Honeymoon - James Patterson [30]
“Is someone complaining?”
“It’s more like an observation.”
“You don’t get it. This way she thinks she’s got something on you,” said Susan. “Dressing and driving beyond your means makes you more human.”
“Whatever happened to just being nice?”
“Nora comes across as nice, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah. Actually, she does.”
“I rest my case.”
“Did I mention the yellow Formica countertops?”
“C’mon, the place can’t be that bad,” Susan said.
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to live here.”
“It’s only temporary.”
“My saving grace. Hell, that’s probably the real reason for this apartment,” I said. “It’ll make me work faster.”
“The thought did cross my mind.”
“You don’t miss a trick, do you?”
“Not if I can help it,” she shot back. “Seriously, though, good work today.”
“Thank you.”
Susan gave me an end-of-the-day sigh. “Okay, it’s official. Nora Sinclair has gone backstage on Craig Reynolds. Now what?”
“That’s easy,” I said. “Now it’s my turn.”
Chapter 38
THERE WAS ONLY one empty seat in the first-class cabin. Under normal circumstances, Nora would’ve regretted that it wasn’t the one next to her. Then again, normally she didn’t have such a cute guy sharing the same armrest. From the side, he kind of looked like Brad Pitt, only with no wedding ring on his finger, no Jennifer on his arm.
During takeoff Nora—sans her own wedding ring—checked out her window-seat companion with a furtive glance. She was pretty sure he was doing the same with her. Of course he is. What man wouldn’t? When the captain turned off the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign, she knew the guy was ready to make a move.
“I’m a stacker myself,” he said.
She turned with the coy pretense of just now realizing she wasn’t alone. “Excuse me?”
“On the coffee table there.” He smiled broadly and nodded at the Architectural Digest open in her lap. On the right-hand page was a picture of a spacious living room.
“See how the magazines are spread out?” he said. “Fact is, there are only two types of people in this world . . . stackers and spreaders. So which one are you?”
Nora stared him right in the eye, unblinking. As conversation starters went, she had to give him a few points for originality. “Well, that depends. Who wants to know?”
“You’re absolutely right,” he said with an easy laugh. “You shouldn’t reveal such personal information to a complete stranger. My name’s Brian Stewart.”
“Nora Sinclair.”
He presented his hand, strong-looking, nicely manicured, and they shook.
“Now that we know each other, Nora, I believe you owe me an answer.”
“In that case, you’ll be pleased to know I’m a stacker.”
“Knew it.”
“Oh, did you?”
“Yep.” He leaned in slightly, but not too much. “You come across as very put together.”
“That’s a compliment?”
“For me, it is.”
She smiled. Maybe the real Brad Pitt was better looking, but Brian Stewart certainly was charming. Reason enough to keep the conversation going for a while.
“Tell me, Brian, what’s waiting for you in Boston today?”
“A dozen venture capitalists. And a pen.”
“Sounds promising. I take it the pen is for your signature.”
“Something like that.”
Nora was expecting him to elaborate, but he didn’t. She grinned. “To think I revealed myself as a stacker, only to have you turn bashful on me.”
He shifted in his window seat, clearly amused. “For the second time, you’re absolutely right. Okay, last year I sold my software company. This afternoon I’m about to launch my new one. Bor-ing.”
“I don’t think so. Anyway, congratulations! And those venture capitalists—they’re investing in you?”
“The way I see it, why put up your own money when others are willing to put up theirs?”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“Now what about you, Nora? What’s waiting for you up in Boston today?”
“A client,” she said. “I’m an interior decorator.”
He nodded. “Is your client’s home in the city?”
“It is. Except that’s not the one I’m decorating. He recently built a villa down in the Cayman Islands.”
“Beautiful place.”
“I’ve yet to go myself. But I will shortly.” Nora opened her mouth as if to say something else. She stopped.
“What