Dying to Get Published Read Online Free Page B

and rushed to the front door.
    She threw it open and there stood… an eight-year-old boy wearing a striped T-shirt and jeans, holding one long-stemmed white rose. "This man… this man, he gave me some money and asked me to, um, he asked me to come up here and ring your bell." His voice rose at the end of the sentence as though asking a question.
    "Yes," Jennifer said impatiently.
    "This man… this man wanted you to…"
    Jennifer swallowed all the words that were trying to crawl out of her mouth. "Exactly where is this man?" she asked as calmly as she could.
    "This man… he was downstairs… in his car… in front of our building…"
    She snatched the rose from the child's hand and tossed it inside the door. "Thank you," she said through clenched teeth. If Sam Culpepper thought for one minute that she was going to dash down to his car without his even bothering to climb the stairs…
    She rummaged in her bag until she unearthed two one-dollar bills. "Here, you take this and you tell ' this man ' —"
    "You can tell him yourself," Sam said, coming up the hall. "Sorry I'm a few minutes late. No spaces were open in front. Somebody must be having a party. I circled the lot three times, but I still had to park all the way around back. I sent my friend up to let you know I was here, but I'd be a few minutes late. Did he explain?"
    Jennifer looked from the boy's grinning face to Sam's and down to the bouquet of white roses he was holding. Was this Sam?  He hadn't looked this handsome the day of the wedding. He was taller than she remembered, and his curly dark hair was slicked back with a few sexy stray strands escaping to brush the top of his right eyebrow. And his eyes were a deep, dark blue.
    She shook her head. "He was trying to say something, but I wasn't quite sure what."
    "Did he give you the rose?"
    The rose? Where had she put the damn rose? Oh, that's right, she remembered. "Of course, he did. I laid it inside the door so I could look in my purse for a tip." She scooped it up and held it so Sam wouldn't notice the damaged petal that threatened to fall off.
    She turned toward the boy. "Thank you…"
    "My name's… my name's… Eddie."
    "Thank you, Eddie. You can go home now."
    "Whoa. Wait just a minute. I borrowed this young fella from his mother, and she made me promise to see him back downstairs. Are you ready?"
    Paternalistic. Nice touch. "Yes," she said, clutching her bag and shawl in her right hand, the rose in her left.
    "You might want to put these in water before we take off," he suggested, handing her the bouquet.
    There was nothing to do but take it. The injured petal fluttered to the floor as the bouquet joined the single flower. She watched it drift down as though in slow motion.
    She looked up and grinned sheepishly. "I'll be right out."
    She slipped into the narrow space that served as a kitchen and frantically looked about. No one had given her flowers in a long time. All her vases were boxed up in the closet. She grabbed a ceramic tea pot, filled it under the faucet, and plopped the roses in.
    The man brought you flowers, and he looks gorgeous. Don't get distracted. Remember your mission. You're to get rid of this guy. You're a woman with a plan. And Jaimie be quiet. That little display of fatherly concern doesn't mean diddly.
    When she returned to the front door, Sam was bending down admiring something the boy was clutching in his hand. It looked suspiciously like the flattened carcass of a frog.
    "OK. We're a go," she announced. Now she was sounding like some escapee from flight attendant school.
    Sam took her shawl, draped it over her shoulders, and offered her his elbow.
    Eddie ran ahead and punched the down button on the elevator.  He stood swaying back and forth, waiting for them.  "She's… she's pretty," he said, covered his face, threw back his head, and laughed.
    "I noticed that, too," Sam agreed.
     
    Jennifer and Sam dined on the veranda, that is, if a French restaurant can have a veranda.