Page 5 of Courting Catherine
“A pleasure, Miss Calhoun.”
“Not mine.” She reached down and ripped off his copy of the credit card receipt. “Get your butt back in your big, bad BMW and head back to Boston.”
“A fascinating alliteration.” Still watching her, Trent folded the paper and put it into his pocket. “You, however, are not the only party involved.”
“You’re not going to turn my house into one of your glossy hotels for bored debutantes and phony Italian counts.”
He nearly smiled at that. “You’ve stayed in one of the St. James hotels?”
“I don’t have to, I know what they’re like. Marble lobbies, glass elevators, twenty-foot chandeliers and fountains spurting everywhere.”
“You have something against fountains?”
“I don’t want one in my living room. Why don’t you go foreclose on some widows and orphans and leave us alone?”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have any foreclosures scheduled this week.” He held up a hand when she snarled. “Miss Calhoun, I’ve come here at the request of your liaison. Whatever your personal feelings, there are three other owners of The Towers. I don’t intend to leave until I’ve spoken with them.”
“You can talk until your lungs collapse, but... what liaison?”
“Mrs. Cordelia Calhoun McPike.”
C.C.’s color fluctuated a bit, but she didn’t back down. “I don’t believe you.”
Without a word, Trent set his briefcase down onto the piles of paper on her desk and flipped the combination. From one of his neatly ordered files he withdrew a letter written on heavy ivory paper. C.C.’s heart dropped a little. She snatched it from him and read.
Dear Mr. St. James,
The Calhoun women have taken your offer to The Towers under consideration. As this is a complex situation, we feel it would be in everyone’s best interest to discuss the terms in person, rather than communicating by letter.
As their representative, I would like to invite you to The Towers—(C.C. gave a strangled groan)—for a few days. I believe this more personal approach will be of mutual benefit. I’m sure you’ll agree that having a closer, more informal look at the property that interests you will be an advantage.
Please feel free to contact me, at The Towers, if you are amenable to the arrangement.
Very truly yours,
Cordelia Calhoun McPike
C.C. read it through twice, grinding her teeth. She would have crumpled the letter into a ball if Trent hadn’t rescued it and slipped it back into its file.
“I take it you weren’t apprised of the arrangement?”
“Apprised? Damn straight I wasn’t apprised. That meddlesome old... Oh, Aunt Coco, I’m going to murder you.”
“I assume Mrs. McPike and Aunt Coco are one and the same person.”
“Some days it’s hard to tell.” She turned back. “But either way, both of them are dead.”
“I’ll sidestep the family violence, if you don’t mind.”
C.C. stuck her hands into her coverall pockets and glared at him. “If you still intend to stay at The Towers, you’re going to be neck deep in it.”
He nodded, accepting. “Then I’ll take my chances.”
Chapter Two
Aunt Coco was busily arranging hothouse roses in two of the Dresden vases that had yet to be sold. She hummed a current rock hit as she worked, occasionally adding a quickbum-bum-bumorta-te-da.Like the other Calhoun women, she was tall, and liked to think that her figure, which had thickened only a little in the past decade, was regal.
She had dressed and groomed carefully for the occasion. Her short, fluffy hair was tinted red this week and pleased her enormously. Vanity was not a sin or character flaw in Coco’s estimation, but a woman’s sacred duty. Her face, which was holding up nicely, thank you, from the lift she’d had six years before, was scrupulously made up. Her best pearls swung at her ears and encircled her neck. Coco decided, with a quick glance in the hall mirror, that the black jumpsuit was both dramatic and sleek. The backless heels she wore slapped satisfactorily against the chestnut floor and had her teetering at six foot.
