Page 63 of Live a Little!

Oh, she was so mad she could spit. He was flirting withherwhile his date just sat there miserable and gettingplastered.

Agnes raised her head, two bright spots of color on her cheeks. “He likes his young hotties to look beautiful. Old Agnes he just wants plain and dull. Like an old couch with brokensprings.”

“Now, Agnes, that’snot—”

“Did he bring you flowers?” Agnes interrupted, staring at Cynthia owlishly and jerking her thumb in Neville’sdirection.

“Yes. A dozen white roses.” They’d creeped her out alittle.

“I got a teapot. See what I mean? Roses for the hottie, a teapot for the oldcouch.”

“Agnes—” George gazed at her empty glass in alarm “—I think you’ve hadenough—”

“You’re damned right I’ve had enough. I am a woman. I have a woman’s needs. And you,” she finished grandly, “are an oldpatoot.”

You go, girl.Cynthia felt a bit like a female Dr. Frankenstein. Even though George Percivald was staring at Agnes as if she were some horrible creation, Cynthia knew she was witnessing the birth of Agnes the woman. At last. She might find that her hopeless infatuation with George was just that: hopeless. Just as Cynthia had found Walter was not the man forher.But she’d be stronger for the knowledge, and able to start looking around for a real man. The rightman.

A man likeJake.

With a pang, Cynthia knew that Jake was the right man for her. And face it, her own infatuation was just as hopeless. The FBI agent was just passing time, playing sex games with her. As soon as the Oceanic investigation was closed, he’d be on his way to another assignment and another…hottie.

She waited for Agnes to rise and sweep majestically out of the restaurant; in fact, it felt as though all three of them were waiting. But Agnes hadn’t progressed that far yet on her journey to female empowerment. She just dropped her head on her hand and ate herolive.

“I brought you a teapot from the new line of Chintzware I picked up this trip,” George said feebly, a baffled expression creasing hisforehead.

“Do you take teapots to your hotties?” Agnesdemanded.

He rubbed his silver mustache. “No, I—wait just a minute. I don’t have anyhotties.”

“Hah.” Agnes straightened and assumed a hearty British accent. “Hannah’s simply become too clingy, Agnes. I don’t know what to do. She’s talking about children. At my age!” George Percivald’s face deepened in hue, and Cynthia had to stifle a giggle. Where had Agnes been hiding her talent for mimicry? She sounded just like him. “And as for Sarah, oh my dear, the girl’s insatiable. She’s wearing meout.”

“I’m sure I never spoke to you likethat.”

“You did. I was only Agnes, the old comfy couch. Recipient of teapots.” She stabbed her little martini-olive sword in his direction. “I don’t even drink tea. I likecoffee.”

“Well, I’m sorry. From now on, I’ll keep my Chintzware andmy…”

“Chintzware?” Agnes suggested softly, helping himout.

A reluctant grin tilted his mustache in a most attractive way. “Touché. I’ll keep all my Chintzware, both china and female, out of yourlife.”

“You’d do better to keep it out of your own life. Find someone your own age.” Agnes gasped and blushed, looking truly distressed. “I didn’tmean—”

“Didn’t you?” George said softly, staring at her as if he’d never really seen herbefore.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect…” Tears started to form in her eyes, and what boldness she hadn’t been able to achieve earlier, embarrassment now did; she rose abruptly from her seat and dashed for thedoor.

“Agnes, wait!” And with a muttered “excuse me,” George Percivald was out of his own chair and dodging tables to run afterher.

Well, it hadn’t gone exactly the way she’d planned, but Cynthia had high hopes for the success of Plan B. Unfortunately, it seemed to have played havoc with Plan A, and worst of all, the abrupt departure of George and Agnes had left her alone withNeville.

She glanced up to find him markedly more cheerful. “I do apologize, my dear. Father’s always been theatrical. I hope the commotion hasn’t spoiled yourappetite?”

“No. No.”Yes.Yes!

JAKE STOMPED BACKto his vehicle, fuming. Why the hell couldn’t Cyn, just once, just one damn time, do what heasked?

Just say no. That’s all she had to do. Refuse a date withNeville.But no. He’d watched a limo arrive at her door, and the pantywaist had tripped up to her door with a fancy florist’s box. Jake would bet his pension there were roses in there. The guy had noimagination.

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