The Last Groom On Earth. Kristin James
screaming that he was uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. “Well…”
Angela popped to her feet. “I better be going now.”
“What? Oh, yes, I suppose so. Look, Angela, I’m sorry—”
She shook her head, putting on what she hoped was a cheery, nonchalant face. “Nonsense. Happens to me all the time. Men stop me on the street to kiss me. It’s my irresistible charm.”
She nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Bryce stood still for a moment after she left, gazing blankly at the door. Finally he turned to the room service cart and absently lifted the covers. His earlier hunger had vanished, and he studied the food with uninterest.
Room service had come just in time, he thought. Who knows what might have happened if they had not been interrupted?
Stifling a sigh, he sat down and began to eat.
Angela drove home in a fury. She parked her car in the single garage assigned to her condominium and stomped up the stairs to her condo, still seething over her encounter with Bryce Richards.
The condominium complex where she lived was small and secluded, surrounded by large, spreading oaks. It was an elegant place without being pretentious, and its occupants were by and large young professionals without children. Angela’s condo, toward the rear of the complex, was a small, utilitarian, down-to-earth place with little decoration. She didn’t spend much time here. Her real home was the lake house, and it was there that she had put in most of her effort of furnishing and decorating. This condo was simply a place to sleep during the week, and its primary advantages were that it was quiet and close to work.
The furniture was simple and comfortable; some of it she had had from the tiny first apartment she had shared with Kelly when their business was beginning. It looked old and well lived-in, and the stacks of books all around—in bookcases, on tables and in piles on the floor—added to the casual, cozy ambience. At odds with the furniture, however, were the array of electronic machines and gadgets around the place.
Angela had always been intrigued by gadgets and time-saving or energy-saving devices, and when the company had started making good money, she had allowed herself to indulge in the clever machines that caught her fancy. Though she was not fond of cooking, her kitchen was a treasure trove of bread machines, cappuccino makers, electric steamers, icecream machines and various sorts of food processors. The second bedroom, which served as her office at home, was stocked with a fax machine, copier, two computers and an assortment of hand-held computerized games, translators, calculators and electronic novelties. Her favorite was the home theater setup at one end of her living room, where a large-screen TV and a multitude of speakers, VCRs, laser disc players, tuners, tape players, etc., provided sensational sound and view for any movie.
Tonight, however, she had no interest in popping any cassette into the VCR. Nor did cooking a dinner appeal to her. She was too restless, too agitated; her mind kept jumping from her tax troubles to Bryce Richards to her bizarre behavior in his hotel room. She rattled purposelessly around the condo for a few minutes and finally wound up on the small balcony in back.
The balcony was shielded from the sun and neighbors by large, sheltering oaks, but it had a clear view of the balcony next door. There a slim, curly-haired, middle-aged man fussed over a group of hanging plants, watering them and carefully breaking off dead leaves.
“Hi, Jim.” Angela leaned against the railing and smiled at the man, who turned and beamed at her. Jim had more or less adopted Angela when she first moved into her condo six years earlier, telling her she was the daughter he had never had, and they had weathered many an emotional storm with each other over the intervening years.
“Sweetheart!” He came over, the empty watering pot dangling from his hand. “My, aren’t you home early? What happened?”
Angela grimaced reflexively. “Trouble, probably.”
“Really?” His brows arched in amused curiosity. “Do tell. Is it interesting or some boring business thing?”
“It’s people, not business. Or maybe a combination of both.”
“Well, why don’t you come over and tell Daddy all about it? I have hot water on the stove and I’ll fix you a nice cup of herbal tea if you want.”
“Sure. That sounds great.” Angela turned and walked back through her condominium.
Jim opened the door for her just as she reached it and led her inside, chattering all the way as he walked back into the kitchen to fetch her tea.
His condo was a mirror image of hers structurally, But there would never be any mistaking the two. Jim’s place was done in the same campy, flamboyant style in which he spoke and acted. Having been around him in moments when he was quite serious, direct, and even practical, Angela had never been quite sure whether this flamboyance was real or merely something he assumed as befitting the owner of a trendy art gallery.
“So what happened?” he asked as he bustled back out of the kitchen, carrying a small tray on which sat two cups.
Angela, who had kicked off her shoes and leaned back in an ultramodern turquoise canvas chair, reached up and took the steaming cup gratefully. “Mmm…smells delicious.”
“Thank you. I had water heated because I was expecting Harbaugh, but, of course, he called about two minutes before you came and said he was going to be late again. Lawyers.” He made a face and took a sip of his tea. “But never mind that. Tell me about you.”
Angela sighed and began to relate the events of this afternoon, to Jim’s appreciative noises and comments. When she finished, she shrugged. “So there you have it. I dislike this guy, always have. He represents everything I don’t like about my family and that whole world they inhabit. And then all of a sudden, he kissed me! And I enjoyed it!”
“Sounds like not such a terrible problem to me,” Jim joked.
Angela answered with a derisive snort. “I’m serious. It’s a complication, a stupid, weird complication—as if I didn’t have enough with this IRS thing hanging over my head.”
“Well, you know, opposites attract and all that. I mean, look at Harbaugh and me—a lawyer, for pity’s sake! You know how serious he is. Sometimes I swear the man has no sense of humor. But we’ve been together almost four years now.”
“I know. With some people it probably works out. But you don’t know Bryce Richards. He’s not just serious or humorless, he’s also methodical and critical and analytical. I doubt that the man knows how to have fun. Everything has to have a reason. Besides, we don’t even like each other. He’s precisely the type of. man I don’t want, and I’m sure he still has some kind of grudge against me, considering all the awful twelve-year-old kind of practical jokes I played on him. I mean, just because I’ve grown up and suddenly there’s this physical thing between us, that doesn’t mean that we’re going to start liking each other. We’re still the same people, like night and day. It would be a mess…especially with us working together now. It’s going to be hard enough being in the same office with him as it is. If we were having an affair, too, it would be impossible.”
“Sorry,” Jim said, retreating into the serious persona that he usually strove to keep hidden. “Just teasing—although it does sound like there’s an awful lot of free-floating emotions in this relationship. Well, frankly, Angie, it seems to me like the only solution is to avoid him.”
“How can I do that? He’ll be working right down the hall from me.”
“So? Go to work late and stay late. You already do that lots of times. Stay in your office while you’re there and don’t go wandering all over talking to everybody.”
“Exile myself from my own business?” Angela frowned. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Then get rid of him.”
“No. That wouldn’t be fair to Tim and Kelly. We need his help even if I don’t