A Promise to Cherish Page 6

  A discreet voice made her jump. “Ms. Walker?”

  Lee turned to find a faultlessly dressed woman smiling at her from behind rimless glasses with a chain dangling from their bows. The woman looked like she might very well own the place.

  “Yes?” a puzzled Lee returned.

  “Ah, I thought so by Mr. Brown’s description of you. You’ll find him downstairs in the lounge. Just follow that stairway around and it’ll take you right to him.” With a graceful wave of her hand, the woman withdrew.

  Lee followed the stairs as directed to find herself in a low-ceilinged bar with reduced lighting. She scarcely had time to note that Sam Brown wasn’t there before a smiling black man in formal waiter’s attire approached to ask, much as the woman upstairs had, “Ms. Walker?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mr. Brown is waiting for you in the lounge, if you’ll follow me.”

  He led the way to another elegant room much like the one upstairs, only smaller and more intimate, with soft lighting from tasteful table lamps. Again there was a fireplace on the far wall and a scattering of plush furniture placed in cozy groupings. Sam Brown stretched his tall frame up from one of the antique wing chairs flanking the fireplace.

  “Here she is, Mr. Brown,” the waiter announced.

  “Thank you, Walter.” To Lee, Sam said, “I see you found the place all right.”

  “Not without some trouble,” she admitted, taking in his dark gaze as it swept her hair and face.

  “Will the lady be wanting a cocktail?” Walter inquired.

  “Yes, a Smith and Kurn,” Brown answered before the waiter left them discreetly alone. Then he turned to Lee, gesturing. “Sit down, Ms. Walker.”

  In spite of herself she was pleased that he’d remembered her drink preference, and it tempered her voice as she chided, “Don’t you Ms. Walker me, Sam Brown. Why didn’t you warn me what kind of place this was?”

  She perched on a Chippendale love seat while Brown chose the spot beside her rather than the chair he’d been occupying earlier. He turned sideways, lifting a knee partially onto the cushioned seat and resting his arm along its back. He scrutinized her with a half smile.

  “Why? You look great, Cherokee.”

  “And don’t call me Cherokee.” She looked around furtively to see if anyone had heard, but they were alone in the lounge.

  “If Ms. Walker and Cherokee are both out, what should I call you?”

  She didn’t know. “Try Lee,” she finally suggested.

  “All right, Lee, you had some trouble finding the place?”

  “Trouble! I drove right past it two times and never even gave it a glance. What is it, anyway?”

  “It’s the Carriage Club.”

  “And you’re a member, I take it.”

  “Aha.” He reached for his cocktail from an oval table in front of the sofa. The entire grouping, including the pair of wing chairs, faced the fireplace, ensconcing them in a private circle of their own.

  She turned her eyes to the coffee table. In addition to a bouquet of freshly cut spider mums and carnations, it held a silver bowl of macadamia nuts. Her gaze moved over richly papered walls to the polished andirons and screen in the fireplace. Slowly Lee’s eyes traveled back to Sam Brown to find him studying her.

  “Is this supposed to change my opinion of . . . the decadent rich?” she asked.

  He shrugged, but his grin remained.

  Just then Walter returned with her Smith and Kurn, set it on the table, and inquired, “And will there be anything else for you, Mr. Brown?”

  “Another of the same.”

  As soon as Walter had faded away, Lee couldn’t resist querying, “What? Aren’t you going to ask for pickled mushrooms?”

  “The decadent rich don’t need to ask. Walter knows exactly how I prefer my drinks.”

  “So . . . you’re a member of good standing?”

  His only answer was the continued amiable expression on his face, and against her will, Lee Walker was thoroughly impressed.

  “I came here to talk business, Mr. Brown,” she said.

  “Of course.” He leaned forward slightly. “Unlike most of the contracting firms in this city, mine has had a good year. The plumbing half of the firm has sustained the sewer and water half until it can get on its feet. All I need is one good estimator.”

  “And what makes you think I’m good?”

  “You damn near beat me out of that Denver job, and you did beat out an impressive lineup of competition. I want anybody who can do that working for me, not against me.”

  “I did beat you out, and you know it,” she accused in a soft voice.

  “Are we going to beat that old dead horse again?”

  “I couldn’t resist.”

  His brown eyes crinkled. Distracted, she reached for some nuts.

  “Are you interested in the job offer?”

  She didn’t want to be, but—damn his dark eyes!—she was. Walter intruded momentarily to lean low with a silver tray, and even over his back Lee could feel Sam Brown’s eyes following her hand as she lifted the nuts to her mouth, then licked away the salt that caught on her glossy lipstick.

  She raised her eyes to confront him head on. “I want you to know right off the bat—I don’t do anybody’s dirty work. I bid ’em straight and fair.”

  “I’ll pay you forty thousand a year, plus a company car and all the usual fringe benefits—profit sharing, insurance, use of a company credit card.”

  While shock waves catapulted through Lee, she watched Sam lazily stir his drink, then lift a red plastic saber upon which four pickled mushrooms were skewered. His sparkling teeth slipped the first mushroom into his mouth, and his jaws began moving while hers went slack.

  “Forty thousand a year?” The words scarcely peeped from her throat.

  “Mmm-hmm.” His eyes lingered indolently on hers as he clamped those perfect teeth around the second mushroom. Mesmerized, still not quite able to absorb his offer, she watched as he ate all four mushrooms.

  Forty thousand dollars!

  “You must be joking.”

  “Not at all. You’ll work damn hard for it. If I say travel, you’ll travel. We’re bidding jobs in about eight states right now. Sometimes there’ll be late nights if we’re up against a deadline. Other times there’ll be night flights in order to get connections to the right city. I pay my estimators well, but they earn every cent of it.”

  She was still too stunned to take it all in. “I don’t even know where your offices are.”

  “On the other side of the creek, near Rainbow and Johnson Drive. I’ll take you over later to see them, if you like.”

  Again she was astonished. The area he’d named was well known as one of the most prestigious in the city. It was generally referred to as the Plaza Area, named after the lush Country Club Plaza Shopping Center nearby. She was still pondering this when Sam Brown pulled a tie from the pocket of his blue linen sport coat, though she was so lost in thought she scarcely realized what he was doing. Without the aid of a mirror, he raised his collar, lay the tie underneath, buttoned his collar button, and began applying a Windsor knot to the tie by feel. Though her eyes were fixed on his hands, she was thinking instead of the pair of widewale corduroy armchairs she wanted so badly, thinking of the drapes she could pay off in no time, thinking of not having to give up the townhouse.

  The ever-attentive Walter appeared as if out of nowhere. “Will there be anything more, Mr. Brown?”

  “Ms. Walker and I will go into dinner now, Walter. Thank you.”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll bring your drinks for you.”

  Lee finally slipped out of her reverie to realize that Sam Brown was slipping a hand under her elbow and urging her to her feet. They followed at Walter’s heels. “House rules,” Sam whispered conspiratorially. “Men have to wear ties in the dining room.”

  Lee made a feeble attempt to pull away from his commanding grasp. This is all too perfect. It’s going too fast!

 
“I’m not dressed—”

  “You’re dressed just fine.” His eyes swept her from hair to her waist, and up again.

  She felt obligated to resist one more time. “But . . . but I haven’t even said I’d work for you, much less won a bid yet. And you invited me for a drink, not dinner.”

  He only grinned down at her cheek, squeezed the soft, bare skin of her inner elbow, and teased, “Let a man try to impress a lady when he’s trying his damndest, okay, Cherokee?”

  That word, perhaps more than any other, brought her back down to earth. Cherokee. But it was too late now. They’d reached the dining room doorway, which opened off the lounge. She felt helpless as she was propelled along beside him. His thumb was rough on her bare skin as they paused just inside, and he was again greeted by name. “Evening, Mr. Brown . . . ma’am. Your table is all ready.” The man escorted them to a linen-covered table in front of a wide window that curved in a semicircle around half of the dining room. Lee looked onto a view of the swimming pool, ice rink, and tennis courts below. In the distance a line of tall trees indicated the meandering route of Brush Creek as it flowed eastward. The sun was slanting across the green lawn, from which Lee had difficulty pulling her eyes.

  A nudge on the back of her knees reminded her that Sam Brown was solicitously waiting to push in her chair.

  “Oh . . . thank you.” She settled herself, subjected to the tantalizing scent that wafted about him as he sat down across from her. He had no more than hit the chair when yet another solicitous employee of the Carriage Club was immediately at hand to state, “The evening special is shrimp marinated in wine sauce, seasoned with tarragon and served with herb butter. And how are you this evening, Mr. Brown?” Menus were opened crisply and placed first in Lee’s hands, then Sam’s.

  He raised his dark brows, and a smile lifted his lips. “Hungry as a bear, Edward, and how are you?”

  Edward leaned back and laughed softly. “I’m fine, sir. Leaving on my vacation tomorrow morning for my son’s house in Tucson. He’s got a new baby, you know, and we’ve never seen her.”

  “I imagine it’s a little hard to keep your mind on marinated shrimp then, isn’t it?”

  “For you, sir, not at all. Service is the same as always.”

  They laughed together in the way of men who go through this ritual often. Lee noted the same camaraderie between Brown and yet another man who brought them goblets of ice water.

  When they were alone with their menus at last, Lee admitted, “I am impressed, Brown. How could I help but be?”

  “Tell me that when you’ve seen me in action in the office and it’ll mean something.”

  She looked for signs of teasing and saw none.

  This man, this Sam Brown, what did she know of him? Was he honorable or a scoundrel? Was his poise in these elegant surroundings an intentional smoke screen to hide his seamier side? He could charm the gold out of a person’s teeth—she had no doubt about that—but could he also be ruthless? He was handsome enough to turn any woman’s head, and that fact made it more difficult to assess his hidden traits. After all, she was making a business decision, and what he looked like had absolutely no bearing upon his character or his motives. Studying him now, Lee entwined her fingers, pressed her arms along the table edge, and bent forward until her breasts touched her wrists.

  “Level with me, Brown. Would you hire me with the ulterior motive of exploiting me, like Thorpe did?”

  She watched his eyes carefully as they registered faint surprise at her direct question, then glinted with brief amusement before that too disappeared and he asked matter-of-factly, “Could it be, Ms. Walker, that you have a hang-up about being Indian?” Immediately she bristled, but before she could respond he went on. “I did a little checking on you. You’re good, you’re honest, you’re young and ambitious. A man could do worse than hire a person like that as an estimator, especially when his corporation has all its officers intact. Besides that, it wouldn’t be far for you to drive. That’s always to an employer’s advantage.”

  His answer set her back in her chair. “How do you know where I live?”

  Again a glint of amusement filled his eyes. “You forget. Your suitcase had a tag on its handle just like mine did.”

  Of course! How could she forget what had led her here in the first place? Yet it was disconcerting to think he’d been asking people about her.

  “Tell me, Mr. Brown,” she began, “is there anything you don’t know about me?”

  He looked up from his menu and she became uncomfortably aware that she was wearing a necklace shaped like an Indian arrowhead strung around her neck on a leather thong. But his eyes returned to his menu as he answered, “Yes, I don’t know why you bother to order your meals without potatoes when you don’t need to. The food here is tremendous. Don’t stint yourself tonight.”

  His answer raised an instant prickle of female vanity, but she warned herself to accept the compliment with a grain of salt. Just then the waiter approached to take their order.

  The meal was delicious, as promised. They ate it while discussing upcoming jobs Sam would want her to bid, projects she had worked on, nothing more personal until, over coffee, he sat back with one shoulder drooping lower than the other in a way with which she was already becoming familiar.

  “Actually, there is a question about you that puzzles me,” he said.

  She looked up, waiting.

  “Why don’t you have records of employment before Thorpe Construction?”

  “I do. They’re in St. Louis.”

  “St. Louis?” Sam quirked an eyebrow.

  “Yes, that’s where I lived before.”

  “Before what?” Though his eyes rested lightly on her, she had the feeling he was drilling into her head.

  “Before I moved here three years ago,” she answered with deliberate evasion.

  “Ah.” He tilted his chin up, and for a moment she thought he might question her further, but just then the waiter arrived and laid a small tray at Sam Brown’s elbow and handed him a silver pen.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Brown, your tab.” Sam scrawled a quick signature and rose to his feet.

  “Come on, I’ll show you the office.”

  Lee breathed a sigh of relief at the interruption, for the subject of St. Louis was not one she wanted to pursue.

  As they moved past the tables toward the doorway, they were interrupted by an impeccably dressed man who leaned back in a chair, half turning to extend a hand. “How’s it going, Sam?”

  “Fine. Took a job in Denver last week.” Brown released his hold on Lee’s elbow to shake hands, then politely performed introductions.

  “Cassie and Don Norris . . . Lee Walker, my newest estimator.”

  Lee considered spouting a denial aloud, but instead she politely shook hands with the Norrises.

  “Well, congratulations, Lee. You’ve chosen a damn fine company there,” Don Norris offered. She murmured some comment, surprised at his unsolicited praise and hoping it was true. A moment later Sam urged her toward the door again.

  As they moved through the lounge, she couldn’t resist glancing up at Sam. “Your new estimator? Aren’t you being a little presumptuous?”

  Sam smiled and shrugged. “It eliminated a lengthy explanation. I could have said you were the woman who stole my suitcase in the Denver airport. Would that have been better?”

  Lee turned to hide her grin as they reached the main lobby, crossed to the door, and stepped outside.

  “You can ride with me,” he suggested. “It’s not far, and I can bring you back to your car afterward.”

  He led her to a classy, off-white Toronado. Inside, the car smelled like him—the agreeably masculine and tangy scent of what she took to be Rawhide cosmetics. The front seat was luxurious, equipped with a stereo that filled the void while they drove in the waning summer evening.

  It had been a long time since Lee had been in a car with an attractive man—and Sam Brown was certainly that! She watched the contour of
his wrist draped over the steering wheel, the gleam of a gold watch peeking from beneath his sleeve, the relaxed fingers with dark skin and well-kept nails. She recalled the pleasant meal they’d just shared, his easygoing camaraderie with everyone at the club, the compliment Norris had dropped in passing, Brown’s glib sense of humor. She ventured a brief study of his hair, an ear, the side of his neck, but then his face swung her way and she looked quickly out her side window.

  No doubt about it—she was beginning to like Sam Brown.

  The office complex was new, modern, and pleasing to the eye. The late sun, slanting across its cinnamon-colored brick walls and smoked-glass windows, created deep triangles of shadow, accentuating the beauty of the buildings’ architectural design. In keeping with Kansas City’s claim that it had more fountains than any other city in the world except Rome, the buildings had been designed around a charming esplanade whose main attraction was a fountain whose running water created a design reminiscent of a dandelion gone to seed.

  Sam guided Lee along curved concrete walks past cherry trees, and yews and more, every shrub so well-kept it appeared they were tended by a beautician instead of a gardener. The sprinkler system had come on, and as they sauntered between the buildings Lee breathed in the pungent scent of wet cedar chips clustered at the base of the decorative plants. Redwood benches had been placed strategically along the walks, and even the trash depositories were built of redwood, blending pleasantly into the environment. Tall ash trees had been planted alongside each building.

  Sam unlocked the lobby door and held it open while Lee entered a spacious foyer carpeted in burnt orange. The stairs were carpeted as well and seemed to drop out of nowhere into the center of the lobby. A rich walnut handrail was smooth beneath Lee’s palm as she ran her hand along it appreciatively.

  If she’d expected Brown to be a smalltime hood, his surroundings were suggesting otherwise.

  At Suite 204 he fitted a key into the lock, pushed the walnut door inward, and held it also as she passed before him. Fluorescent lights came on, flooding the reception area.