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Chapter Three
P.J. wanted to turn around and look back in the worst way. Yet the last thing, the very last thing she wanted was for Alex Noble to think she was interested in him like the rest of those silly women at work.
Because she wasn’t.
Not at all.
But, she thought grudgingly, she had to admit he was good to look at. Idly, she wondered how tall he was. At least six-two or six-three, she imagined. P.J. had always had a thing for tall men. Maybe that was because at five-seven she was on the tall side herself. And the rare times she got dressed up, she liked wearing three-inch heels. She also liked looking up when she was with a man. No Katie Holmes–Tom Cruise thing for her!
Will you stop it? Alex Noble is not in the running as an escort or anything else. Remember that. He’s an employee. Your employee. So even if you were interested—and you’re not!—you don’t date employees.
Ever.
Yet no matter how many times she told herself to stop thinking about Alex, she couldn’t seem to wipe the image of him in those shorts and that T-shirt that defined his well-developed pecs out of her mind.
She thought about him all the way back to her condo. She thought about him as she took a quick shower. She thought about him as she dressed to meet Courtney. And she was still thinking about him as she walked into Mackey’s Bar and Grill in beautiful downtown Webber—which was halfway between Seattle proper and Jansen—at exactly one minute to seven.
Courtney was already there and had secured a booth. She grinned at P.J. and stood to give her a hug. Courtney had inherited their mother’s blond hair and green eyes, whereas P.J.’s coloring came from her Grandmother Kincaid. As always, Courtney looked bandbox perfect in creamy linen cropped pants, a short-sleeved black silk summer sweater, and black espadrilles. P.J. couldn’t help but notice the beautifully manicured toenails and fingernails sporting a summery shade of coral. In contrast, P.J.’s own nails were unpolished and desperately needed work. And her jeans and T-shirt weren’t exactly the latest fashion, either.
That’s what happens when there’s no man in your life, an insidious little voice said. You forget to pay attention to yourself. She couldn’t even use the excuse of her job, because most of the women at the center paid a lot more attention to their appearance than P.J. did.
She and Courtney had barely said their hellos and how-are-yous when their waiter approached. “What can I get you to drink?” he asked, looking at P.J.
“What have you got on draft?” she asked.
He named the brands.
“No Black Sheep?” P.J. had a weakness for good English ale.
“No, sorry.”
“Okay. I’ll have a Guinness.” She smiled at her sister after he’d left to fill her order. “What’re you drinking?”
Courtney made a face. “Ginger ale.”
Thinking her sister wasn’t having a beer because she had a fairly long drive back to Mercer Island where she and her husband had bought a new home the year before, P.J. said, “One beer should be okay. I mean, you’re going to eat before you get behind the wheel again.”
Courtney hesitated, her gaze sliding away briefly before returning to meet P.J.’s. “That’s not why I’m not drinking,” she finally said.
“Well, what then—?” P.J. stopped abruptly. She fought against feelings she’d thought she’d conquered long ago. Yet here they were again, still hurtful, still unworthy of her, especially considering how much she loved Courtney. “You’re pregnant again?” she asked softly.
Courtney nodded. “Three months.”
“Three months! And you’ve kept it a secret this long?” P.J. was proud of herself. She sounded just the way she wanted to sound—happy for Courtney and nothing else.
“I wanted to wait till I’d passed the first trimester.” Courtney’s eyes searched P.J.’s. P.J. knew Courtney was worried about how her news would affect P.J.
Reaching across the table, she took Courtney’s hand. “Are you happy about this?” Courtney and her husband already had three kids—a boy, ten, and two little girls, seven and four.
Courtney nodded. “I am. Brad…well, he wants another boy in the worst way.”
P.J. refrained from rolling her eyes or saying what she thought about Brad and his wants. In her opinion, her sister’s husband was a neanderthal. P.J. wouldn’t have put up with him for a minute, let alone the twelve years Courtney’d been married to him. For one thing, he didn’t believe in women holding jobs outside the home.
For another, he was constantly saying things like, “Honey, you wouldn’t understand that even if I did explain it,” when Courtney asked him about anything to do with his job. You’d think he was a rocket scientist, for God’s sake, when he was a lawyer.
Courtney was every bit as smart as he was, probably smarter, P.J. thought. Yet she seemed contented with Brad. His put-downs didn’t seem to bother her at all. In fact, she didn’t even seem to notice them.
To each his own, P.J. thought. Better her than me.
“Well, if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you,” she said now. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Courtney sipped at her ginger ale and eyed her sister over the rim of her glass.
P.J. knew she wanted to say something. To prevent yet another conversation about P.J.’s situation, she hurriedly asked, “Do Mom and Dad know?”
“Not yet.”
“You mean, you’re telling me before you told them?”
“You’re my favorite sister, you know that.”
They smiled at each other, and P.J. forced herself to remember how lucky she was. She might not ever be able to have any children of her own, and she might have repudiated her family’s money and her status as an heiress, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love her parents and siblings. And she absolutely adored her nieces and nephews—Courtney’s three and soon to be four, Jillian’s two, and Peter’s two.
P.J. told herself it didn’t matter if she couldn’t have kids, because she had no intention of getting married, anyway. She’d known long ago she wasn’t cut out for marriage. In fact, she couldn’t imagine subjugating herself to a man…any man. Just the idea of a man telling her what she could and couldn’t do set her teeth on edge.
And she certainly wasn’t cut out for homemaking. Hell, she couldn’t even boil water, let alone cook. And as far as cleaning went, forget that, too. One of her indulgences was a once-a-week maid service, and even if she had to give up food, she intended to keep that.
Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. She liked food too much, especially carbs. In fact, she’d never met a carb she didn’t like. That was the biggest reason she forced herself to run five miles every day. So she could keep eating all those fries and pasta and pizza and still keep her figure.
Yet, even as she told herself all of this, she knew she might have been willing to give the marriage thing a try if not for her probable inability to have children. Providing, of course, the right man should come along.
You can always adopt.
Maybe, she thought. But there again, it would take the right kind of man. And lately, she’d begun to think he didn’t exist.
Plenty of single women adopt.
P.J. had actually considered adoption. In fact, she’d given some serious consideration to adopting an older child—one of the ones considered hard to place since everyone seemed to want babies. And maybe one of these days she’d finally get around to doing something about it.
By now the waiter had brought P.J.’s beer and the sisters had placed their orders—P.J. a steak sandwich and fries, Courtney the house specialty of coconut-crusted shrimp salad.
“P.J., you eat entirely too much junk food,” Courtney said mildly as their waiter walked off.
“I know. That’s why I run.”
“Do you ever eat a salad?”
“Sure.”
“How often, once a month?”
P.J. grinned. “You know me too well.” After taking a swallow of her beer, she said, “So you’re due in…mid-February?”
Courtney nodded. “February fourteenth, to be exact.”
“At least it’s not Christmas day.” P.J.’s birthday was two days before Christmas and she’d always hated that. “Just don’t name him Valentino or something like that.”
Courtney snorted. “Like Brad would let me.”
To keep from saying something snide about Brad, P.J. said, “So what else is new?”
“Let’s see. Um, Melissa McKee is getting a divorce.”
“You’re not serious!”
“Melissa’s the one who told me.”
“That’s a shame. I thought she and Rod had a good marriage.”
“Hey, he’ll be eligible now…” Courtney’s eyes were speculative.
P.J. knew what she was thinking. “Forget that,” she said quickly. “He’s not my type. But he’ll have no shortage of women lining up to be the next Mrs. McKee, I’m sure of that.”
Rod was a very wealthy man as well as a good-looking one. P.J. wasn’t sure what he did. Something in commodities trading, she thought. He probably had no social conscience to speak of. Definitely not her type.
Thinking that, she couldn’t help remembering she’d said the same thing about Alex Noble just today, that he was not her type, either. Something in her expression must have alerted Courtney to the direction of her thoughts because her sister said, “Wait a minute. Are you dating someone?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“You had a strange look on your face.”
“Oh, I was just thinking about a new guy who started working for me today. Anna—you’ve heard me talk about her—said something about him and I told her he wasn’t my type, either.”
“Why’d she say something about him?”
P.J. shrugged. “He’s kind of a hunk. If you like that type.”
“And what type is that?”
“Oh, you know, tall, dark, handsome.” P.J. smiled in spite of herself.
“And you don’t like that type.” Courtney shook her head, laughing. “You’re one of a kind, you know that?”
Just then the waiter came with their food, and the sisters fell silent until he was gone again.
Courtney began to cut up her salad. She speared a piece of shrimp and some lettuce leaves, but before putting them into her mouth, she said, “Maybe you should give this new guy at work a chance. Who knows? You might actually like him.”
“Who said he’s interested in me?” P.J. poured a mound of ketchup next to her fries and dipped one in.
Courtney gave her a look. “You’re a very pretty, very sexy woman. Of course he’ll be interested in you.” She forked another bite of salad into her mouth. Then she grinned. “That’s if you can keep your mouth shut.”
P.J. glared at her sister. But she couldn’t hold the expression and was soon laughing. “Yeah, that can be a problem,” she admitted. She’d run more than one guy off by expressing her opinions, which were almost always diametrically opposed to theirs.
“So tell me more about this guy,” Courtney said when their laughter subsided.
“No point. I’m not interested in him. And even if I were, which I’m not, he works for me. I don’t date guys who work for me. It wouldn’t be a good idea.”
Courtney nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Conflict of interest or something.” She studied P.J. for a minute. “Are you sure it’s not the baby thing stopping you? Because if it is, lots of guys don’t want kids.”
P.J. sighed. “I know that.” She wanted to add that any guy who didn’t want kids was probably not the kind of guy she’d want to be with, anyway, but she didn’t. Courtney would just feel bad if she said something like that.
“Do you? Seems to me you throw up all kinds of excuses to keep men at a distance, and I can’t help thinking that’s the real reason.”
P.J. shrugged. “It’s not. But I can’t help thinking about it. I mean, what if I start dating someone and really like them and they like me? Then I tell them I can’t have kids? Is that fair?”
“Well, you can hardly tell them before you go out with them,” Courtney pointed out. She made a face. “It is a problem, isn’t it?”
P.J. nodded, then made a face. “Let’s change the subject, okay? I’m awfully tired of this one. Tell me what Jillian and Peter are up to. I haven’t talked to either one in weeks.”
“The phone works both ways, you know.”
P.J. started to laugh. “If my eyes had been closed, I would have sworn that was Mom talking.”
The expression on Courtney’s face was priceless. But then she joined P.J.’s laughter, and for the rest of evening, they kept their conversation lighthearted.
Alex had just finished his dinner—a really excellent omelette—and before settling in with the new T. Jefferson Parker book he’d bought, he decided to check his messages on his home phone. He didn’t really expect there to be anything important, but he’d better check, anyway.
The first two were invitations he wasn’t interested in accepting—he’d ask his secretary to send his regrets—the third was a hangup, and the fourth was from Georgie—short for Georgianna, the oldest of Cornelia’s four daughters.
The message started with, “Hey, Alex, where the heck are you? I called your office but the call was routed to Marti and she said you’re taking a leave of absence? Holy cow, has hell frozen over? I’ve hardly ever known you to leave your precious foundation for a vacation, let alone a leave of absence. Call me! I need to talk to you. Smooches.”
Alex chuckled. He loved Georgie. Too bad he felt toward her the way he felt toward Julie, because if not, she’d have made a perfect wife.
Punching in the code for her cell, he waited for her to pick up. Instead he got her voice mail. “This is Georgie. Leave a message and I’ll call you back soonest.”
At the beep, he said, “Hey, girl. It’s me, Alex. Call me if you get this message before eleven. After that I’ll be racking up Zs. Oh, and I’ve got a new cell.” He gave her the number, then said, “If you don’t get home early enough to call back tonight, wait till after four tomorrow, okay?” Not wanting to explain any further, he broke the connection.
Her call back came a little after ten.
“A leave of absence, a new cell, don’t call after eleven, don’t call during the day…what in the world is going on?” she said.
“And hello to you, too,” Alex said, grinning. He laid his book on the coffee table, then got up and stretched.
She laughed, the sound low and warm and contagious. “C’mon, quit stalling. Have you joined the CIA or something?”
“Nothing that drastic.”
“Well, where are you?”
So Alex explained. When he was finished, there was silence for a long moment. Then she said, “I cannot believe this. I especially can’t believe my mother went along with it. I mean, Alex, this is the craziest scheme I’ve ever heard.”
“Maybe not that crazy.”
“What do you mean, not that crazy? This is the twenty-first century, not the eighteenth.” Her voice was indignant. “And giving you a time limit? It’s blackmail, that’s what it is.”
“Yes, I guess it is, but—”
“But nothing. I’m going to have a serious talk with Mother. I always knew she was blind as far as your father is concerned, but this is the limit.”
Alex couldn’t help grinning at Georgie’s anger on his behalf. She was nothing if not loyal. “Calm down, okay? I admit, I was ticked off at first, but I’m actually okay with it now.” An image of P.J. and the way she’d looked in the park earlier flashed through his mind. “I think it might work out well.”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying you’ve found somebody already?”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far. But there are some possibilities.”
“So you’re saying you’re no longer free to meet me for lunch during the week?” Georgie worked for an ad agency in downtown Seattle, and they’d fallen into the habit of meeting for lunch at least once a week.
“No, afraid not.”
“How about dinner?”
“Dinner I can do.”
“How about tomorrow night?”
“Where?”
She named a restaurant they’d frequented in the past. Luckily it was on the Portland side of Seattle, so Alex wouldn’t have as much traffic to contend with.
“It’ll have to be an early night, since I’ll have a long drive back,” he said.
“How early?”
“Seven?”
“That’s doable. I’ll see you then. Oh, and Alex?”
“Yes?”
“Despite what you said, I’m still going to give Mother a piece of my mind!”
Chapter Four
By the end of his first week, Alex felt like an old pro at his job. He knew where the most popular products were located without having to look at his diagram, and even when he did have to look, it didn’t take him long to find what he needed, get it off the shelf, and fill the order. In fact, he worked almost as fast as Rick did.
“You’re doing a great job,” Rick said, clapping him on the back late Friday afternoon. They’d both been asked to stay until five because of a huge order that had come in right before their shift was about to end. “You filled as many orders as I did today.”
Alex smiled. “Thanks.”
Even P.J. gave him a compliment, saying, “You’ve caught on fast, Alex.”
It was absurd how pleased he was by their praise, especially P.J.’s. Maybe she was beginning to trust him. She didn’t seem to be watching him as much as she had those first few days.
He’d been watching her, though. He couldn’t seem to help it. And the more he watched her, the more intrigued he became, and the more he entertained the possibility of her as a potential wife.
She had just walked by the aisle where he was working when Rick approached from the other end. Alex hoped the younger man hadn’t seen him staring at P.J.
But Rick’s gaze was guileless. “Hey man, it’s quitting time.”
Alex looked at his watch. It was after five. The time had gone so fast that afternoon, he hadn’t realized how late it was.
“I wanted to tell you that we usually stop off at Jake’s for a couple of beers on Fridays,” Rick said. “Want to come?”
“Who’s we?”
“Just a bunch of us from the different departments. Mostly singles.”
Alex wondered if P.J. would be there. “Okay, sure. Sounds good. Uh, does the boss usually go, too?” He inclined his head in the direction of P.J.’s office.
“Sometimes. Not always. But even if she does show up, she’s pretty low-key when she’s there. She doesn’t act like the boss or anything.”
“That’s good,” Alex said for Rick’s benefit.
“Some of the guys stay and eat,” Rick said as they walked out to the parking lot together. “Jake’s has great fried shrimp and onion rings, but me, I gotta get home. Maria’s mother is visiting and she said she’d babysit tonight if me and Maria want to catch a movie or something. Maria’s all excited.” He grinned. “Thing is, we don’t get out much.”
Alex had seen Jake’s Grill on his drive back and forth to work. Located on River Street, it was only about five minutes from the distribution center. Although it had been raining earlier in the day, the sun had broken through the clouds by the time he reached the five-year-old red Ford pickup truck he’d purchased to conform with his new status in life.
He grinned as he unlocked the driver’s-side door. He actually liked the truck. Hell, he might even keep it when this masquerade was over.
After getting in, he rolled down the window. He also liked fresh air. In his capacity as Managing Director of the Harrison Hunt Foundation, when he wasn’t sitting on his butt in the office, he spent a lot of time traveling to various facilities. That was the hardest part about his job at the distribution center—having to be indoors all day long.
The drive to Jake’s was short. When he got there, the parking lot was already half-full, even though it was early by most standards. He parked the pickup, locked it and strode toward the entrance.
The inside of Jake’s sported dark woods, dart boards on the far wall, and long tables rather than booths. Alex smiled at the player piano cranking out “The Entertainer” and the pretty waitresses in their short black skirts and white blouses. He saw there was also a juke box and some video games on the far wall.
Spying Rick at a long table near the bar, he walked over to join the HuntCom group. He’d met most of them already. A quick glance told him if P.J. was coming, she hadn’t made it yet.
“Hey, Alex,” Rick said. Sliding his chair over, he made room for Alex to join them. “You know everyone?”
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” said a striking blonde sitting on the other side of Rick. “I’m Carrie Wancheck. I work in payroll.”
“Alex Noble,” Alex said, leaning over to shake her hand. “I’ve seen you around.” He was almost certain she was one of the women who had checked him out during his first couple of days on the job.
She was very pretty, but too young for him, nearer his sister’s age than his. He guessed she was probably in her early twenties. He knew a lot of men who had married women fifteen and twenty years younger than them—in fact, the older the men, the more they seemed to like young women. But he wanted someone who wasn’t a kid. Someone with ideas, who maybe read the newspaper and had opinions on more than fashions and movies.
Someone like P.J.
The thought came unbidden, almost surprising him. Yet he knew it had been brewing for a while.
“So how do you like working at HuntCom?” Carrie asked.
“I like it fine.”
She smiled. “And we certainly like having you.”
Her tone left no doubt that she was flirting with him. “Thanks,” he answered casually. “It seems like a good place to work.”
“You want a beer?” Rick said, pushing his chair back and standing.
“Yeah, but I can go get it. Or wait for the waitress to bring me one.”
“Okay. Enjoy. I’ve gotta get going or Maria will kill me.”
There were good-natured mutters of “henpecked” and “who wears the pants in your family, Rick?” as he headed for the bar.
The moment he was gone, Carrie slid over onto his vacated seat. She smiled up at Alex. “So I hear you’re from Sacramento?”
“Not from Sacramento. I was born in the San Diego area.”
That was actually true. Alex’s mother had been visiting friends in La Jolla when her water broke—three weeks early—and she gave birth to Alex there. Without Harry’s presence, as she had bitterly said more than once.
“I worked in Sacramento before moving here, though.” Alex felt he could carry this myth off without tripping himself up because he’d spent a couple of weeks in Sacramento in the course of doing the foundation’s work.
“What made you come to this area?”
“My brothers all live around here.” Now why did he say that?
“Brothers?” Her eyes met his coyly. “Are they all as good-looking as you are?”
Alex was saved from having to answer by Rick’s reappearance. “Hey,” he said to Carrie. “You stole my seat.”
She grinned. “Yes, I did.”
He made a face at Alex, handed him his beer—Miller on tap—and sat in her old seat.
“You guys want to hear a joke?” said one of the men on the other side of the table.
“Is it clean? There are ladies present,” someone else—Alex thought his name was Mike—said.
“Ladies?” the jokester countered, laughing. “I don’t see no ladies.”
“Hey, watch it,” Carrie said.
“Oh. Didn’t see you there, Carrie,” he answered with a mock frown.
The banter continued and Alex was able to turn his attention away from Carrie without being rude, but when Rick got up a few minutes later, saying he had to leave, she put her hand on Alex’s arm and leaned closer.
“I know a much quieter and nicer place where we could have some privacy.” Her smile was suggestive. “And they have much better food.”
Alex was taken off-guard and for a moment and couldn’t think how to answer her. “Thanks, Carrie, but I have to be going myself.”
She pouted. “Oh, do you? Darn. I was really hoping to get to know you better.”
And Alex had been hoping to have dinner there, with the others, especially if P.J. should show up, but now there was no way he could. Damn. He’d have to figure out a way to head little Miss Carrie off at the pass. She wasn’t even being subtle about her intentions. But she was definitely too young for him, no matter how pretty and sexy she was. More important, he couldn’t imagine his aunt approving of someone like her, even if he were interested.
After draining his beer, he stood. “Have a good weekend, everyone. I’ve got to be going, too.”
“Sure you won’t change your mind?” Carrie asked.
Alex just shook his head and said his goodbyes, making a quick exit.
As he drove home to his apartment, he wondered if J.T. and Gray were faring any better than he was in finding a suitable candidate to be the next Mrs. Hunt. Justin, of course, had already found his—the mother of his year-old daughter, Ava. A daughter Justin’d had no idea even existed, because Lily, Ava’s mother and Justin’s former lover, had never told him about her after their breakup.
Alex smiled thinking of Ava. He hadn’t met his niece yet but he’d seen a photo of her, and she was a winner. With her dark hair and dimples, she was clearly a Hunt. In fact, she looked exactly like Justin. And from the look on Harry’s face when he’d seen that photo, she’d already captured his heart.
For a moment when Justin had told them about Lily, Ava’s mother, Alex had hoped Harry would drop the challenge for the rest of them. After all, he had his much-coveted grandchild now. But no such luck. Harry had only said the rest of them had better get busy.
Alex knew he’d have to make up his mind soon. Pick one of the women he’d met or make an effort to meet someone new. It was already entering the second week of September and he needed a bride and a baby on the way by next July.
What would Harry do if one of the brides wasn’t pregnant by July? Hell, there were no guarantees. Surely the old man would be fair. If they’d fulfilled their part by marrying suitable women, surely Harry would give them some leeway on the pregnancy question.
But what if he didn’t?
What if, after finding brides, they ended by losing their stakes in Harry’s empire, anyway?
P.J. was just about to walk out the door when her cell phone rang. Checking the number, she saw it was her brother.
She pressed the talk button. “Hey, Peter, what’s up?”
“Nothing much. Just haven’t talked to you in a couple of weeks and thought I’d better see if you were still alive.”
Why was it Peter always made her feel guilty? “I’ve been busy. For some reason, lots of people have decided they need Hunt products this month.”
“So business is good?”
“Very good.”
“And you still like that…job?”
“I still like my job.” Peter asked the same questions every time they talked. It was as if he couldn’t believe anyone could possibly enjoy the kind of work she did. He was always telling her she was wasting her education, not to mention her brain. His lack of respect for what she did used to make P.J. mad. Now she just patiently gave him the same answers and ignored his jabs.
“Allison said to tell you hello. She’s looking forward to seeing you at Dad’s birthday dinner next week.”
P.J.’s father would turn seventy the following Saturday and they were celebrating with a big family dinner at her parents’ home.
“I still haven’t figured out what to buy him,” she said. “He has everything. What’re you and Allison giving him?”
Peter laughed. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“What?”
“A guitar.”
“A guitar!”
“It was Allison’s idea.”
P.J. was laughing now, too. “Did he say he wanted a guitar?”
“Nope. But you know how he is. A total workaholic. Allison said he needed something to do that was relaxing and fun. A hobby of some kind. So we settled on a guitar. I mean, he used to like Dylan. I actually heard him listening to Dylan’s music once.”
P.J. was still laughing. “Maybe I should arrange for him to have some lessons.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“Think so? Okay, then. I will.” Somehow she didn’t think her father was going to be pleased, but she had to hand it to Allison and Peter. They had guts.
“So what are you doing tonight?” Peter asked. “Got a hot date?”
P.J. snorted. “Yeah. Sure. Actually, I was just getting ready to join some of the guys from work at a local pub.”
“I won’t keep you then. See you next week, okay?”
They said their goodbyes, and P.J. finished clearing off her desk, then headed out the door. Fifteen minutes later, she walked into Jake’s Grill. Quickly scanning the crowded room, she spied the group from HuntCom.
Even as she told herself she wasn’t looking for him, her gaze traveled around the group to see if Alex was there. When she didn’t see him, she told herself she wasn’t disappointed. If anything, she was relieved.
But she knew she was lying.
“Hey, P.J.’ Bout time you got here.” This came from Mike Fields, who worked out at the docks.
Everyone scooted their chairs to make room for her, and P.J. grabbed an empty chair from another table and squeezed in between Carrie Wancheck and Chick Fogarty.
She motioned to a nearby waitress. “I’ll have a bottle of Beck’s, Jessie.”
“Sure thing, P.J.”
Carrie nudged P.J.’s arm. “You just missed Alex.”
P.J.’s traitorous heart skipped a beat. “Alex who?”
“Oh, c’mon, P.J. Alex Noble. Your new sexy employee. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh. Him.”
“Yeah, him. I tried to persuade him to go to Costello’s with me, but he had to leave.”
P.J. pretended indifference. “Maybe he had a date.”
Carrie frowned. “Think so?”
“A man like him? I don’t see him sitting home on a Friday night.”
“Shoot. You’re probably right. Well, I’m not giving up. Guys like Alex don’t come along every day.”
“You know, Carrie, he really is a lot older than you are. And you don’t know anything about him.”
“He’s gorgeous, he’s well-spoken, he smells good, and he has a fantastic smile. I mean, those dimples!” Carrie sighed. “The only thing he doesn’t have is money.”
P.J. refrained from rolling her eyes. “How do you know that?”
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