Allison called on Wednesday. If Quentin had divulged any information, she couldn't tell from Allison's responses.
“We won!” Allison exclaimed over the phone.
“Won?” Had Quentin said something to Ally about their date?
“The trial. The jury came back with a verdict in our favor. Those crooks are going to pay through the nose!”
Liz sighed in relief. The last thing she needed was for Allison to jump the gun and start broadcasting to all-and-sundry that she and Quentin were becoming parents—together. “That's great!”
Allison seemed to come back to earth. “So how have things been in Quentinland?”
“You mean the epicenter of the Whittaker quest to take over the computer world?”
Allison snickered. “You know, Liz, that's why I always thought you and Quentin would be a fantastic match. You'd be the magical antidote to his outsized ego.”
“Oh, I don't know. Quentin isn't that bad.”
“What? We're talking about the guy who honked and hollered when he picked me up from the prom. The guy who suggested my first boyfriend was one French fry short of a full pack.”
Liz chuckled. “You mean, Lenny? Wasn't he the one who accidentally bonded his fingers together with glue?”
“That's beside the point,” Allison retorted. “The point is that my brother has been the bane of my existence. And he's so obtuse, he doesn't even know it.”
She couldn't resist asking, “Why would you want to pass him off to me then?”
Allison sighed. “I know. It's diabolical of me. But it's the only way I could think of to get rid of him finally.” Then added in exasperation, “Now it seems not even you want him.”
Liz rolled her eyes. Heaven help her, they were skating on thin ice. She was able to end the call, however, before Allison got any further down that dangerous road.
Allison's call broke some of the restless tension of the week, but by Thursday morning Liz was eyeing the telephone like it could sprout legs and walk away.
With some determination, however, she finally got enough concentration to focus on Mrs. Elfinger's playroom. So when the phone rang, she answered with a distracted, “Hello, Precious Bundles.”
“Which one am I talking to?”
She fumbled with the receiver and nearly dropped it. “Which—uh, what?”
“Which precious bundle am I talking to?” Quentin repeated. “You know, that's a very suggestive line. Another guy might not understand.”
She colored. “I haven't had any problems so far.” Trust Quentin to be able to fluster her even when he was hundreds of miles away.
His chuckle sounded over the line.
“How—how have you been?” she asked, striving for polite conversation.
“Working my butt off. We should have this deal sewn up soon though. We're acquiring a Web site to provide phone-book-type information through Whittaker's portal site.”
“Sounds like you're making inroads into the market.” Allison had told her when the portal site had been launched three years ago.
“Yeah,” Quentin was saying, “but we're just one step ahead of our competitors. We need to stay on it.”
She eyed the arrangement of flowers at the edge of the desk. “Thank you for the flowers. The roses and lilacs are still blooming beautifully.”
“You're welcome.” Was it her imagination, or did his voice drop a notch? “Sorry I didn't call earlier, but we've been on almost a 24/7 schedule here. I've been thinking about you.”
She tried for a lighthearted laugh. “Thinking about how many other ways I might try to insult you?”
“Nope, not by a long shot.”
A tingly warmth went through her. She didn't want to dwell on what he had been thinking about.
After a pause, he continued, “I'll be back in the office on Monday. Meet me there. We'll have lunch.”
“I—I'll be at your offices on Monday anyway to look over the day-care site. The contractor I hired has been tearing down walls.”
“Great. Come to my office when you're done. We'll go to lunch from there.”
When Liz walked into Quentin's private reception area at noon on Monday, a sprightly sixty-ish woman looked up at her inquiringly.
“I'm here to—”
“—see Quentin,” the gray-haired woman finished with a smile, rising and coming around her desk. Liz felt interested eyes sweep her from head to toe. “He's just finishing up a call. Can I get you something to drink, dear?”
“Oh, no, I'm fine, really.”
The door on the far wall opened suddenly and Quentin appeared, his suit jacket missing and his hair tousled where he'd obviously been raking his fingers through it.
When he noticed her standing in front of Celine's desk, he stopped abruptly and smiled. “Elizabeth.”
She felt foolishly happy at his sudden smile. “Hello, Quentin.” She was acutely aware of Celine absorbing everything with great interest.
“I see you've met the incomparable Celine O'Sullivan,” he said, amusement in his eyes.
Celine shot him a reproving look. “Now, Quentin, you know I'm just a little ol' secretary trying to put up with you until I can retire and collect that pension you've been promising me.”
Quentin just chuckled as if that had been a long-standing joke between them.
Liz wracked her brain. The last time she'd been in Quentin's office, another woman, a temp obviously, had sat behind Celine's desk. “I don't think I've met Ms. O'Sullivan before.”
Celine gave her a bright smile. “Just Celine, dear. And no, we haven't met before, though I believe we've spoken by phone.”
Celine threw Quentin an amused look that he returned blandly, and Liz realized Celine must have been the woman who had called her to set up that first meeting in Quentin's offices—the one that had ended with the clinch and near kiss downstairs at the site for the day care. Feeling her face heat, she wondered what Celine knew about that initial encounter.
“I've heard so much about you,” Celine went on. “You're Ally's friend, aren't you?”
“Yes, I'm Liz.”
The phone rang then and Quentin strode back to his office, leaving the door ajar, and calling over his shoulder, “I'll be back in a minute.”
Celine's eyes twinkled. “He really is a good man but don't ever tell him I said that.”
“The newspapers love him.”
“Oh, phooey!” Celine waved a hand. “Quentin would rather pore over business reports than spend time at social functions, which he sees as a necessary evil of his job. The papers love him just because he's young, handsome, rich and eligible.”