Her Man Friday(12)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

"No problem. Gimme a coupla three days or so. I’ll be in touch."

Leo dropped the phone receiver into its cradle, then spun back around in his chair to face the computer. He nearly leapt out of his seat, however, when he realized he wasn’t alone in Kimball’s office. A tall, willowy, attractive brunette with wide blue eyes had joined him at some point. She was wearing a pale, whispery, flowered dress, dainty white gloves, a ridiculously large straw hat, and a very suspicious expression.

"Uh, hi," he said in greeting, wondering how long she’d been standing there.

"Hello," she responded in a voice that was as pale and whispery as her dress. But she said nothing more.

Leo arched his brows in silent inquiry, and when she continued to remain silent, he asked, "Uh… can I help you?"

The woman shook her head, then turned side-ways, lifting her chin and closing her eyes to strike as melodramatic a pose as was ever struck. "No. I’m afraid no one can help me," she told him. "But thank you for asking."

"You’re welcome," he replied automatically.

She turned her head again then, and opened one eye just enough to study him, with an intensity that made Leo more than a little uncomfortable. And all the while, she kept her thoughts to herself, whatever they might be. He was struggling to think of something to say himself, something that might either generate conversation or, better still, make her go away, when she finally lowered her head, opened her other eye, and parted her lips, as if she were about to speak.

But another few moments passed before she finally asked, "Do you know what the word ‘didactic’ means?"

As questions went, it wasn’t one Leo heard often, nor was it the traditional ice-breaker for conversation. Nevertheless, he answered, a bit cautiously, "Uh… It generally describes something which offers instruction, right?"

She expelled a sigh of clear disappointment. "Yes, that’s right," she answered sharply, as if angry that he’d been correct. Then, brightening some, she asked further, "Can you spell it?"

Again, the question wasn’t exactly a standard one for two people who had just met, but he found himself stating, without hesitation, "D-i-d-a-c-t-i-c?"

Her mouth formed a disgruntled moue. "How about the word ‘quisling’?"

Leo gazed back at her in silence, suddenly wanting to ask a few questions of his own. But all that emerged when he spoke was, "You want the definition or the spelling of ‘quisling’?"

Once again, she lifted her chin a fraction, as if in challenge. "Both," she stated in a voice that suggested she didn’t think he was up to either task. Then, to emphasize just that, she added in a voice tinted with haughtiness, "If you think you can manage it."

Leo’s back went up at the very idea. As if. "Okay. Quisling. Q-u-i-s-l-i-n-g. Noun. One who betrays his country by aiding its hostile occupants." Somehow, he managed to refrain from sticking out his tongue and concluding with a snotty, So there.

The woman narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "What’s your IQ?" she asked warily.

Some of the snottiness crept out anyway when Leo replied readily, "A hundred and forty-two. What’s yours?"

But instead of answering his question, the woman let her entire body go limp, and she expelled a very loud, very rude, sound of disgust. "Oh, great," she muttered, rolling her eyes heavenward. "Terrific. Another one. Well that’s just fine."

Then she spun around on her heel, and with pale, whispery sounds, strode quickly out the door. She was some distance down the hall when Leo heard her call out further, "Mother! There’s another one in the house! Would you please talk to Schuyler about this?"

The sister, Leo realized. Jane Kimball. He should have figured that out right off, as she bore a strong physical resemblance to her brother. And if rumors were to be believed, she shared his eccentric behavior, as well. As far as Kimball’s renowned super-genius intellect, however…

Well, suffice it to say that that particular matter was still in question.

Leo wondered again how much of his conversation with Eddie she’d overheard, then decided she must have come in on the tail end of things and missed out on the specifics. Which was good. Because he didn’t want anything to prevent Eddie from completing his search. Hey, if Leo’s experiences today were any indication, the results would provide some kind of interesting story, he was sure.

Shaking his head at what was promising to be a very strange reality, Leo went back to work.

His day brightened considerably a little later, when he heard a soft knock at the door. It was followed by the appearance of Miss Rigby, who entered Kimball’s office looking as cool and elegant—and as hot and sexy—as ever. She was also, he noted with no small amount of distraction, carrying a silver tray laden with all kinds of fragile china… tea… stuff.

"Four o’clock," she said as she entered. "Tea time. Would you care to join me, Mr. Freiberger? I brought coffee, as well, if you’d prefer that instead. And there’s more than enough for two. I just think it makes the day so much more enjoyable if one can take a little break from one’s work in the afternoon, don’t you?"

Tea time, he repeated to himself. Now there was an activity he’d indulged in exactly zero times in his entire life. He eyed the delicate tea cups, rimmed in gold and painted with red and yellow roses, and he wondered if he would have to undergo hormone-replacement therapy if he picked one up in his bare hand. Because surely it was detrimental to a man’s testosterone to come into contact with something like that, wasn’t it?

In spite of his misgivings, however, he replied,

"I’d be delighted, Miss Rigby. A break would be very welcome. Thank you for thinking about me."

She smiled becomingly as she placed the tray on Kimball’s desk and went about rearranging things more conveniently. The little teacups sat on little saucers with little spoons, and beside them were little plates hosting little sandwiches and little cookies. It was all so… dainty, Leo thought, squelching a vague shudder of distaste. He must really be consumed by lust for Miss Rigby if he’d go to such extremes just to spend a little time in her presence.

And if this was the way he was behaving on day one, then God alone knew what he’d be reduced to in a week’s time. He’d probably end up alongside her in the kitchen, cutting the crusts off those little sandwiches, and wearing an apron with cats on it.

"Coffee, definitely," he said adamantly.

She flinched a bit at his order, and he realized he must have spoken more loudly and forcefully than was necessary. Before he could explain or apologize, however, she finished pouring and asked, "Would you care for cream or sugar?"