Christmas at Timberwoods - Fern Michaels [29]
“Look, working here in the mall like you do, you must know a lot of people, right?” All she got by way of response was a shrug, but she plowed on. “Um, I need a place to stay for a while. Two, three days, maybe even a week. I have money—a hundred dollars for a week. Do you know anyone who has a spare room?”
She waited patiently, knowing the man was mulling over her words. There was still no change of expression, nothing alive in his eyes. When he finally decided to speak, his answer stunned her. “You can stay with me.”
Angela felt as though a heavy weight had toppled from her thin shoulders. She stared at him, feeling relieved, not because of his offer but because it meant she wouldn’t be on the streets. Nonetheless, what was left of her common sense warned her she was taking a serious risk. She ignored the shuddery feeling.
“Would you like your picture taken with Santa?” asked the young elf, back from her break. “Only ten bucks.”
Startled, Angela shook her head.
“No? Then you have to move on. The kids are lining up again.”
Angela stared at Charlie Roman. He met her gaze blankly. “I’ll wait in the burger place for you.”
Charlie said nothing, but Angela suspected his dun-colored eyes would follow her until she was out of sight. She let out a long sigh and searched for a bench to sit down. She felt a little different now, almost calm. She hadn’t felt that way in days. If she were honest with herself, it had nothing to do with finding a place to stay. There was always somewhere to crash; she’d even slept in her car, uncomfortably, before now. No, what was making her feel different was the man with the empty eyes. She envied that emptiness.
Harold Baumgarten led the small parade into Dolph Richards’s office. The chief of security had just listened to Eric Summers’s story and he wasn’t impressed.
And Harold was annoyed with Heather. He shot her a suspicious look as he opened the door to Richards’s inner sanctum.
As always when entering his boss’s office, Harold blinked at the lavish decor. Heavy wheatcolored curtains complemented the ankle-deep chocolate carpeting. The warm effect was lost beneath oversized display pieces of every description that cluttered the large space, though the huge kidney-shaped desk was bare of anything resembling work. Someday, Harold thought, he would work out what all the buttons on the phone were for. Possibly some sort of warning system to tell Richards when someone was hot on his tail. Harold’s eyes went to the large tufted sofa upholstered in lemon yellow. How in the hell did it stay so clean?
Dolph Richards beamed an expensively capped smile at the small group. “Sit down, everyone. Can I get anyone a drink? I’ve got some good imported brandy. Why don’t we try it out? You all look so serious.”
“I don’t drink and you know it, Richards,” Harold said peevishly.
“That’s right, Baumgarten. You don’t drink and you don’t smoke and you don’t womanize. And you frown on those who do. Loosen up, pal, the world is going to pass you by. Live,” Richards exclaimed expansively, “for tomorrow you may die.”
Harold developed a coughing fit while Heather tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. Lex winced slightly but kept smiling.
Richards was generous with the brandy as he poured it into elegant snifters and handed them around. Harold eyed the glasses with distaste, picturing in his mind the long-haired beauty who managed the lingerie shop. The whole goddamned office was a shrine to Richards’s sexual conquests. He felt nauseated as he watched the grinning Richards playing benevolent host. Still, in a few days he wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. Harold was quitting this thankless job and taking off for Florida. The hell with everything.
“How long is this going to take?” Richards asked.
Heather grimaced. Harold