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"Happy Valentine's Day, Blaine."
He turned his brooding gaze from the tumescent moon to look at her. "Thank you, Mother."
"You shouldn't be hiding out here." She cast a disapproving glance at the brandy perched on the balcony railing. "Drinking yourself stupid. There are several young ladies inside. You only have three weeks until your thirtieth birthday."
Blaine sighed, running a hand through his carelessly styled blond curls, leaving them in disarray. "I have no intention of marrying just to inherit the company. I don't care what Grandfather's will said!"
Abigail shook her head, sending strands of impeccably coiffed, discreetly-tinted blond hair flying around her face. "Really, Blaine. You can't be like this."
"I won't marry for any reason besides love, Mother. Grandfather was in love with the institution, not any of his four wives." His handsome face twisted into a grimace.
"You only have to marry a girl. The will said nothing about staying married..."
"Butt out, Mother!"
She recoiled, wearing a practiced look of martyrdom. "If you don't care about your inheritance going to that idiot, Milton, why should I? I won't say another word."
Blaine couldn't bite back a sarcastic laugh. The day his mother kept her own counsel about any issue would be the end of the world. She would continue to prod him until he fell in line, or the deadline passed. The barbed comments wouldn't end if he allowed Caufield Industries to fall to Milton.
"I didn't come out here to argue."
"Of course, Mother."
She sniffed, but ignored him. "I need you to handle the caterers. I've tried, but the kitchen is so busy... One girl completely ignored me."
Blaine scooped up the snifter. "What do I need to handle?"
"The servers aren't circulating canapes anymore."
"Can't have the glitterati be deprived of their hors d'oeuvres, can we?"
Abigail frowned. "Why have you become so petulant?"
His smile was ambiguous as he followed her back into the crush of the ballroom. "Stress." The stress of trying to keep the family business together when the stockholders were as antsy as a bunch of rats on a sinking ship. He smiled at his own analogy, thinking it fitted the board to a T. Word of William Caufield's ridiculous provision in his will had leaked. They wanted to abandon ship before the company became the Titanic under Milton's leadership.
She didn't bother to inquire further. "You'll deal with that firm? I can't understand a word that Frenchman speaks, and none of his assistants seem competent. One girl..."
"...ignored you. I'll speak with him."
Since her business was settled, Abigail headed back into the fray, leaving Blaine standing alone. He saw two daughters of an associate eyeing him. Their ravenous expressions gave him impetus to hurry into the kitchen.
As Mother had said, it was crowded. Small clusters of employees in white uniforms grouped together around two islands in the center of the kitchen. A few others, dressed in tuxedo shirts, impatiently clutched silver trays, awaiting refills. Jean-Pierre wasn't around.
Blaine scanned the kitchen; his gaze settling on one woman, standing alone at the counter. Her back was to him, affording him the sight of her shapely figure and sable hair, neatly confined in one long braid.
"She'll do." He pushed his way through until he stood behind her. "Excuse me."
She didn't look up. Her attention seemed to be engrossed on her hands' work.
"Miss?" Blaine sighed with annoyance when she still didn't look at him. His voice was rougher than he'd intended when he said, "We need canapes." His mouth twisted sardonically. "Apparently, it's an emergency."
When she continued to ignore him, Blaine's temper rose another notch. He reached out to touch her shoulder just as she turned around. She wore a look of surprise on her comely face, and only his quick reflexes kept them from wearing the tray of canapes. "Pay more attention."
"Wha'?" Her voice didn't sound right.
"If you'd paid more attention, you would have known I was behind you."
She shook her head. Her mocha-brown eyes were wide, and a flush stained her cheeks, although from exertion or embarrassment, he couldn't say.
Sighing, Blaine handed her the tray. "Are these the last canapes?"
She nodded, much to his continued annoyance.
"Strong, silent type, huh?"
To his embarrassment, her eyes grew moist, and she blinked several times. She turned her back on him, gesturing to a nearby waitress. Once the girl had taken the canapes, she pushed past Blaine to hurry from the kitchen.
Blaine frowned at the girl's hot glare. "What?"
"She's deaf, sir. Lilly rarely speaks." Her sir was so sarcastic that she might as well have called him an idiot.
Embarrassed, Blaine broke eye contact with the girl. He winced, remembering his rudeness. Reluctantly, he sat aside his drink to follow Lilly.
He found her by a white van, hugging herself. He saw her shiver in the night air. Giving into a chivalrous impulse, Blaine slipped off the tuxedo jacket, draping it around her shoulders.
She whirled around, frowning when she saw him.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know." He sighed. "I don't know how to apologize since you can't hear me."
Her expression softened slightly, and she touched his lips.
"You read lips?"
She nodded.
"Can you speak?" He winced at the insensitive question.
She seemed unfazed. "A lit'l."
The pronunciation wasn't right, but he could understand her.
"Would you have dinner with me tomorrow?" Blaine blinked when he extended the invitation.
She seemed as surprised as him, and pointed at her chest, then him. She waved to the magnificent house, then at her uniform.
"We can't have dinner together because I live here, and you work for Jean-Pierre?" She nodded, causing him to laugh. "Who cares about that?"
She quirked a brow at him, studying him carefully. After a pause, she nodded.
"You'll come?"
"Yesh."
Blaine fumbled in his pocket for a pad and pen before realizing they were on his nightstand. "Do you have a pen?"
She pulled one from her uniform pocket. Blaine turned his hand over. "What's your address? Write it on my palm."
She grinned, then leaned closer to write her address on his hand. Blaine caught a whiff of her shampoo, inhaling sharply. He felt an overwhelming attraction to Lilly, and only hoped she might feel the same since she'd agreed to have dinner with him. "You want to join the party?"
She rolled her eyes at him, then pointed to Jean-Pierre's logo on the van.
"Right--you have to work." He flushed. "Sorry. Is seven okay?"
She nodded.
"I'll see you then.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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