Love Letters, Inc. Read Online Free Page B

wouldn't want you to take that personally," Rosie said, gesturing toward the dog. "Old Font is a world-class con artist. He'll expect nothing less than half your lunch in exchange for letting you scratch his ear." She ladled tomato soup into his bowl.
    "Then I think he and Lacy would get along just fine."
    Rosie put a plate heaped with sandwiches in the middle of the table and sat down. She looked across at him and grinned before picking up her spoon and starting on her soup. "So, you really do have a dog? An Irish wolfhound?" She shook her head, the neck brace automatically including her shoulders.
    "That seems to amaze you. Why?"
    She laughed softly, but looked at him carefully before she went on. "I guess you look too neat, too organized, to have a mangy beast like that—" she gestured toward Font again "—clutter up your place."
    He tasted the soup. Delicious. Definitely not out of a can. "And you're not?"
    "Look around. Clutter is my life."
    He glanced around the kitchen. In one corner a half dozen shelves groaned under a load of cookbooks. The island in the center of the kitchen looked as though a team of chefs was about to prepare a presidential banquet, and in the corner, by the big brick fireplace, a chair and carpet were buried under a library's supply of magazines and newspapers. She was right. His place was neater.
    By the time his gaze got back to her, she was munching her sandwich and studying him, her eyes bright with curiosity. When he made no comment on her kitchen, she said, "I'm guessing your life is more, uh, organized. You've probably got one of those Mensa level smart phones that talk to you to remind you of your appointments."
    "As a matter of fact, I do. Why?"
    She slapped a hand on the table. "I knew it!"
    She was looking at him as if his pants were belted under his armpits and his hair was oiled. "I take it there's something wrong with that?"
    "Not wrong exactly. It's just what I expected."
    "Expected?"
    "From talking to you on the phone. I figured you'd be a man of ambition and definite plans. The kind of man who knew exactly where he was going to be in five years."
    What she said was true, but he didn't admit it. After all, the lady hadn't made it sound like a compliment. "You got all that from one phone call?"
    "Uh—huh." She took another bite of her sandwich and chewed quietly.
    "And you don't approve?" He wished he could bite back the question. He didn't give a damn if she approved or not.
    She put down her sandwich, put her elbows on the table, and laced her fingers together. Across this bridge, she gazed at him, her expression sober, introspective. "It's not a question of approval. There's a part of me that envies you your ability to—" she glanced away briefly "—prioritize things. Get and keep control of life's messy threads. My accountant says that's exactly what I should be doing, but I'm not very good at it."
    "You have an accountant?"
    "Does that surprise you?"
    "About as much as my having a dog surprised you."
    She laughed at that, and it rang like a bell somewhere near his heart. Kent didn't know you could hear bells when you were sinking into quicksand. "What else does your accountant think you should do?"
    "For one thing, she thinks I should deep-six Cyrano, Inc."
    "I'll second that."
    She ignored him. "She also thinks I should sell this place. According to her, I'm mortgage poor."
    Kent looked around, this time more assessingly. "Probably not a bad idea. It would bring top dollar in today's market."
    She was still smiling when she said, "You and Jonesy would like each other."
    "Jonesy?"
    "Roberta Jones. My accountant." Her expression brightened. "Maybe you'd like to meet her."
    Kent stared at her. "Have I got this right? You met me less than an hour ago, and you're trying to fix me up with your accountant?"
    "You'd like each other," she repeated, her face earnest. "Jonesy admires ambitious men with goals. She says that's the only kind of partner a smart woman should consider.