I Waxed My Legs for This? Page 3

  Jack started to protest, “But—”

  Carrie cut him off. “And we both also know that you’re more accustomed to working on contracts than representing someone in court, and yet court’s where you’ve been. The stress from that and—” she almost said Sandy, but didn’t want to remind him of the woman he’d lost “—and the fact you haven’t had fun in the longest time are all reasons for you to go with me.”

  “But, Carrie...” he tried again.

  She smiled and talked over his protests. “But nothing, Jack. I’m not making you go or anything. I’m sure I can find any number of men willing to take me to a resort for a week.”

  “A week, you didn’t say anything about it being a week. I thought it was just a weekend.”

  Martin himself brought a tray with their dinners and set them down. “Now, Carrie, you just sit back and eat, and forget about last night,” he said sympathetically.

  She leaned over and inhaled deeply. “Thank you.”

  “A week,” Jack snarled as Martin retreated. He automatically handed her a shrimp.

  Carrie took it and bit off the end. She set the tail on the edge of her plate as she sighed with satisfaction. “A week. And, as I was saying, I’m sure I can find any number of men willing to take me. I mean, everything’s paid for and all there is to do is sit on the beach and sip frosty, fruity drinks.”

  “Carrie, you don’t drink.”

  The trouble with lawyers was they were so very literal.

  “Ah, maybe not here, but on some tropical island paradise, I might. Now, since you don’t want to take me, let’s see if maybe you can help me figure out who I might invite.”

  ~~~

  “Carrie,” Jack said in a fit of exasperation.

  He didn’t know why he bothered to get into fights with her.

  Carrie always won.

  “I mean, Martin likes me. He might like to get away. Do you think there’s a Mrs. Martin?”

  She shook her head, her loose light hair flying. “No, he’d have said something if there was. We’re friends after all.” She mulled the idea for a bit then said, “Yes, maybe he’d like to go with me.”

  “Martin won’t be going with you,” Jack said with certainty.

  “No?”

  “No, the members here would be crushed without Martin to greet them,” he reminded her.

  “You’re right. They might never forgive me. Okay, well, who might be available from your office?” she asked gaily.

  She took a bite of her pasta. She chewed, her eyes closed and a look of sheer joy on her face.

  Something twisted in the pit of Jack’s stomach.

  Something that shouldn’t stir when watching a friend.

  It must be her dress, a dress designed to make a man think of sin.

  And following through on those thoughts with Carrie—his little sister, his best friend—would be nothing less than a sin.

  “Who’s available at my office?” he asked rhetorically. “No one.”

  Her eyes flew open and she swallowed. “You know, you are not being very helpful.”

  “I know.” He speared a shrimp and bit it viciously.

  “Well, if there’s no one you know, I guess I’m going to have to go trolling. The problem with working at a dress shop is that we don’t see a lot of men coming through the door and the few that do visit tend to have a significant other already.”

  “Trolling?” Jack asked, not liking the way the word sounded on his tongue or the images it planted in his mind.

  “Trolling. Where do you think I met Ted, for Pete’s sake? Certainly not at work. I answered his ad in the personals.”

  “Like hell you did.” He’d learned over the years to expect the unconventional from Carrie, but answering personal ads...well, that went beyond unconventional.

  “Like hell I didn’t,” she said with a sweet smile. “There are tons of guys writing to the paper every week. I’m sure one of them might want a trip to a tropical resort. Although, sharing a bedroom with a man I hardly know might be a bit uncomfortable.”

  “Ah, mon petite, I know you usually don’t partake, but I thought this wine would complement the pasta and lift your spirits as well. We all worry about you,” Martin said in a little French, big Pittsburgh accent.

  Carrie beamed at him. “My spirits are already lifting. Tell Felix that when I’m done I’ll come back and let him know just how much.”

  Martin poured a bit of the wine in a glass and passed it to Jack who nodded without taking a sip.

  “Shall I pour?” Martin asked.

  “We’re fine,” Jack bit out. He took the bottle and slopped the wine into their glasses.

  Carrie lifted another forkful of pasta to her mouth and sighed. “Oh, my gosh, Jack. I’m in heaven, right here in Erie, PA.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you haven’t even tried it.” She offered him what was on her fork.

  He shook his head and with resignation stated, “I said, yes, I’ll go to the island with you.”

  Carrie just shook her head in turn. “Oh, Jack, I’ve changed my mind. It wouldn’t be fair. I forgot how important your work is and how busy you are. Working in a vintage dress shop isn’t nearly as demanding as working to protect and serve the public.”

  “That’s the police,” he pointed out.

  “Well, they do a bit of protecting and serving, too, but you’re the one who actually puts the bad guys in jail. I can’t be the one to deny the citizens of Erie of your protection.”

  She slipped another bite into her mouth and sighed. “I’m sure I can find someone.”

  “Carrie, that’s the D.A. The only thing I protect is corporate liability.” He felt a headache coming on with a vengeance. Carrie could do that to him as easily as she could lift one.

  “And you won’t be finding anyone.” He gulped some wine.

  “Jack, I said, thank you, but my answer is no. Now, eat your dinner. That last case took a lot out of you. You’re looking a bit peaked.” She speared one of his shrimp and plopped it into her mouth.

  “I am not. And there will be no other man taking you anywhere.” Jack obliged her by taking a bite of his dinner. “I’m telling you, Carrington Rose Delany, that there will be no other man going with you on this trip.”

  “Jack.”

  “Please,” he said, pulling out the big guns.

  “Okay,” she said brightly.

  How did she do it?

  How did she always get him to do what she wanted, practically beg to have the honor of doing it?

  Jack stabbed at his dinner. He was an intelligent man, but he’d never been able to figure out women in general and Carrie specifically.

  Most of the time he forgot she was a woman—she was just Carrie. But times like this, he remembered her femininity with a vengeance.

  “You’re sure you can get the time off?”

  “No, but it doesn’t look like I have much choice,” he said through a mouthful of food.

  “Oh, you’re wrong, Jack, there are always choices.”

  “Not for me.”

  “Listen, I’m a big girl. I don’t need you to come along because you feel you have to. I can take care of myself and I’m sure I can find a man who would like to come on a trip with me.”

  “I said I’d go,” Jack said again.

  “Yeah, and I once showed more enthusiasm when I had to go to the doctor’s and have a plantar wart removed. Just forget it, Jack.”

  She had that look in her eye, the one that said he might be pulling his handkerchief out of his pocket again.

  “Carrie, let’s get this straight here and now, I’m going.”

  “You really want to?” she asked, her eyes bright. “You won’t mind sharing a bedroom with me? I thought we’d take turns in the bed. One night I’m in the bed and you’re on the floor, then the next night we switch. I know pretending to be a couple might not be fun, but the beach will be.”

  “You don’t have to convince me. I said yes.”
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  “You’re sure?” she asked again.

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well, if you’re sure, then that’s okay. I’ve been saying practically forever that you need some time off. This will be perfect. I’ll work on my tan and you can read something other than a court brief.”

  “I thought I’d take along some paperwork and play catch-up.”

  She shook her finger at him. “Oh, no, not on your life. This is a vacation, not some excuse to do paperwork. You’re going to relax and maybe I can remind you of how to play.”

  “What do you mean remind me?” he asked suspiciously.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she asked, “When’s the last time you did something just because it was fun?”

  “What’s fun?

  “I don’t know, you tell me. What do you think is fun these days? You used to love to play basketball, but you don’t anymore—”

  “I don’t have time,” he protested, but Carrie just ignored him.

  “You don’t have time to go to any games anymore, either. You don’t hang out with buddies at the bar. You don’t go lie on the beach and watch the clouds. You don’t take a walk in the middle of the rain, just because it’s fun.”

  “I don’t find getting soaked fun. I can get anywhere I want in my car and stay dry.”

  “You’re hopeless,” Carrie lamented.

  “And you just don’t understand the demands my job makes on me,” he said.

  People counted on him.

  Clients counted on him.

  He couldn’t just throw things over and go play in the rain. He didn’t have time to play.

  At least not in recent months.

  Neither of them had mentioned that Jack’s lack of fun coincided with his breakup with Sandy. Somehow, his ex always found her way into their conversations, though neither of them ever mentioned her.

  “Then change jobs,” Carrie said with a careless shrug.

  “What?”

  “If your job is so demanding you can’t afford to have fun, change it. Can you really tell me that you enjoy what you’re doing? Do you get up in the morning and say, Wow, I can’t wait to get to work today!”

  “Carrie, no one likes their job that much,” Jack said.

  Years ago he’d had that kind of innocence, but too many dry contracts and equally dry meetings had robbed him of the idea of really making a difference.

  What he made was money for Ericson and Roberts. And the more money he made for them, the more cases they threw at him so he could make more money for them.

  It was a merry-go-round, one he couldn’t seem to slow down.

  “I do,” she said in a small voice. “Selling, and occasionally designing dresses might not be as glamorous as being an attorney, but I love what I do.”

  She shook her head again. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. Let’s just concentrate on getting you out of town for a week without you bringing the office along with you.”

  “Fine,” he said, resigning himself to Carrie’s plan.

  “Fine,” she said, a smile on her face.

  Jack watched her attack her food and felt as if he’d somehow lost a fight he hadn’t even known he was waging.

  ~~~

  She’d won round one.

  Carrie burst through Encore’s door, dying to tell someone what she’d done.

  For once she was thankful the shop was devoid of customers, as she ran to the back office and found her boss, Eloise Summit, hard at work.

  “Eloise, I did it.” Carrie flopped into the chair opposite Eloise’s and grinned. “Oh, I so did it this time.”

  The tiny brunette looked up from the papers on her desk. “He fell for it?”

  “Of course he fell for it. We’re leaving tomorrow for a week, and Jack still doesn’t have a clue how it happened.”

  “Carrie, someday he’s going to figure out how blatantly you manipulate him.”

  “Never. I’ve been at it since we were kids. He’s never known what hit him.”

  She tipped a little farther back in her chair.

  She felt good. More than that, she felt great.

  She’d convinced Jack to take a break—a break he desperately needed. The tiny little lie she’d told was worth it.

  “Someday you might push him too far,” Eloise said.

  Carrie chuckled at the idea. “Never. Jack’s so busy rescuing me from myself that he never figures out how tricky I am. And he never will unless you or I tell him. And of course, we’re not going to tell him, right?”

  Eloise sighed and pushed the pile of papers she’d been working on back. “Right.”

  “Geesh. I get one of you to take a break and the other one starts to break down. So, what’s got you so stressed?”

  “I hate paperwork.” Eloise took the pen that was tucked behind her ear and tossed it on top of the pile of paper.

  “Leave it then. I’ll take care of it when I come back.”

  Carrie didn’t exactly love paperwork, but it didn’t bother her nearly as much as it bothered Eloise, so she took care of most of the small shop’s bookwork.

  “Actually it’s done.” Eloise picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to Carrie. “You better enjoy this vacation because your workload just picked up.”

  Carrie’s hands trembled as she stared at the paper. “Do you mean it?”

  A small rose stood delicately next to her name. Carrington Rose.

  A Carrington Rose Original.

  Her own line of dresses.

  It was a dream come true.

  She hadn’t lied when she told Jack that she loved what she did and looked forward to going to work. She liked people, enjoyed working with them one-on-one at Encore, making them happy, dressing them beautifully.

  But she had bigger dreams.

  Her own designs.

  Creating her own line of dresses was a dream that fit neatly into the life she’d carved for herself here at Encore, working for Eloise.

  Encore was a rather eclectic store, with a loyal, ever-growing, circle of clients.

  Not only did they sell vintage dresses and gowns, but they sold reproductions and up until now they’d occasionally carried one of Carrie’s originals. But now her occasional creations would be her own line of clothing with her own label.

  She’d tried college, tried about a dozen jobs and then stumbled on an ad Eloise had run. Someone who could sew and sell.

  Well, she’d learned to do both and under Eloise’s tutelage, she’d learned to do both well.

  She stared at the label logo. This was the culmination of all that work and a lot of dreaming.

  “You’re sure it won’t flop?” Carrie asked.

  The idea of failure was a scary part of realizing a dream.

  “Carrie, you know how people rave about your work. Look at the trouble Jaycee Smith has gone to just so she can wear one of your designs to the award banquet in her honor at Tennessee State. She’s in the WNBA and could have picked any number of designers. But she chose you.”

  “My own label,” she whispered. Then louder, as the news really sunk in she sprang from the chair. “My own label.”

  “Your labels will be waiting for you when you get home in a week. And it might be tough, but forget your own label.” Eloise stood. “Right now, we have to do some shopping.”

  “For what?” Carrie asked as Eloise herded her out of the office.

  “You’re going to a romantic island with a man, and you have to ask? You need new clothes.”

  “Its just Jack.”

  Eloise shot Carrie a strange look she couldn’t quite define.

  “Yes. It’s just Jack and you alone for a week.”

  “But—”

  “Consider this a chance to advertise Encore. Because this is a special vacation package, there will be a lot of Erie-ites on that beach.”

  Before Carrie knew what had happened, Eloise was thrusting clothes at her in a dressing room and she was trying them on.

  “You’re going to be fly
ing high,” Eloise promised.

  ~~~

  Carrie might be flying high, but she wanted nothing more than to set her feet back on solid ground again.

  “Oh, Jack, I forgot how much I hate flying.”

  “Care, you’ve never flown before.”

  “And I never want to again.” She clutched the armrests of her seat. She was sure her knuckles were almost as white as her face must be.

  She’d won.

  She’d left Jack no time to back out of the trip, and here they were, on a plane, flying to their doom.

  At the moment she didn’t feel like much of a winner.

  “Really, Care, it’s just some turbulence,” he said the soul of reasonableness.

  “I don’t believe you and I don’t believe Captain Dave, either,” she said. “We’ve probably lost an engine or a wing or something else that’s equally important when flying in a plane.”

  “It’s just turbulence,” Jack said again.

  “Yeah, you and Captain Dave keep saying that. And what kind of name is Captain Dave?”

  “I’m sure he’s competent or they wouldn’t have him flying the plane.” Jack rubbed her shoulders.

  Carrie was too worried to enjoy his touch. “Competent shmompetent. The man is flying us to our doom.”

  “Lighten up, Carrie. This was your idea,” Jack said in his normal, confident way.

  Carrie hated that confident, self-assured part of him at this moment.

  “Sure, remind me that I’ve driven you to your death. Yeah, that’s going to make me feel better.”

  Jack was such a man, no compassion hidden beneath that hard exterior.

  He’d never realize the effort she’d made to get him to relax before he worked himself into an ulcer or worse.

  He’d never know how much she ached every time she saw that look in his eyes—the look that said he was thinking about Sandy.

  He’d never know because she’d never tell him.

  And, she’d never tell him because they were obviously flying to their doom—she wouldn’t have time.

  He raised his dark brows in what might have been his attempt at sympathy and patted her shoulders again. “We’re going to be just fine.”

  “Uh-huh,” she managed to say.