Some Girls Do Page 3

  “You don't have to,” Wilhemina said, her gaze taking in Katie's slim frame. “You're thin,” she said in a softly accusing tone.

  “Size isn't everything,” Katie said, although her mother had repeatedly informed her that with men, size mattered. But that was a different matter. “What else do you like?”

  “Animals. I like animals. I like music.” Wilhemina paused, then leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “Don't tell Patricia, but I love country music.”

  Katie felt a sliver of amusement “I won't tell. If you could have any kind of man for a husband, what would he be like?”

  Seeming to hold her breath, Wilhemina locked gazes with Katie, and Katie could practically see a cauldron of secret wishes bubbling inside Ivan's daughter. She flexed her pen in preparation for a lengthy list.

  “I want a man who wants me so much he can't live without me,” Wilhemina said breathlessly.

  Katie felt a lump in her throat at the fragility of Ivan's daughter. She hadn't expected their meeting to be so, well, emotional. Absently pushing her glasses up her nose, Katie tried to detach herself. It wasn't her job to get overly involved with Wilhemina. Her assignment was to find Wilhemina a husband. If fate was kind, she would accomplish her assignment and Wilhemina's husband would grow to love her.

  “I understand that you've been invited to a cocktail party at the Rogers’ home on Saturday,” Katie ventured. “Have you thought about what you'd like to wear?”

  Wilhemina shook her head, sending the fringe on her hat into a tizzy. “I usually just pick something out at the last minute. Like today, the suit is new, but the fox wrap belonged to my mother.”

  No disrespect to Wilhemina's deceased mother, but the fox wrap should have been buried with her. Katie nodded, but kept her mouth shut.

  “And the hat belonged to my third stepmother, Maria. She was a flamenco dancer,” Wilhemina said with a shy smile.

  Katie nodded again. “I know you've had professional fashion consultations. Would you like to shop for something new to wear to the Rogers’ party?”

  “That would be fun. You'll get something too, won't you?” Wilhemina asked.

  Confused, Katie shook her head. “I really don't need anything new.”

  “But you're going with me to the party, aren't you? Daddy said you would also be my companion.” Wilhemina scrutinized Katie's olive dress. “You can't wear anything like that to the Rogers’.”

  Katie paused, stuck on the prospect of attending a high-society cocktail party. Fish out of water didn't begin to cover how she would feel. “I, uh, I had thought you would want to attend alone so you could mingle with the eligible men.”

  Wilhemina shook her head. “The only reason the Rogers invited me is because they didn't know Daddy was going out of town.”

  Katie swallowed a groan. “I really hadn't planned—I'm not sure I'm prepared to attend the Rogers’ cocktail party.”

  “Well, maybe we can have makeovers together. That would be fun,” Wilhemina said, warming to the idea. “And I can lend you some of my accessories.”

  Katie bit back a moan. “Oh, I couldn't let you do that,” she said for more than one reason. “Besides, we need to keep the focus on you since we're looking—”

  “Excuse me,” a male voice said from behind her. “Am I interrupting?”

  Katie immediately tensed. Michael Wingate. Yes, you're interrupting, she wanted to say, but restrained herself. She turned to see him stride into the room, his hand outstretched toward Wilhemina.

  “Miss Rasmussen, I don't believe we've met. Michael Wingate of Wingate Securities at your service.”

  Wilhemina's cheeks turned pink. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wingate. Please call me Wilhemina.”

  “Wilhemina,” he said with a gentle nod of deference, then cast a brief, curious glance at Katie. “Miss Collins.”

  Katie nodded, his curiosity making her uncomfortable. She noticed the perfect cut of his suit, perfect knot of his tie, and perfect confidence he oozed with every minute gesture. Her mother's voice whispered through her mind, Now that's one man's trousers I wouldn't mind climbing inside. The bawdy thought embarrassed her, and she snuffed out her mother's uncensored comments from her brain.

  “Katie and I were just discussing the Rogers’ party on Saturday night, I thought it would be fun if Katie got a makeover and went with me,” Wilhemina said.

  Katie felt Michael Wingate run his cool, dispassionate gaze over her from head to toe and knew she didn't measure up to whatever his standard was. Not that she gave a tinker's damn.

  “Excellent idea, Wilhemina, both for security purposes and for your comfort. I'm certain Miss Collins would be delighted to get a makeover with you. She'll need different clothing for a party at the Rogers’.”

  “Oh, and you'll be joining us, won't you?” Wilhemina asked.

  Katie watched Michael's perfect composure slip a millimeter and felt an inordinate satisfaction. “Joining you for what?” he asked.

  “For the cocktail party,” Wilhemina said, brimming with enthusiasm. “It will make me feel safer to have a bodyguard with me, and it'll be so much more fun if all three of us go together.”

  “Fun,” he echoed, rolling the word in his mouth as if it were foreign to him.

  Katie would bet the concept of fun was foreign to Michael Wingate. Although she hadn't engaged in a great deal of fun during the last two years, she could at least identify it.

  “I'm not sure my job assignment is intended for me to have fun,” he said to Wilhemina, his jaw tight with a restraint that suggested his patience was being stretched.

  “But I'd be much more comfortable if you would join Katie and me,” Wilhemina said, a world of vulnerability in her eyes.

  Katie watched Michael Wingate and waited. His confidence irritated her. His intensity bothered her in weird ways she didn't understand. His response to Wilhemina would determine exactly where Katie placed him on the prick scale for men.

  “Anyone can be a butterfly. A butterfly is just a moth with eyeshadow.”

  —SUNNY COLLINS'S WISDOM

  Chapter 3

  Michael looked into Wilhemina's guileless gaze and felt his no back up in his throat. It would be easier to kick a puppy.

  “How can I say no?” Michael finally said. How in hell could he refuse, he wondered, tamping down the familiar rumble of frustration. He was caught between a rock and a hard place until Ivan returned.

  Although Michael considered this assignment so frivolous it made his teeth ache, he had decided Ivan's bargain was worth the pain. Michael couldn't bear feeling his time was being wasted. He had too much to accomplish, too much to rebuild, he thought, a fuzzy vision of his father sliding through his mind like smoke. Pushing the image aside, Michael tried not to dwell on everything his father had lost all those years ago, but he couldn't deny he burned to regain at least a portion of it. Add to that his own professional disaster that would have buried plenty of men. Between a fiancée who had dumped him in his blackest hour and a partner who had double-crossed him, Michael had learned not to count on anyone. He had worked nearly twenty-four hours a day during the last four years to position his company for this kind of success. With a contract for Ivan's security business needs firmly under wraps in just months, Michael might be able to finally take a breath. Sometimes he wondered if he really wanted time to take a breath.

  Wilhemina beamed at him, nodding her head and making the fringe on her ridiculous hat shimmy. Ivan's daughter was an unarmed amateur in the Philadelphia society scene where men and women wielded their tongues with the professional ease of hit men using a switchblade or Uzi. Wilhemina was unfashionable in both temperament and appearance. She would never be able to affect the cool required of the social elite.

  Finding a husband for Ivan's daughter in Philadelphia would require a miracle handed down from God, and Michael seriously doubted Miss Collins was up to the challenge. Michael, however, had made certain his agreement with Ivan was not dependent on Miss Collins's s
uccess. Michael was merely responsible for Wilhemina's safety to the extent that her life was not threatened and to thoroughly inform her and Ivan of the background of all potential suitors.

  Michael suspected his greatest challenge during the next two months would be to keep himself from leaping out the window of his antique-laden bedroom on the second floor from complete boredom. Michael had learned that keeping busy kept the ghosts away, the ghosts of his father and the loss. He wondered how in hell he would be able to keep busy during this insane assignment. Ivan had been unwilling to budge on the issue of Michael's residence. The man might come across like an asshole, but he was a pit bull where his daughter was concerned.

  “Wilhemina,” Michael said in a voice he reserved for good children. “I haven't had a chance to brief Miss Collins. It won't take a moment, and I can talk to her in the office across the hall. Would you excuse us?”

  “Of course,” Wilhemina said. “I'll just drink my tea. Have you met Chantal yet?” she asked, moving her hand toward a cat that looked as if it had been skinned.

  “This is the Canadian hairless,” Michael said, keeping his tone as neutral as he could. Ivan had slipped the cat's protection into his contract at the last minute. If his colleagues knew he was not only heiress-sitting, he was also cat-sitting, he would be laughed off the east coast.

  “Yes. Amazing, isn't she,” Miss Collins said in the same neutral voice he had affected.

  He saw a sliver of wry amusement in Miss Collins's gaze and felt the slightest click of a connection. She didn't think much of the cat either. They agreed on one thing. He just needed to make sure they agreed on a few others.

  He bent to touch the animal, but the cat snarled He pulled back. “Amazing,” he repeated. “My thoughts exactly. If you'll excuse us, Wilhemina,” he said, then glanced at Ivan's assistant. “Miss Collins.”

  He thought he spotted a trace of rebellion in the woman's eyes, but she turned her head before he had a chance to study her. Leading the way to the office, Michael stood inside the room and closed the door as soon as Miss Collins entered.

  “I realize you have an ominous task in front of you,” Michael began, pulling at his tie. “And desperation drives all of us to take insane action,” he said darkly, because he believed Ivan's offer was insane. “But don't include me on your list of prospects for Wilhemina and don't encourage her to include me on her social outings.”

  Miss Collins's lips parted in surprise. She blinked, then drew a deep breath. “Mr. Wingate, I wouldn't have dreamed of including you on a list of prospects for Wilhemina. After meeting her, my top criterion for her husband would be kindness. As for her desire to include you on her outings, I have no control. If she feels more comfortable with her assigned bodyguard, I certainly wouldn't want to stop her.”

  Michael's attention hung on the slight edge of her voice when she'd mentioned kindness before she'd called him a bodyguard. The insult scored him. “I am not a bodyguard. I am the owner of Wingate Securities, a professional agency that specializes in commercial and computer security.”

  Miss Collins shrugged. “Just as I'm not ordinarily a companion or a matchmaker.”

  Michael felt his temperature rise. “You still don't understand. I will personally screen all of Wilhemina's marriage prospects, but I'll be conducting some of my own business while I stay at the Rasmussens’ home. I employ bodyguards who can protect Wilhemina during her excursions.”

  Miss Collins nodded slowly. “What you're telling me is that you have more important things to do than be Wilhemina's bodyguard.”

  “Yes,” he said, relieved the woman finally had comprehended him, although he couldn't help thinking his complete lack of relationships during the last year had done serious damage to his communication skills. He'd done his damnedest to make himself an island and had succeeded in all the ways that counted.

  “That's fine,” she said cheerfully. “I'll let you explain it to Wilhemina. It's far too complicated for me. Was there anything else you wanted?”

  Michael ground his teeth. He knew part of the reason Miss Collins got on his nerves was because she'd heard Ivan's take on his parents. He ruthlessly pushed aside his discomfort for the moment. “You'll need to supply me with the names of your prospects if or when you find them along with advance notice of Wilhemina's schedule.”

  “No problem,” Miss Collins said. “Now if you'll excuse me—”

  “One more thing,” he said, her breezy attitude grating on him. “Even if you can't find anyone for Wilhemina, I still intend to get Ivan's business. This is no game for me.”

  In one blink, the glint in her eyes shifted from contrary to deadly serious. “Then we agree. This is important to me too,” she said crisply.

  Her resolve echoed inside him with such force that he had the feeling he had just met his match in the determination department.

  “I need to get back to Wilhemina. I'm sure I'll see you later,” she told him in a dismissive tone that indicated she was as thrilled with their enforced association as he was.

  Feeling her anger burn high in her cheeks, Katie marched back into the parlor. “Self-serving, superior sonofabitch,” she muttered under her breath. She felt her mother's drawling perspective ooze through her. Damn shame. A fine specimen of masculinity until he opens his mouth. If he's gonna open his mouth, he should make use of it in a totally different manner.

  Katie rolled her eyes and quelled her mother's voice. She bit her lip and tried to calm herself as she spotted Wilhemina stuffing two cookies into her mouth. This would be worth the trouble, she told herself. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be worth it.

  Wilhemina looked up at Katie with a guilty gaze and gulped down the remainder of the cookies. She followed with a quick swallow of tea. “Did Mr. Wingate brief you?”

  “Yes,” she said, certain his briefs were constantly in a twist.

  “Isn't he gorgeous,” Wilhemina said with a sigh.

  As long as he doesn't open his mouth, Katie thought and made a noncommittal sound.

  “Such a shame about his family,” Wilhemina said and made a clucking sound.

  Curious despite herself, Katie took the lure. “His family?”

  “Patricia told me the Wingates used to live on Society Hill, but Michael's father lost all their money to poor investments and they were ruined.”

  That sounded like the kind of information Patricia would be eager to impart.

  “If that weren't bad enough, after he lost all the money, Michael's father killed himself, so there was no life insurance for Michael or his mother. Patricia says his mother has been mentally unstable ever since.”

  Katie felt a drop of sympathy for the man. Although her mother had never been declared insane, her actions had yielded a truckload of embarrassment for Katie when she'd hit adolescence. “How old was Mr. Wingate when he lost his father?”

  “Eight or nine, I think. He was bounced around between distant relatives and foster homes. Then he went into the military,” she said, her gaze turning dreamy. “I bet he looked great in a uniform.”

  “Looks aren't everything,” Katie said, dismissing the disturbing Michael Wingate from her mind. She had more important fish to fry. “You want to marry a man who will treat you well.”

  Wilhemina nodded. “Patricia says money and breeding are the top two qualities of a good husband, and between the two, money can overcome breeding.”

  Katie stifled a sigh. Lovely advice from the Mayflower barracuda, who wanted Wilhemina out of the house.

  Katie leaned forward and took Wilhemina's hand. “No matter what anyone has told you about what kind of man you should choose as your husband, you'll need to combine the very best of your heart and head to make your decision. After all, you are the one who will have to live with your choice.”

  Wilhemina nodded again, her eyes solemn as the ridiculous fringe on her hat swayed. “Do you really think you're going to be able to find someone to marry me? I'm not like a lot of the people who attend these parties.�
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  Try as she might, Katie couldn't keep that signed check for one hundred thousand dollars in sight when Wilhemina's vulnerability might as well have been placed before her on a tray. “I think it might be a very good thing that you're not like a lot of the people you meet at the parties.”

  Two days later, Michael finished making notes on his laptop for a security proposal for a midsize electronics company, then turned to write the monthly check for his mother's care. He felt a slight twist of guilt. It had been a while since he'd visited her, but she had started calling him by his father's name, and Michael could take a lot, but not that. He told himself to treat his visits to her as if they were a business appointment, but he'd never quite succeeded His mother's mental problems represented one more reason why he shouldn't depend on anyone but himself.

  The sound of feminine giggles floated up from the bottom of the stairs. The sound was a welcome distraction from his dark thoughts. He leaned back in his leather chair and shook off the trapped sensation that had haunted him since he had moved into the green room. Heavy cherry furniture topped with knickknacks crowded the large room. If it were left to him, he would remove a third of the furniture and all of the objects d'clutter. That response, he was sure, was generated by his days spent in the military where he'd learned the true meaning of minimalistic decorating.

  The giggling continued and he recalled that today was makeover day with the legendary Fernando for Wilhemina and Miss Collins. What a challenge the man had faced, the Mt. Everest of makeovers, Michael thought and rose, giving in to his curiosity about the results.

  He made his way down the stairs and found Wilhemina and Miss Collins chatting in the foyer. Wilhernina's makeup was much more subtle, and she wore a pink dress with some sort of jacket that concealed her penchant for cookies. Unfortunately, the effect was somewhat destroyed by a hat with a large red feather.

  Miss Collins's hair was still upswept in a tight twist, her eyes still shielded by black-framed glasses. Her dress, though a drab pale gray in color, fit her frame more closely, and Michael wasn't entirely surprised to learn that the woman was more curvy than lumpy. He remembered how small her waist had felt in that closet. Not only that, the hem of the dress stopped just above the knee, accenting the legs he'd already assessed the first time he'd seen her.