Falling Awake(26)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“Yes.” Farrell put out his hand again. “See you around, Cutler.”

“Oh, yeah.” Ellis gripped his hand and shook briefly. “As long as Isabel is here in Roxanna Beach, you will definitely be seeing me around.”

Farrell’s jaw tightened in what might have been disapproval but he merely nodded once and turned to walk away.

“Goodbye, Ellis.” Tamsyn gave him another high-voltage smile. “You might want to think about signing up for Isabel’s dream class.”

“I’ll consider it,” he said.

Isabel watched the pair walk away along the carpeted hall. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to them for this job but I sure hope I get my dream consulting business up and running real quick. I’m not sure I’m cut out for a long-term career as a Kyler Method instructor.”

“What was your first clue?”

“I don’t think I look good in this blazer.”

11

isabel changed her clothes three times before settling on a classic little black dinner dress. According to her fashionable mother, one could never go wrong with a little black dress. Jennifer Wright had made mistakes when it came to the men in her life, but never when it came to the clothes. Unfortunately, Isabel thought, unlike Leila, she had not gotten her parent’s fashion genes.

She studied her image with a critical eye. With its deep cowl neckline and three-quarter-length sleeves, the dress appeared to achieve a nice balance between casual and elegant. The asymmetrical skirt added a touch of fashion flair.

“What do you think, Sphinx?”

Sphinx, ensconced in the center of the bed, opened his eyes at the sound of his name. He showed no interest in the dress.

“Thanks. I’ll take that as unqualified approval.”

She reached for a pair of gold earrings, threaded them through the tiny holes in her earlobes and then took another look at herself in the mirror. The skirt of the dress was cut quite high on one side. Was that fashion flair or just tacky? What note was she trying to strike here, anyway? Ellis was a client, not a date. Maybe a sober business suit would have been a better choice.

But this was Dream Man. All he had ever seen her wearing to date was that dumb Kyler blazer. She just could not bring herself to drag out a dull business suit.

She glanced at the clock. He was due in five minutes. There was no time to try a fourth outfit. This dress was going to have to work.

She heard a low, muted rumble. At first she thought it was Sphinx, cranking up his heavy purr. Then she realized it was a car engine.

“This is it, Sphinx. My big night with Dream Man.”

Sphinx twitched his ears.

Out in the street, the low rumble of the big engine stopped.

Adrenaline perked through Isabel’s veins. She stepped into the strappy high heels and checked the sleek knot at the nape of her neck. Another pang of uncertainty fluttered in her stomach. Was the overall effect too severe?

The knock on the front door told her that time had run out. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and walked out of the bedroom. Sphinx rose, stretched, yawned and followed. She heard a heavy thud behind her when he landed on the floor.

“We may want to talk about cutting back on your chow, Sphinx. There is a fine line between statuesque and plump.”

The six large packing cartons she had found waiting for her on her doorstep when she got home that afternoon littered the route to the front door. She had managed to drag them inside but they were too heavy for her to lift or stack. It occurred to her that the clutter would not make a good impression on a prospective client. If there was one thing she had learned from watching Leila and Farrell over the past few years, it was that in business, image was everything.

Damn. Maybe she should have offered to meet Ellis at the restaurant.

Another knock sounded on the door. This one was a bit more forceful. There was no turning back now.

She smiled her best entrepreneurial smile and opened the door. The brisk, snapping breeze hit her carefully arranged hair with the force of a small hurricane.

“Good grief.” She reached up with both hands to anchor the loosened tendrils that whipped wildly around her face. So much for the businesswoman image. “I didn’t realize it was blowing so hard out here.”

“Storm coming in off the ocean,” Ellis said. He watched her from the other side of the ever-present dark glasses.

“Yes, I got that impression.” She stepped back into the hall. “Come on in while I do something with this hair.”

She checked her image in the hall mirror and made a face. The style was ruined. Reaching up, she removed the clip that had anchored the chignon. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders.

“It looks good that way,” Ellis said quietly, watching her in the mirror.

She hesitated and then, on a whim, shrugged. “Okay, I’ll leave it down.”

She turned, taking in the sight of him standing in her private space. He looked good, she thought. Actually, he looked great. He wore a pair of close-fitting black trousers, a silver gray shirt with an open collar and an elegantly cut, slightly slouchy jacket woven in shades of gray and black.

Sphinx approached slowly, tail held high. He surveyed Ellis with the air of one predator sizing up another.

Ellis crouched and politely held out his fingers. “Didn’t know you had a cat.”

“He was Dr. Belvedere’s cat. Randolph didn’t want him and neither did anyone else at the center.”

“So you took him?”

“It was either me or the pound.” She picked up her purse. “What could I do?”

He gave her an oddly thoughtful look. “You could have let him go to the pound.”

“Not an option.” She smiled wryly. “Sphinx and I were colleagues at the center for a year. I couldn’t let them take him away.”

Sphinx sniffed Ellis’s fingers. Apparently satisfied with the show of respect, he turned and padded off toward the kitchen and his food dish.

Ellis rose and surveyed the cartons and boxes. “Looks like you haven’t had time to unpack.”

“Those aren’t mine.” She hesitated, frowning a little. “Well, I suppose they are now, given that they were addressed to me. They were delivered this afternoon.”

“What’s inside?”

“According to the letter that accompanied them, about thirty years’ worth of Dr. Martin Belvedere’s personal dream research. Evidently he religiously sent copies of his work on extreme dreams to his lawyer to hold for publication after his death. Kind of ironic, actually, because the first thing his son, Randolph, did after he took over the center was destroy all of his father’s research. Guess he didn’t know that Dr. B. had a backup plan.”