taught.”
Carter McKee was squinting at him with the pop-eyed intensity of a scientist observing a new species of beetle. “I heard that you windsurf,” he said suddenly. “Sandra does, too. She loves it. She has a lesson scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
Sandra's glossy pink mouth opened suddenly, and then closed again. Jake noticed that her hands had clenched into fists at her sides. She wasn't the chatty type, it seemed. She was shy, perhaps, which would explain her strange awkwardness and the affectation of sunglasses at dusk. Then again, no shy woman would wear a dress like that. She didn't look like someone who loved to windsurf, but then, she didn't look like someone who wrote books, either.
“How advanced are you?” he asked her.
“I don't know,” Sandra said in a voice as tight as her dress. She looked at Carter. “How advanced am I, would you say?”
“You show great promise,” Carter said. He looked at Jake. “Her lesson is with Rico. Tomorrow. At ten A.M. ”
Jake frowned at the man, wondering who he was. Sandra's agent? Her husband? He was a strange-looking candidate for either position. “Rico is a good teacher,” he said, resisting the urge to glance at his watch. It was still an hour before the close of business in Los Angeles, and he needed to make a call to the architect who was designing the new golf course. He nodded to the group and made his excuses.
“Enjoy your lesson tomorrow,” he said to Sandra. “The bay is calm in the morning, but there should be some good wind by ten. I'm usually out there myself at about that time.”
Sandra nodded. “Somehow, I'm not surprised to hear that.”
“Molly! Be reasonable,” Carter implored, following closely on Molly's heels and stopping every few feet to pick up glittering bits of Sandra St. Claire as they were shucked off onto the cottage floor. The silver stiletto sandals had gone first, followed by the sunglasses and the dangling earrings. “I really think that ‘total failure’ is too strong a term.”
“Okay,” Molly said, stopping. She reached up to yank on the blond wig, which was secured to her scalp with no less than thirty metal pins. “How about ‘utter fiasco'?”
“Negativity is a no-no,” Elaine said, bringing up the rear. “Whiners are never winners, my dear. Let's focus on the good. We've accomplished an introduction.”
Molly exhaled hard. Her heart was pounding, and for some strange reason, she felt as if she were about to cry. “I knew it,” she said. “You can dress me to look like Jake Berenger's ideal woman, but he still won't find me attractive.”
“You don't know that for a fact,” Carter protested. “Maybe he was just…preoccupied.”
“Ha! It's me, don't you understand? It's me. I tried to warn you, Carter. I don't know how to do this.”
Carter looked horrified. “Are you crying?”
“No!” Molly said hotly. She wasn't. Her eyes were still watering from her earlier attempt to put on the blue contact lenses. She had never worn contacts before, and in the process of inserting them, one had rolled under the bathroom sink and the other had become cemented to her eyeball. She still had one blue eye and one brown eye by the time they were due to leave for the party, and they had been forced to use a pair of Elaine's sunglasses as camouflage.
“It's going to be fine,” Carter insisted. “Trust me, this can't fail. It's science.”
“I don't think you know what you're talking about,” Molly said. “And what was that crazy thing about windsurfing? I don't know how to windsurf! I trip over my own feet on solid ground. If I go out there tomorrow, I'll look like an idiot. Again!” She felt a sense of desperation that bordered on panic. Why had she ever agreed to come on this trip? She had known all along that it was a terrible idea. At least it wasn't too late to quit and go home. Carter could take his stupid plan and his stupid project, and find someone else to—
“That does it,”
Carter McKee was squinting at him with the pop-eyed intensity of a scientist observing a new species of beetle. “I heard that you windsurf,” he said suddenly. “Sandra does, too. She loves it. She has a lesson scheduled for tomorrow morning.”
Sandra's glossy pink mouth opened suddenly, and then closed again. Jake noticed that her hands had clenched into fists at her sides. She wasn't the chatty type, it seemed. She was shy, perhaps, which would explain her strange awkwardness and the affectation of sunglasses at dusk. Then again, no shy woman would wear a dress like that. She didn't look like someone who loved to windsurf, but then, she didn't look like someone who wrote books, either.
“How advanced are you?” he asked her.
“I don't know,” Sandra said in a voice as tight as her dress. She looked at Carter. “How advanced am I, would you say?”
“You show great promise,” Carter said. He looked at Jake. “Her lesson is with Rico. Tomorrow. At ten A.M. ”
Jake frowned at the man, wondering who he was. Sandra's agent? Her husband? He was a strange-looking candidate for either position. “Rico is a good teacher,” he said, resisting the urge to glance at his watch. It was still an hour before the close of business in Los Angeles, and he needed to make a call to the architect who was designing the new golf course. He nodded to the group and made his excuses.
“Enjoy your lesson tomorrow,” he said to Sandra. “The bay is calm in the morning, but there should be some good wind by ten. I'm usually out there myself at about that time.”
Sandra nodded. “Somehow, I'm not surprised to hear that.”
“Molly! Be reasonable,” Carter implored, following closely on Molly's heels and stopping every few feet to pick up glittering bits of Sandra St. Claire as they were shucked off onto the cottage floor. The silver stiletto sandals had gone first, followed by the sunglasses and the dangling earrings. “I really think that ‘total failure’ is too strong a term.”
“Okay,” Molly said, stopping. She reached up to yank on the blond wig, which was secured to her scalp with no less than thirty metal pins. “How about ‘utter fiasco'?”
“Negativity is a no-no,” Elaine said, bringing up the rear. “Whiners are never winners, my dear. Let's focus on the good. We've accomplished an introduction.”
Molly exhaled hard. Her heart was pounding, and for some strange reason, she felt as if she were about to cry. “I knew it,” she said. “You can dress me to look like Jake Berenger's ideal woman, but he still won't find me attractive.”
“You don't know that for a fact,” Carter protested. “Maybe he was just…preoccupied.”
“Ha! It's me, don't you understand? It's me. I tried to warn you, Carter. I don't know how to do this.”
Carter looked horrified. “Are you crying?”
“No!” Molly said hotly. She wasn't. Her eyes were still watering from her earlier attempt to put on the blue contact lenses. She had never worn contacts before, and in the process of inserting them, one had rolled under the bathroom sink and the other had become cemented to her eyeball. She still had one blue eye and one brown eye by the time they were due to leave for the party, and they had been forced to use a pair of Elaine's sunglasses as camouflage.
“It's going to be fine,” Carter insisted. “Trust me, this can't fail. It's science.”
“I don't think you know what you're talking about,” Molly said. “And what was that crazy thing about windsurfing? I don't know how to windsurf! I trip over my own feet on solid ground. If I go out there tomorrow, I'll look like an idiot. Again!” She felt a sense of desperation that bordered on panic. Why had she ever agreed to come on this trip? She had known all along that it was a terrible idea. At least it wasn't too late to quit and go home. Carter could take his stupid plan and his stupid project, and find someone else to—
“That does it,”
Similar Books
