd louse up Nick's planned seduction, and no one would be happier to see that happen than Matt.

The waitress came over with his G and T, a lime slice hooked over the rim of the gla.s.s instead of a wedge of lime in the gla.s.s. A few nights ago Matt had made a comment about liking the look of a lime slice on the gla.s.s, and she'd been doing it that way ever since.

"Here you go," she said. "We don't have any other customers. Mind if I sit down a minute?"

"I'd be honored ... uh ..." Cindy? Sherry? For the life of him, he couldn't remember her name.

"Celeste." She said it with a smile, as if she wasn't the least insulted that he'd forgotten.

"Celeste. Thank you. I'd buy you a drink, except I don't think you could have one while you're working, and you're probably sick of looking at gla.s.ses of booze, anyhow."

"I don't drink," she said.

"Smart girl." He polished off the last of his old drink and reached for the new one she'd brought. "I'm thinking of giving it up for Lent."

She laughed, showing off teeth that probably set her parents back several grand at the orthodontist's.

"But this is July. Lent isn't for a long time. Months."

"I know." He squeezed the lime juice into his drink and dropped the slice in with a satisfying plop.

"I don't want to be hasty about a big decision like that."

"You're so funny.'' She gazed at him. "I a.s.sume since you come down here so many nights and you don't wear a ring that you're not married."

"Not anymore. We split."

"I sort of thought so. Dating anyone?"

"I think I've forgotten how to date."

"That's too bad."

Any idiot could see where this conversation was going. Might as well nip it in the bud. "Celeste, I'm forty-three years old, and if I'd stayed married I would have celebrated my twenty-first wedding anniversary this year. I don't happen to have any kids, but if I did, I could conceivably have a daughter your age."

"So?" She seemed totally unfazed by his statistical review.

He leaned back in his chair and studied her. Smooth, unlined face, red hair in little ringlets down to her shoulders, perky b.r.e.a.s.t.s, small waist, nice legs. "The thing is, I can't imagine what a beautiful young woman like you finds interesting about an old fart like me."

She braced her chin on her hand. "Then I'll tell you. For one thing, you have a very compa.s.sionate face."

"Oh, G.o.d. You really know how to hurt a guy, don't you?"

She laughed again. "I guess you'd rather hear that you look a little bit like George Clooney."

"Yeah, right. Me and George. like twins. We both have two eyes, a nose, and a mouth."

"More than that! There's something about the way you grin, and your eyes are that same warm brown."

He sat forward as he realized that, unbelievably, she was edging them toward decision time. "You're really serious about this, aren't you? You're hitting on me."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I am."

He considered what it would be like to make love to this young sprite, and the concept had definite appeal. He'd been a long time without, and here she was, bypa.s.sing all that awkward dating business, something he'd been dreading, thus postponing. But he couldn't imagine what would be in it for her.

Maybe she thought he was rich. "Do you know what I do for a living?" he asked.

"Haven't a clue."

"Well, that's good, because my t.i.tle sounds very important, but after the divorce I have zero liquidity."

"Mr. Murphy, I'm not interested in your money."

He should turn her down, but d.a.m.n, this was balm for his bruised ego. "Under the circ.u.mstances you might want to start calling me Matt."

"Matt." She gave him a slow, a.s.sessing smile. "Matt is perfect for you."

"My name used to be George, but I had to change it because people kept getting me mixed up with that Clooney joker, and that was so annoying."

"See, that's one of the things I find so attractive about you. So many guys my age take themselves too seriously."

"They have to. n.o.body else does." He paused, still wondering if flirting with her was such a good idea. "This isn't about you getting ignored by your father when you were a little tyke, is it?"

"Nope." She grinned. "My father dotes on me. So does my mother. Look, Matt, I'm not hoping to get engaged or anything. I don't even see this as the beginning of a long-term relations.h.i.+p. In two weeks I'm moving back to California. I just happen to be hot for you. I'm available, you're available. I say let's take advantage of the moment."

Amazing. How times had changed since he'd played the dating game. Maybe Nick had the right idea and Matt was the one out of step.

He set aside his drink. "Your place or mine?"

"Oh, mine, definitely. I have the most awesome collection of condoms. I'm guessing if you're recently divorced, you haven't stocked up yet."

"You'd be right about that."

She smiled gently. "First time with a new woman?"

He nodded.

She leaned forward and touched her finger to his mouth. "Then just relax and go with the flow, Matt Murphy. I'm going to be your transition babe."

Genevieve was up an hour before she had to be, which gave her uninterrupted time in the bathroom. She used a new razor on her legs and under her arms. She put on her gla.s.ses to check her bikini line and was relieved to discover it still looked good from the last time she'd used hair removal lotion on it.

Her tummy quivering with nervous antic.i.p.ation, she rubbed lotion everywhere she could reach and misted herself with cologne. Thanks to her mother's coaching, she knew not to put on too much. She switched scents according to the season of the year. Because it was summer, her cologne was called Seaside.

As she put in her contacts, she wondered if Nick knew that she wore them. She thought about tucking a pair of gla.s.ses into the suitcase, then decided against it. Gla.s.ses made her look like too much of a nerd. She ought to be able to make it from the bed to the bathroom in the morning without b.u.mping into anything.

Next she gave the ends of her hair a touch with the curling iron and did her makeup. Last she put on the dress she'd chosen after much inner debate. It was white with red hibiscus flowers on it, and the color combination made her hair look more blond than brown. With the jacket on, the dress was fairly conservative. But without the jacket, the skimpy little slip dress wasn't even slightly conservative.

Genevieve wore the jacket to the breakfast table, but there was no getting something past her mama.

"Loaded for bear, I see," Annabelle said when Genevieve appeared in the kitchen.

"Once you meet Nick, you'll understand."

"I expect I understand now. I poured you some juice."

"Thanks." She eyed the stove where her mother was cooking up a mess of grits. "Juice is probably all I'm going to have this morning, Mama."

"Some grits will help settle your stomach."

Genevieve smiled. Her mother had said that very thing on so many occasions. She'd eaten her mama's grits before cheerleading tryouts, before final exams her senior year in high school, before her job interview with Rainbow Systems.

"Go on, sit down."

Genevieve sat down and ate a bowl of grits.

The cure worked pretty well. Or maybe it was the calming effect of sitting across from her mother, each of them in the chairs they always used at this table. Annabelle took the chair closest to the stove; Genevieve sat across from her with her back to the wall. Lincoln's chair, nearest to the back door, was empty this morning because Annabelle let him sleep in during the summer.

The fourth chair was usually stacked with things, mail and magazines and the daily paper. Genevieve noticed the front section of the paper was folded back to the weather report. Her mother had been checking on their flying conditions, no doubt.

But Annabelle didn't talk about the weather. Instead she told Genevieve about a client at the salon who was having an affair with a man on the Internet. Genevieve listened to the familiar sound of her mother's voice and remembered that Annabelle used to sing around the house back in Tennessee.

"Mama, how come you don't sing anymore?"

Her mother looked startled. "I don't?"

"If you do, I never hear you."

Annabelle gazed off into s.p.a.ce for a few seconds. "I don't know. Got out of the habit, I guess."

"You should get back into the habit. I liked hearing you sing."

Her mother smiled. "We'll see."

Before she knew it, Genevieve had finished her grits. She hurried into the bathroom to brush her teeth and put on her lipstick. As she was carrying her pink suitcase into the living room, she heard Nick beeping the horn out by the curb. Her stomach started to churn again, and for one crazy minute she wondered if this was a good idea.

Then she peeked out the living room window, saw his zippy little black car idling there, and knew she'd be a fool not to go to Maui with him. She hoped Jackson Farley had overslept and wouldn't be waiting at the airfield when they got there. She really didn't want to face Jackson's bad hair and bad clothes this morning. Or his silent judgment of the situation.

Picking up her suitcase by its pink leather strap, she turned to her mother, who was standing expectantly in the living room. "Well, Mama, come on and meet Nick."

"Okay." Annabelle took a deep breath and followed Genevieve out the front door of their rented bungalow.

From the looks of the car, she had an idea what to expect from the man. He would be Genevieve's daddy and Lincoln's daddy all over again.

It seemed her daughter had inherited the family weakness for good-looking men, a weakness pa.s.sed down from Granny Neville to Annabelle's mama, then to Annabelle, and now to Genevieve. At least Genevieve was twenty-six instead of fifteen or sixteen, the average age the other women in the family had been fooled by a pretty face. And Genevieve carried condoms. Annabelle had checked.

The first thing Annabelle noticed about this Cary Grant look-alike was that he didn't bother to get out of the car. He popped the trunk and let Genevieve put her pink suitcase in the bitty s.p.a.ce alongside his sleek leather one. Annabelle reminded herself that in this day and age women didn't want a man waiting on them hand and foot. What used to be good manners was now called patronizing.

Patronizing or not, she thought a man who was fixing to take a woman to bed for the first time might be moved to lift a suitcase for her. Maybe that was old-fas.h.i.+oned thinking, too. Nick Brogan did have a nice dimple in his chin and a good head of brown hair on him. She couldn't see his eyes on account of his sungla.s.ses. He wore a lightweight suit jacket and no tie, which made him look like one of the Kennedys on his way to Hyannisport. Annabelle had seen a pa.s.sel of pictures like that in People magazine.

Genevieve had her suitcase in and the trunk closed in no time. Then she scurried over to the pa.s.senger door. "Nick, I'd like you to meet my ma-my mom, Annabelle Terrence," she said.

Nick showed off his pearly whites. Oh, yes, Annabelle thought. I can see what this is all about. She'd been on the receiving end of that kind of smile before, and it always meant trouble. "Nice to meet you, Nick," she lied. d.a.m.ned if she'd call this Romeo Mister Brogan.

"Same here, Annabelle. Hard to believe you're Genevieve's mom. You look more like her sister."

Annabelle ignored the compliment. "Take good care of her." She knew her daughter would hate her saying that, but she couldn't help it. She also knew it would have about as much effect on this slick character as the No Smoking sign Maizie had tacked up in her cabin had on Rufus.

"Absolutely," Nick said. "Well, Genevieve, we'd better get rolling if we're going to lift off at eight."

"Right. See you tomorrow night, Ma-Mom." She hopped in the little car, waved, and was off.

Annabelle stood on the sidewalk looking down the street until the car turned the corner. If Genevieve stayed around this man very long, she'd break herself of saying mama. Maybe that wasn't much to fret about, but it left a heaviness on Annabelle's heart.

She didn't like Nick Brogan. If he'd had a bad childhood, she was sorry for that, but it had turned him into the sort of man who only cared about himself, and Genevieve wouldn't be able to fix him. Although Annabelle wasn't the type to wish a broken heart on anyone, let alone her only daughter, in this case she hoped Nick broke Genevieve's heart quickly and then went away.

Genevieve would get over it. She was tough, tougher than most people gave her credit for. But then they hadn't known her when she was a sc.r.a.ppy little kid in the hills of Tennessee. You didn't grow up in the Hollow without learning to survive.

Chapter 3.

Jackson set two alarms and slept through both of them. Then Mrs. Applegate next door backed her Volvo out of the drive and hit Mr. Applegate's Dodge Ram coming in. If the impact hadn't been loud enough to cause Jackson to leap out of bed, the full-throttle yelling and cursing from both Applegates would have done the trick.