Gabe obligingly moved, stepping aside and simultaneously reaching around her to pull the door shut on the lurid scene.
The music thundered to its rousing climax.
Lillian fled through the tasteful waiting room out into the hallway. She did not look back.
Gabe caught up with her at the elevator.
An eerie silence gripped the corridor for the count of five.
“Dr. Flint obviously believes in a hands-on approach to sex therapy,” Gabe remarked. “I wonder just how he plans to incorporate your computer program into his treatment plans.”
This could not be happening, she thought. It was some kind of bizarre hallucination, the sort of thing that could turn a person into a full-blown conspiracy theorist. Maybe some secret government agency was conducting experiments with chemicals in the drinking water.
Or maybe she was losing it. She’d been under a lot of stress lately, what with making the decision to close down Private Arrangements and change careers. Having Gabe as a client hadn’t helped matters, either.
No doubt about it, stress combined with secret government drinking water experiments could account for what she had just seen in Anderson’s office.
“I think you need a drink,” Gabe said.
chapter 2
Outside on the sidewalk the weird afterglow of the rainy twilight combined with the streetlamps to infuse the city with a surreal atmosphere. It was as if he and Lillian were moving through a dream sequence, Gabe thought. It was easy to believe that they were the only real, solid beings in a world composed of eerie lights and shadows.
In the strange, vaporlike mist, Lillian’s flowing, iridescent rain cloak glittered like a cape woven of otherworldly gemstones. He wanted to reach out and pull her close against his side; feel the heat of her body; inhale her scent.
It was getting worse, he thought. This gut-deep awareness had hit him hard when he had first experienced it at Rafe’s wedding. He had told himself it would fade quickly. Just a passing sexual attraction. Or maybe a little fevered imagination brought on by the monklike existence he had been living ever since he had turned his attention to the business of finding himself a wife.
The decision to go celibate after the end of the affair with Jennifer several months ago had seemed like a good idea at the time. He had not wanted something as superficial as lust to screw up his thinking processes while he concentrated on such an important matter. To avoid complications, he had deliberately opted to put his sex life on a temporarily inactive status.
Within about six seconds of seeing Lillian after all those years of living in separate universes, he had been inspired to revisit that particular executive decision, however.
Thankfully, he’d had enough common sense still functioning at that point to convince himself that an affair with her was probably not a brilliant idea. She was a Harte, after all. Things between Hartes and Madisons were always complicated. He had come up with a compromise solution. Instead of asking her out on a date, he had signed up as a client of Private Arrangements. He had spent an inordinate amount of time convincing himself that using a professional matchmaking firm was actually a terrific plan. What better, more efficient way to find a wife?
But things had rapidly gone from dicey to disastrous. He had endured five seemingly endless evenings with five very attractive, very successful women. He had spent each of the five dates tormenting himself with visions of how much more interesting things would have been if Lillian had been the woman seated across the candlelit table.
The uncanny part was that he had never been aware of her as anything other than a Harte kid while he had been growing up in Eclipse Bay. But then, in all fairness, the only thing that had held his attention in those days was his dream of rebuilding the financial empire that had been shattered by the Harte-Madison feud.
The fact that the Hartes had resurrected themselves after the bankruptcy and gone on to prosper while his family had floundered and pretty much self-destructed had added fuel to the fire that had consumed him.
He had left Eclipse Bay the day after he graduated from high school, headed off to college and the big city to pursue his vision. He had not seen Lillian at all during the years of empire-building. He had not even thought about her.
But ever since the wedding he had been unable to think about anything else.
If this was lust, it was anything but superficial. If it was something more, he was in trouble because Lillian was not what he had pictured when he set out to look for a wife. For the first time since he had decided to get married he wondered if he should put the search for a wife on hold for a while. Just until he got this murky situation with Lillian cleared up and out of the way. He needed to be able to concentrate and she was making that impossible.
He realized they had halted at a crosswalk.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“I don’t know where you’re going, but I’m walking home.” Her voice was slightly muffled by the hood of her cloak.
“What do you say we stop somewhere and get you that drink I suggested? I have to tell you that after watching your colleague work with a patient, I could use one, myself.”
“Don’t start with me on that subject, Madison.”
He smiled and reached out to take her arm. “Come on, I’ll buy.”
He steered her toward the small café in the middle of the block.
She peered fixedly through the glass panes into the cozily lit interior.
“You know what?” she said. “I think you’re right. A glass of wine sounds like an excellent idea.”
She pulled free of his hand and went toward the door with quick, crisp steps. She did not look around to see if he was following.
He made it to the door a half a step ahead of her and got it open. She did not thank him, just swept past him into the café.
The place was just starting to fill up with the after-work crowd. A cheerful gas fire cast an inviting glow. The chalkboard listed several brands of beer from local microbreweries and half a dozen premium wines by the glass. Another hand-lettered menu on the wall featured a variety of oyster appetizers and happy-hour specials.
He knew this place. It was only a few streets over from the office tower that housed the headquarters of Madison Commercial. He stopped in here occasionally on his way home to his empty apartment.
“Come here a lot?” he asked as they settled into a wooden booth.
“No.” She picked up the miniature wine menu and studied it intently. “Why?”
“Portland is a small town in a lot of ways. It’s a wonder our paths haven’t crossed before,” he said, trying for a neutral topic of conversation.
She frowned at the little menu. “I haven’t lived here much in recent years.”
“Where have you been since college?”
“You really want to know?”
“Sure.” He was suddenly more curious than he wanted to let on.
She shrugged and put down the menu. Before she could answer his question, however, the waiter arrived to take their orders. She chose a glass of chardonnay. He asked for a beer.
When the waiter left, there was a short silence. He thought he might have to remind Lillian of the question. Somewhat to his surprise, however, she started to talk.
“After I graduated from college I worked in Seattle for a while,” she said. “Then I moved to Hawaii. Spent a year there. After that I went to California and then back to Seattle. I didn’t return to Oregon until I decided to open Private Arrangements.”
“Were you running matchmaking businesses in all those different places?”
She eyed him with a wary expression. “Why do you want to know?”
“Been a while. Just catching up.”
“You and I don’t have any catching up to do. We hardly even know each other.”
That was almost funny, he thought.
“I’m a Harte and you’re a Madison,” he said. “My brother is now married to your sister. Trust me, we know each othe
r.”
The waiter returned with their drinks and disappeared once more. Lillian picked up her chardonnay, took a sip and set the glass down very precisely on the little napkin. He got the feeling she was debating how much to tell him about herself.
“The official Harte family version of events is that I’ve spent the last few years trying to find myself,” she said.
“What’s the unofficial version?”
“That I’m a little flaky.”
Definitely not wife material, he thought. Probably not good affair material either. He did not date flakes. He didn’t do business with flakes, either. If he had known Private Arrangements was run by a flake, he would never have signed on as a client.
Then again, who was he kidding?
Damn. This was not a good idea. If he had any sense he would run, not walk, to the nearest exit. Some lingering vestige of self-preservation made him glance toward the door.
What the hell, he thought, turning back to Lillian. Plenty of time to escape later.
“Didn’t realize any of you Hartes had to find yourselves,” he said after a while. “Figured you were all born knowing where you wanted to go in life and how you would get there.”
“You’re thinking of everyone else in the family.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m the exception.”
“Yeah? How exceptional are you?”
She studied the wine in her glass. “Let’s just say I haven’t found my niche yet.”
“From all accounts you’ve been extremely successful with Private Arrangements.”
“Oh, sure.” She raised one shoulder in dismissal. “If you’re talking business success.”
He went blank.
“There’s another kind?” he asked.
Irritation gleamed in her eyes. “Of course there’s another kind.”
He leaned back in the booth. “This isn’t about finding yourself and inner peace through work, is it?”
“You’ve got a problem with the concept of work as a source of happiness and personal fulfillment?”
“I’ve got a problem with people who think work is supposed to be entertainment. Work is work.” He paused. “Probably why they call it work instead of, say, fun. A lot of folks don’t seem to get that.”
“You ought to know,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been working night and day since you were a boy to build Madison Commercial.” She smiled wryly. “Folks back in Eclipse Bay always said that you were a different kind of Madison.”
“Different?”
“One who might actually make a success of himself. You certainly proved them right, didn’t you?”
How the hell had the conversation turned back on him like this?
“All I proved,” he said carefully, “is that you can get someplace if you want to go there badly enough.”
“And you wanted to get where you are now very, very badly, didn’t you?”
He did not know what to make of her in this mood, so he took another swallow of beer to give himself time to come up with a strategy.
“Tell me, Gabe, what do you do for fun?”
“Fun?” The question put him off stride again. He was still working on strategy.
“As far as I can tell, all you do is work. If work isn’t fun for you, where do you go and what do you do when you’re looking for a good time?”
He frowned. “You make it sound like I never get out of the office.”
“Do you?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? This sure as hell isn’t my office.”
“You’re right. This isn’t your office. So, tell me, are you having fun yet?”
“I didn’t come here to have fun. We’re here because you received a severe shock back there in Dr. J. Anderson Flint’s office. I figured you needed a glass of wine for medicinal purposes.”
“The only reason you’re still hanging around is because you’re trying to figure out how to get your sixth date. Forget it. Never happen.”
“We’ll see.”
“Pay attention, Madison.” She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. “It will never happen because Private Arrangements is closed.”
“So? We’ll talk about my sixth date when you reopen on Monday.”
“I meant closed for good. Today was the last day of business. As of five o’clock this afternoon, my firm ceased operations. Get it?”
She was serious, he thought. “You can’t just shut down a moneymaking enterprise like that.”
“Watch me.”
“What about your clients?”
“You are the last one.” She raised her glass in a mocking little toast. “Here’s to you. Good luck finding yourself a robot.”
“A wife.”
“Whatever.” She took a sip of the wine.
“Why the hell would you want to go out of business? You’re a huge success.”
“Financially, yes.” She sat back. “That isn’t enough.”
“Damn. You really are into this work-has-got-to-be-a-transcendent-experience thing, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” She propped one elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “Let’s get back to you and fun.”
“Thought you just got through implying that the two don’t belong in the same sentence.”
“Well, let’s talk about your relationship with Madison Commercial, then.”
“Relationship? Are you suggesting that the company is my mistress or something?”
“That’s certainly what it looks like to me.”
He was getting irritated. “Is that your professional opinion?”
“I’m a matchmaker, remember? I know a good match when I see one. Tell me, what, exactly, do you get out of Madison Commercial?”
He was wary now. “What do I get out of it?”
She gave him a bright-eyed, innocently inquiring look. “Do you think your relationship with the company is a substitute for sex?”
She was a Harte, he reminded himself. Damned if he would let her goad him.
“Got news for you. In case you don’t know, Ms. Matchmaker, there is no substitute for sex. What I get out of Madison Commercial is a lot of money.”
“And power,” she added a little too helpfully. “But, then, the two usually go together, don’t they?”
“Power?” he repeated neutrally.
“Sure. You have a lot of clout here in Portland. You mingle with the movers and shakers. You’re on the boards of some of the major charitable organizations. You know the players in business and politics. People listen to you. That’s called power.”
He thought about it and then shrugged. “I do get stuck with a lot of board meetings.”
“Don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I can’t believe you would have worked so hard to make Madison Commercial such an important and influential company if you weren’t getting something very personal out of it. Something besides money.”
“You know,” he said, “this kind of conversation isn’t my forte.”
“Really? I would never have guessed.”
“My turn,” he said. “Just what were you doing in all those different places you were living in for the past few years?”
“You want my whole résumé?”
“Just hit the high spots.”
She put the tips of her thumbs and forefingers together, forming a triangle around the base of her glass, and looked down into her wine.
“Well, let’s see,” she said. “After I graduated from college, I worked in a museum for a few years.”
“Why did you quit?”
“The public never seemed to be compelled by the same art that fascinates me and the whole point of a successful museum is to attract the attention of the public. I wasn’t very creative with the exhibitions and displays.”
“Because you were not real interested in the subjects you were supposed to make attractive to the public.”
“Probably. After that I worked in various art gall
eries. I had no problem figuring out what would sell, but I wasn’t personally attracted to the art that most of the clients wanted to buy.”
“Hard to stay in business when you don’t want to give your customers what they want to buy.”
Her mouth curved ruefully. “Oddly enough, that’s what the gallery owners said.”
“What came next?”
She turned the base of the wineglass slowly between her fingers. “I switched to a career in interior design. It was okay for a while but then I started getting into arguments with my clients. They didn’t always like what I thought they ought to have in their homes and offices.”
“Nothing worse than a client with his own personal opinion, I always say.”
“Very true. I decided to get out of that field, too, but before I did, I introduced one of my clients, a software designer, to a friend of mine. I thought they made a good match and I was right. After the wedding, my software client got enthusiastic about the whole idea of designing a matchmaking program. It sounded interesting, so I agreed to work with her on it. We consulted with some experts. I designed the questionnaire. She did the technical part. When it was finished, I bought her out.”
“That’s how you got into the matchmaking business? You just sort of fell into it?”
“Chilling, isn’t it?”
He exhaled slowly. “Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, it is.”
“You’re not the only one who has pointed that out recently. I never set out to get into the business, you understand. After my ex-client finished the program, I tested it. More or less as a lark, I tried it on some acquaintances and got lucky a couple of times. People went out on dates, had a good time. An engagement or two was announced. All of a sudden, I was in the matchmaking business.”
“Damn.” He rubbed his jaw. “Are you sure that’s legal?”
“Got news for you, Madison, anyone can set up in business as a matchmaker.”
“Sort of like the sex therapy business, huh?”
“Don’t.” She leveled a warning finger at him. “Mention that subject again.”
“Hard to resist.”
“Try.” She gave him an evil smile. “Now that you know the gruesome truth, that you placed your entire future in the hands of an amateur, maybe you’d like to rethink your insistence on that sixth date you say I owe you.”