Forever

Chapter 2-4

“That’s not a problem.” I’d call him and reschedule.

“Oh?” For a single word, it packed one hell of a chill.

“Mrs. Mann, Quinn would have my—He wouldn’t be happy if I drove you back to DC and then made you drive all the way back home.”

“It’s only a half-hour drive.”

“Yeah, but you know, we’re talking rush hour by the time we get done looking at this place. It’ll be easier if I drive you home.”

“I’m not a wilting violet, I’ll have you know.”

“No, ma’am. But if it comes to a choice between Quinn being pissed at me or you being pissed at me, I’ll have to go with you,” I said apologetically.

“I see. Very well. If you’d rather spend your time with me…I’ll give you directions to my dressmaker.”

I let her, even though I knew it would only take a minute for me to pull them up on the computer. “I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes, ma’am.”

“Very good, Mark. By the way?”

“Yes?”

“Please stop calling me ‘ma’am’.”

I laughed, and we hung up.

Okay, I had about ten minutes before I left to meet Mrs. Mann. I’d call Raphael’s—someone would be there now—and cancel the reservations, then set a program running that would search out intel on the condo in Aspen Reach. When the search was completed, the information would be downloaded to my PDA.

First things first, though. I called Quinn.

His voice mail picked up, and I left a brief message. “I can’t make it tonight. Sorry.”

He’d know it was me.

Next I spoke to the host at Raphael’s and rescheduled for the following week, and finally I called my secretary. It felt a little odd calling from the parking lot, but it would be even odder to go back to my office, only to turn around and leave.

“Ms. Parker, I’ll be out for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll reschedule anything that comes up, for next week.”

“Thanks. Have a nice weekend.”

“I will. And I hope you do too, sir.”

Actually, I was going to have a fantastic weekend.

* * * *

The wrought iron gates that were supposed to keep outsiders out of Aspen Reach were set in stone walls that were eight feet high. I still would have felt happier if there had been a guard at those gates.

After the Realtor got us past them, we followed her to the clubhouse and parked beside her convertible. She waited for us to approach her car, and then slid out of the front seat.

“Hello!” she cooed. She adjusted her shoulder bag, which was large enough to hold all the paraphernalia of her business, gave Mrs. Mann a dismissive smile, and extended her hand to me. “I’m Francesca Dashwood. You must be Mark Vincent. Let me give you my card. It has my home phone number on it as well as my work and cell numbers.”

I took the card from her, gave it a quick once-over, and then tucked it into the inner pocket of my suit jacket before giving her a more thorough appraisal.

She was a tall, buxom brunette with eyes such an unbelievable blue that I knew they were contacts. The trouser suit she wore emphasized her t**s and long legs. Of course, the stiletto-heeled sandals on her long, thin feet helped. Gold-streaked brown hair spilled down her back in waves, and she tossed her head, flipping a stray lock of hair over her shoulder. A large ruby wrapped in gold filigree dangled from the exposed ear.

Mrs. Mann gave her a considering glance and made a soft, almost inaudible sound. In another woman, I would have called it a snort, but she was too elegant for anything like that.

“I’m Portia Mann, Allison’s friend.” Her cell phone rang, and I recognized the tone as “It Had to Be You”. Interesting. “Pardon me.” She took it from her purse and studied the screen. Her mouth tightened. She turned off the ringer and put it back, and nodded, all trace of irritation wiped from her face. “You may proceed, Ms. Dashwood.”

“Yes. Right this way.”

She gave us a tour of the community’s many amenities—the banquet room with its adjacent gourmet kitchen, card room, billiard room, and the miniature theater for viewing movies.

“And of course the theatricals the community is known for. Their last production was very well received. The Pirates of Penzance, I believe. You’d make an excellent Pirate King!” She fluttered her lashes at me. “Now if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the exercise room.” On the way, she pointed out the sauna and locker rooms for both sexes. “And here we have the exercise room.”

Weights, treadmills, stair-climbers, stationary bicycles, things I wouldn’t have expected to see outside Gold’s Gym.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” she murmured. One wall was completely glass, giving a view of the pool. “If you’ll come this way?” She led us down a spacious hallway. “As you can see, this room is for aerobics.”

What I could see were the community fees going sky high.

“Suppose you show us the condominium?”

“Certainly. That building is the gem of this community. Although it’s the same size as all the other buildings, there are only three units on each floor. I’ll point out the garage that goes with the unit, and then I’ll take you to see the condo. If you’ll get into my car?”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll drive, or we can follow you.”

Most people would have missed the disgruntled twist to her lips.

“Of course.” Her smile was gracious. “Not a problem at all. If you’ll follow me?”

In a matter of minutes, we were driving past the area where garages for each building were. They’d been designed to look like old-fashioned carriage houses.

“This isn’t too convenient,” I said to Mrs. Mann.

“Keep that in mind, Mark.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

All the streets were named after aspens. Aspen Court, Aspen Circle, Aspen Drive, Aspen Way, Aspen Please-just-shoot-me-now.

We turned into Aspen Way and pulled up to the curb. When I got out, Francesca Dashwood was right there. She looped her arm through mine, once again flirting her lashes.

“You really didn’t need to have someone with you, you know. I don’t bite…much.”

“What a shame I’m taken.” I couldn’t resist the temptation to play the kept man.

“Oh?”

“Hon—” I coughed as if to cover up my slip. “Mrs. Mann is a very good…friend. She always insists on coming along.” I freed my arm and went around to the passenger side, opened the door, and handed Mrs. Mann out. I offered my arm to her.

“Thank you, Mark.”

I could almost see the wheels turning as the other woman tried to figure out Mrs. Mann’s relationship to me.

Mrs. Mann was about to release my arm, and I put my hand over hers to keep it in place. “I was just telling Ms. Dashwood what good friends we are, and how of course you’d come house-hunting with me.”

She didn’t miss a beat, picked up on what I was doing right away. “That’s true, precious.” She patted the hand that covered hers. “I wouldn’t want you to make a mistake. Goodness knows you cost me enough…” She gave a bland smile. Damn, I wished I could have known her when she’d been younger. She must have been a pistol. And though my preferences ran to men, I’d have tried my damnedest to take her away from Nigel Mann. “That is to say, you did want that monstrosity in…where was it?”

“There were so many, and you didn’t like any of them.” I thrust my lip out and did my best to sound sulky. “Not even the one with the mirror on the ceiling in the bedroom.”

Unseen by the Realtor, Mrs. Mann pinched me.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing like that here in Aspen Reach. However, this condo is fully furnished, and you have the option of buying it that way for only an additional seventy-five thousand dollars.” Ms. Dashwood led us into the lobby of the building.

“Mark has his own furniture.”

A brief pause. “That’s fine, then. However, if you should change your mind…. Ah, here’s the elevator.”

“I don’t use elevators.” Mrs. Mann looked around. “Where is the stairway?”

“Oh, surely a woman your age….”

Mrs. Mann simply raised an eyebrow, and the Realtor shut up and backed up.

“Ms. Dashwood?”

“Of course. Right this way.” She gave a saccharine smile and led us to the stairs. “If you don’t mind, I’ll meet you on three. My sandals….” She walked back to the elevator.

“Y’know,” I muttered, “if there was a God, that elevator would get stuck between floors. For the whole weekend.” I held open the door to the stairwell, and Mrs. Mann entered, stifling her laughter with an elegant hand.

“You don’t like her?”

“I don’t like her attitude.”

“She’s very attractive, not to mention very well endowed. Many men would be more than willing to overlook her attitude.”

“She’s not my type.” I wasn’t going to remind her I was involved with her son, and that made anyone who wasn’t him not my type. She observed me thoughtfully; was she trying to make me nervous? I decided to go on the offensive. “Mrs. Mann, are you sure you want to take the stairs?”

“Do you doubt that I can?”

“No, ma’am.” But Quinn wasn’t here, and that left me to worry about her. She was in her sixties, after all. I’d keep an eye on her, and the second she even looked like she was faltering, I’d toss her over my shoulder—well, no, she was too elegant for that. I’d scoop her up in my arms. Yeah, that would work. And I’d carry her the rest of the way.

When we reached the third floor, her breathing was only slightly accelerated.

“You will not tell Quinton. Is that understood?”

“Tell him what, ma’am?” But if she was really having a problem, I’d tell Quinn in a shot. I liked her very much, but as I’d told her, if it was a toss-up as to who I’d piss off, it would have to be her.

Not realizing what I was thinking, she patted my arm, and we stepped out of the stairwell. The Realtor was standing by the elevator. The minute she saw us approaching, she stopped tapping her toe and smiled. Mrs. Mann hugged my arm to her, and we sauntered down the corridor. The condo was at the far end.

That was good. I didn’t like the idea of an elevator being too close to where I lived.

Ms. Dashwood unlocked the door and stepped aside to let us enter. My “sugar momma” walked in, looking over the entryway thoughtfully.

“After you, Ms. Dashwood.” I gestured for her to enter before me.

“Call me Francesca.” She adjusted her shoulder bag.

“Oh, I couldn’t….” But I let it sound as if with a little coaxing I very well could.

“Please?”

I surrendered gracefully. “Francesca.”

“There, you see? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now if you’ll…”

“Oh, no. Ladies before gentlemen. Francesca.” I let my voice caress her name. “Please. Honey…Mrs. Mann likes me to be polite.”

She gave me a considering look from under her lashes, then fluttered them and followed Mrs. Mann, a provocative swing to her hips.

I shut the door and threw the deadbolt from force of habit.

“Oh! You’re so close to me.”

I smiled at her, and she leaned back against me. Ah, s**t, my acting was too good.

Fortunately, Mrs. Mann came to the rescue. Not that I needed rescuing, but I was playing a role here.

“This closet is quite small.” Mrs. Mann’s tone of voice let it be known that no closet in her home would dare to be that small.

The closet was tucked away in a small alcove to the immediate left as we walked in. It wouldn’t need to be very big in order to hold a couple of overcoats and umbrellas, and maybe that fake dog that Quinn had said was a Shih Tzu, but I kept my mouth shut.