Shopping for an Heir (Page 33)

And Gerald was off. Way off.

Thank God.

“Haven’t you—haven’t you ever tried it, James?” Pam asked.

He didn’t answer the question. “If I want to escape, a bottle of whisky does the job.”

“Marijuana is considerably superior to alcohol, James, as a nausea treatment,” Pam began. She pulled her flowery-print skirt under her knees and sat on the couch across from him, smiling. “The endocannabinoid system is a—”

“It’s for hippies,” McCormick shot back.

“Then call me a hippie,” Pam said dryly.

McCormick reeled back with shock, then groaned, touching his forehead as if in pain. “You? You’re a pothead?”

Pam’s giggle was infectious. Gerald had to force himself not to react.

“I’m a human being with a painful medical condition, and once in a while, I use an ancient herb prized for its pain relief and anti-nausea properties to get some relief.”

“Pam, you are rationalizing.”

“And you’re stalling.” She picked up her phone and tapped. “I have a medical marijuana card, but there aren’t any dispensaries in the state yet. I have a friend who can deliver some.”

“You’re going to send a drug dealer here? To my home? Absolutely not!”

“She isn’t a drug dealer. She just dabbles.”

“I know you think that what you’re doing is helpful,” James said, wincing. “But—” A fine sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.

“I texted her before I even came, James. She’s a few minutes away.”

“I can’t believe this,” he gasped. “I’m fine.”

“You are a stubborn mule. Fine is the last word I would use to describe you.”

“When did you become such a nag? You sound like my wife.” But his voice was filled with mirth. Amusement. A sense of being pleased that someone was doting on him.

Pam’s eyes widened at his words. “Someone needs to remind you that you matter.”

“Of course I matter!”

“Then let people help you.”

“Breaking federal law is not my idea of help, Pam.”

Ding!

The doorbell.

Without being asked, Gerald rose and went to the door, finding an all-too-familiar face peeking through the beveled glass.

“Mrs. Jacoby,” he said as she entered the house head first, craning her neck to take in James McCormick’s mini-mansion.

She let out a low whistle.

“I’ve never seen this place. Only his home in Weston. The other half lives like this in downtown Boston, huh?” She gave Gerald a hug. He wasn’t a hugger, but duty called. Marie Jacoby was one of the more fascinating people he worked with. She was a walking contradiction. Smart but ditzy. Demanding but deferential. Cunning but obvious.

In spite of all that, he liked her.

But he wasn’t sure why.

“I wonder what this place is worth,” she whispered.

“I assume you’re here to meet with Mr. McCormick,” he said, cutting her off.

“Yes. I have his—” She cleared her throat and wiggled her eyebrows.

He decided to have some fun.

“His what?”

“His medicine.”

“The doctor didn’t prescribe any,” Gerald shot back.

“Dr. MJ certainly did.”

“Dr. MJ?”

“You know. Dr. Feelgood.”

Gerald wasn’t about to point out that she was misappropriating that music culture reference.

“What kind of doctor is this Dr. Feelgood?”

“The kind that makes you feel all right.”

He closed his eyes and groaned. When he opened them, she was grinning at him.

“Are you single, Gerald? Because I have a daughter.”

“You have three, ma’am.”

“One is married!”

“Yes, ma’am. Well aware.”

“But two aren’t.”

He stayed silent.

She frowned. “Are you gay?”

“No.”

“Available?”

He hesitated just long enough to make her perk up.

“Oooo, you have a wife? Girlfriend?”

“No.” He had to answer honestly.

“Then—”

“Marie!” Pam called from the other room. Spritzy jangled across the marble floor, dog tags making a rhythm. He reached Marie, licked her ankle, and looked up expectantly.

Pick me up, that little dog face said.

Marie looked at her shoes, laces riding up the top of her foot.

“Thank God you’re not Chuckles,” she muttered as she walked into the living room, carrying the dog. Pam waved.

James McCormick groaned.

“Her? She is your drug dealer? This just went from immoral to unbelievable.” Spritzy flung himself out of Marie’s arms into James McCormick’s lap.

“That’s me!” Marie chirped.

“Is this a sting operation?” He looked at Gerald. “You are my security team. Why aren’t you helping here? They’re cajoling me into imbibing illegal substances!”

“Would you like me to throw them out?”

Spritzy began licking James’ face.

“The dog is clearly assaulting you,” Pam added dryly.

Marie squinted at James. “What century were you born in? C’mon, James. It’s a little weed. We’re not asking you to eat a live goat on television.”

“But marijuana is illegal!” He pronounced the word with a harsh H sound.

“So is insider trading,” Marie shot back.