An Irresistible Bachelor(106)

"You know, I was serious when I offered you the money. Even if you insist on just borrowing it."

"Thanks."

Jack stood up, loosening the stiffness in his back. "When are we going to see you next?"

"Christmas."

"Good." They walked out, heading for the kitchen, and Jack made a quick detour to pick the Globe off the front step. As he uncurled it, he saw a picture of himself below the fold on the front page. The article quoted him as still being undecided, but the reporter speculated it was only a matter of time before an official announcement of his candidacy was made.



That guy's editor was going to be pleased, Jack thought. Because the Walker campaign was probably going to release something by the end of the week.

"So you really are going to do it," Nate said over his shoulder.

"Yes I am."

As they went into the kitchen, he scanned the article. Butch Callahan's response was as he expected. Barely polite.

Jack threw the paper down on the table.

And so the fight begins, he thought.

"Breakfast?" he asked Nate.

"Naw. HI grab something on the road."

Jack walked his brother out to the old Saab Nate had driven since graduating from Harvard.

"I hope that thing keeps going."

"Me, too." Nate tossed his bag in the trunk and got in. With a sputter and a roar, the car's engine came alive and he leaned out the window. "Take care and remember, my cell phone's got voice mail, so you can always find me. Let me know if you need to talk."

"Will do, brother."

Jack waved as Nate shot down the driveway.

Before he went back in the house, he looked at the garage and wondered if he'd ever be able to see the damn thing and not think of Callie.

Briefly, he entertained a scenario of what-ifs, like what if his mother hadn't sprung the announcement. Or what if Callie had given him a chance to explain. Or what if she'd trusted him enough in the first place.

But then he reeled in his thoughts, and as he went back to his study, he knew he had some work to do.

Sitting down behind the desk, he called a real estate agent he knew. The message he left authorized a full-price, cash offer to purchase a condo at the Four Seasons Hotel. He knew one was available because he'd seen one advertised in the paper the week before. His next call was to a moving company. Assuming his lawyers worked quickly, he figured the closing could be in as little as two weeks and he wanted to make sure he got the movers lined up.

He was hanging up the phone when his mother materialized in the doorway. Dressed in a pale silk robe that fell to the floor, and with her hair loosely coiled on her head, she looked fresh even at her age.

"Speak of the devil," he said.

His mother's smile was conciliatory but her eyes held a certain satisfaction. She knew, he thought, exactly what she'd done. But then why should he be surprised? His mother was a very smart woman.

"Jack, darling, I missed the opportunity to say good night to you after the party." She came into the room. "I wanted to thank you for everything you did to make last night a success."

"Tell me, Mother," he said, idly fingering some papers on his desk, "when are you thinking of going to Palm Beach for the season?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"You might want to delay for a week."



"Not so eager to get rid of me? That's a pleasant change," she chided, her smile becoming more genuine.

"I just think you'll want the extra time to adjust."

She shot him an inquisitive glance. "To what?"

"You're moving out of this house."

Mercedes seemed to stop breathing. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"I am purchasing a condominium for you at the Four Seasons. So I imagine you'll want to be there to direct the movers when they put your things in your new home. Unless you want a decorator to do it."

His mother turned ashen. "My God, Jack, what have you done?"

"I'm cutting the proverbial cord."

He watched as Mercedes backed over to the couch and sat down. She seemed to collapse, looking very small surrounded by all that luxurious silk.

"You can't do this. You can't send me away. I live here. I couldn't possibly leave Buona Fortuna to live in a hotel."

"I'm not sending you to a Motel 6, for Christ's sake. It's the Four Seasons."