Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(38)

"Vanessa's gone," I reminded her. "She took a long weekend, remember?" From what I knew, Vanessa was having a long-distance affair with a guy from Atlanta, and she went to visit him at least once a month. She wouldn't tell anyone his name or what he did, but she had dropped heavy hints to me that he was extremely rich and powerful, and she had him wrapped around her finger, of course.

I couldn't have cared less about who Vanessa was dating, but I tried to look impressed to keep from offending her. Vanessa seemed to expect me to be fascinated by the mundane details of her life. Sometimes she repeated the same stories, like the one about being caught in traffic, or what her masseur had said about what great shape she was in, two and three times, even when I reminded her she'd already told me. I was certain it was deliberate, although I couldn't figure out why she did it, or why I seemed to be the only one she did this to.

"Is there anything else, Sam?" I asked.

"I would really appreciate it if you could go to my computer and print out the latest marketing plan file for Mr. Travis — he was coming by today, and he really needs to take a look at it."

"I'll make sure he gets it," I said.

"And one more thing . . . there's a guy coming to the office at nine to look at the condo. Could you show him around for me? Tell him I'm sorry I couldn't make it, and I'll be available by cell to answer any questions."

"Sure. Is he qualified?"

"He's so qualified it sort of makes me dizzy to be in the same room with him." A dramatic sigh. "Single and loaded. Damn it! I was really looking forward to this showing. The only thing that makes me happy is knowing Vanessa won't get to meet him either."

I chuckled. "I'll make sure to say some nice things to him about you."

"Thanks. And make sure he has my cell number."

"Got it."

As I mulled over the phrase "single and loaded," a funny shiver chased down my spine, and somehow . . . I knew. I knew who Mr. Single-and-Loaded was, and I wondered what the hell he was up to.

"Samantha," I asked suspiciously, "what's his — "

"Call waiting," she said. "It's Dad — I gotta go."

The connection terminated, and I put down the phone. I went to Samantha's computer and pulled up her schedule, just as the concierge, David, beeped on the intercom. "Samantha, Mr. Cates is here in the lobby."

As my suspicion was confirmed, I found myself out of breath. I was simultaneously stunned, worried, and oddly amused. My voice sounded strange to my own ears. "Samantha's not here today," I told David. "Tell Mr. Cates that Miss Travis will be doing the showing. I'll be down in just a minute."

"Yes, Miss Travis."

I did a quick, discreet check in a compact mirror, applied some tinted lip balm, and pushed the long bangs back from my forehead. I was wearing dark brown wool trousers and a matching V-neck wrap sweater. Unfortunately I had chosen flats for comfort that day. If I'd known I would see Hardy Cates, I would have worn my tallest heels to give him less of a height advantage.

I looked into Samantha's file on Hardy and skimmed the prequalification report, and nearly dropped it as I saw the numbers. When Hardy said his company was doing "okay," he had neglected to mention that he was in the process of becoming obscenely rich. That property in the Gulf they were getting "good play" out of must have been a major find. A really major find.

Hardy Cates was on his way to becoming a big-time oilman. I was certainly the last person who could hold that against him. My father had huge ties to the oil industry. And even my oldest brother, with his alternative energy company, hadn't cut fossil fuels entirely from his repertoire. Sighing, I closed the file and took the elevator to the residential lobby.

Hardy was sitting in a black leather chair near the concierge's desk, talking with David. He saw me and stood, and my heart began to thump so hard that I felt a little light-headed.

I put on a business face, a business smile, and extended a hand as I reached him. "Mr. Cates."

"Hello, Miss Travis."

A hard, impersonal grip of our hands, and we stood facing each other. We might have been strangers. But there was a glint in Hardy's eyes that drew heat to the surface of my skin.

"I'm sorry Samantha wasn't available this morning," I said.

"I'm not." He swept a quick, thorough glance over me. "Thanks for returning the jacket. You didn't have to have it cleaned."

That certainly got David's attention. He looked from one of us to the other with indiscreet interest.

"I'm afraid all I'm going to be able to do," I said to Hardy briskly, "is take you on an initial walk-through so you can get an idea of what the apartment looks like. I'm not a leasing agent, so Samantha's the only one who can answer your questions definitively."

"I'm sure you'll be able to answer any questions I've got."

We went to the elevator, and a pair of women walked out, one older, one around my age. They looked like a mother and daughter heading out to do some shopping. As I got into the elevator and turned to face out, I saw that both women had glanced back for a better look at Hardy.

I had to admit, the man looked amazing in jeans. The ancient denim clung lightly to his h*ps and followed the long lines of some remarkable thigh muscles. And although I made a point of not checking out his rear view, my peripheral vision was having a very good day.