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The buzzer caught his attention.
“Yes, Gladys?”
“There?s a young lady here to see you.”
An uncomfortable tightness squeezed his chest.
“Who is it?” he asked, hoping his fear was not about to become reality.
“Sue Jackson.”
Inwardly cursing and not sure what to do, he decided he’d be better off finding out what she wanted.
“Send her in.”
The door opened, and she sidled up to his desk. Thinking she looked like The Cat Who Ate The Canary he prepared himself.
“Mr. Stanley,” she said formally, offering her hand.
“Nice to see you, Sue. How can I help you?”
“It’s about that gift you wanted me to buy for your wife. Unfortunately the hundred dollars you gave me to buy it wasn’t enough,” she continued before he had a chance to respond. “The sale was over and it was back at full price. I figured you’d still want it so I covered the difference. Here’s the package and the receipt.”
Though his stomach churned, he kept a poker face and sat back down. Trying to stay calm, but wanting to slap the smug smile from her face, he watched her reach into her bag, produce a small, gift-wrapped box, along with a piece of paper, and place them on his desk. He was about to tell her exactly what she could do with her crap, when she gestured to the door. She’d left it open and Gladys would have heard every word. He was trapped.
“How much was the difference?” he asked, keeping his voice even as he glared at her.
“One-fifty, including the tax and gift wrap.”
Pulling out his wallet and counting it out, he handed it to her across the desk.
“Thanks. I’m happy to shop for you any time,” she said with a wink, then turned and strode from his office.
Jumping to his feet and closing the door behind her, his fingers curled into fists. She’d be back for more, and he couldn’t wait for her to do just that. The blackmailing bitch had picked the wrong mark.
* * *
MATT MONTGOMERY WASin a quandary.
Mistress Marilyn would be arriving shortly, but as he was about to step into the shower, his agent, Stewart Baxter, had called to say he’d just sent over a film script.
Matt was thrilled. But if the courier showed up while Marilyn was there it would interrupt their time together. Quickly writing a note telling the courier to leave the delivery, he hurried down the stairs, but opening the door he was shocked to find Heather Ramsey about to press the doorbell. Completely taken aback, he stared in stunned silence,
“Matt—it’s me—Heather. Why do you look so shocked?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Your gate wasn’t locked, and you said to stop by at any time, so here I am,” she replied, brazenly marching past him and into the house.
“Sorry, Heather, this is a bad time,” he declared, urgently following her as she walked into the living room. “I’m expecting important company.”
“Shouldn’t you have refreshments for them?” she asked, gesturing towards the coffee table.
“We’ll be meeting in my den, and you really need to go.”
The doorbell chimed, and he realized he was still holding the note. Praying it wasn’t Marilyn, he hurried back to the foyer and glanced through the side window. It was the courier. Relieved, he opened the door and accepted the large envelope, then hastily returned to the living room.
“Heather, you really have to leave, and I mean now. You can’t be here when they arrive. If you need to talk to me about something I’ll make time for you at the party,” he promised, the suggestion suddenly popping into his head. “At the moment I’m completely swamped organizing the damn thing.”
