Overload. Linda HowardЧитать онлайн книгу.
taste in men, regrettably, tended toward the unpolished variety. “He wore an earring,” she said dreamily. “And did you see his hair?”
“Yes. It was long and uncombed.”
“What a mane! I wonder why he’s going into Quinlan’s.” Chickie’s eyes brightened. “Maybe he’s a new staffer!”
Elizabeth shuddered at the thought, but it was possible. Unfortunately the “Securities” in Quinlan Securities didn’t refer to the financial kind but the physical sort. Chickie, who didn’t have a shy bone in her body, had investigated when they had first moved into the building and cheerfully reported that Quinlan handled security of all types, from security systems to bodyguards. To Elizabeth’s way of thinking, that didn’t explain the type of people they saw coming and going from the Quinlan offices. The clientele, or maybe it was the staff, had a decidedly rough edge. If they were the former, she couldn’t imagine them having enough money to afford security services. If they were the latter, she likewise couldn’t imagine a client feeling comfortable around bodyguards who looked like mass murderers.
She had dated Tom Quinlan, the owner, for a while last winter, but he had been very closemouthed about his business, and she had been wary about asking. In fact, everything about Tom had made her wary. He was a big, macho, take-charge type of man, effortlessly overwhelming in both personality and body. When she had realized how he was taking over her life, she had swiftly ended the relationship and since then gone out of her way to avoid him. She would not lose control of her life again, and Tom Quinlan had overstepped the bounds in a big way.
Chickie dragged her attention away from the closed door across the hall and looked expectantly at Elizabeth. “Well?”
Elizabeth couldn’t hold back the grin that slowly widened as her triumph glowed through. “She loved it.”
“She did? You got it?” Chickie shrieked, jumping up and sending her chair spinning.
“I got it. We’ll start next month.” Her lunch meeting had been with Sandra Eiland, possessor of one of the oldest fortunes in Dallas. Sandra had decided to renovate her lavish hacienda-style house, and Elizabeth had just landed the interior-design account. She had owned her own firm for five years now, and this was the biggest job she had gotten, as well as being the most visible one. Sandra Eiland loved parties and entertained often; Elizabeth couldn’t have paid for better advertising. This one account lifted her onto a completely different level of success.
Chickie’s enthusiasm was immediate and obvious; she danced around the reception area, her long black hair flying. “Look out, Dallas, we are cooking now!” she crowed. “Today the Eiland account, tomorrow—tomorrow you’ll do something else. We are going to be busy.”
“I hope,” Elizabeth said as she passed through into her office.
“No hoping to it.” Chickie followed, still dancing. “It’s guaranteed. The phone will be ringing so much I’ll have to have an assistant. Yeah, I like the idea of that. Someone else can answer the phone, and I’ll chase around town finding the stuff you’ll need for all the jobs that will be pouring in.”
“If you’re chasing around town, you won’t be able to watch the comings and goings across the hall,” Elizabeth pointed out in a casual tone, hiding her amusement.
Chickie stopped dancing and looked thoughtful. She considered Quinlan’s to be her own secret treasure trove of interesting, potential men, far more productive than a singles’ bar.
“So maybe I’ll have two assistants,” she finally said. “One to answer the phone, and one to chase around town while I stay here and keep things organized.”
Elizabeth laughed aloud. Chickie was such an exuberant person that it was a joy to be around her. Their styles complemented each other, Elizabeth’s dry, sometimes acerbic wit balanced by Chickie’s unwavering good nature. Where Elizabeth was tall and slim, Chickie was short and voluptuous. Chickie tended toward the dramatic in clothing, so Elizabeth toned down her own choices. Clients didn’t like to be overwhelmed or restrained. It was subtle, but the contrast between Elizabeth and Chickie in some way relaxed her clients, reassured them that they wouldn’t be pressured into a style they weren’t comfortable with. Of course, sometimes Elizabeth wasn’t comfortable with her own style of dress, such as today, when the heat was so miserable and she would have been much happier in shorts and a cotton T-shirt, but she had mentally, and perhaps literally, girded her loins with panty hose. If it hadn’t been for the invention of air conditioning, she never would have made it; just crossing the street in this incredible heat was a feat of endurance.
Chickie’s bangle bracelets made a tinkling noise as she seated herself across from Elizabeth’s desk. “What time are you leaving?”
“Leaving?” Sometimes Chickie’s conversational jumps were a little hard to follow. “I just got back.”
“Don’t you ever listen to the radio? The heat is hazardous. The health department, or maybe it’s the weather bureau, is warning everyone to stay inside during the hottest part of the day, drink plenty of water, stuff like that. Most businesses are opening only in the mornings, then letting their people go home early so they won’t get caught in traffic. I checked around. Just about everyone in the building is closing up by two this afternoon.”
Elizabeth looked at the Eiland folder she had just placed on her desk. She could barely wait to get started. “You can go home anytime you want,” she said. “I had some ideas about the Eiland house that I want to work on while they’re still fresh in my mind.”
“I don’t have any plans,” Chickie said immediately. “I’ll stay.”
Elizabeth settled down to work and, as usual, soon became lost in the job. She loved interior design, loved the challenge of making a home both beautiful and functional, as well as suited to the owner’s character. For Sandra Eiland, she wanted something that kept the flavor of the old Southwest, with an air of light and spaciousness, but also conveyed Sandra’s sleek sophistication.
The ringing of the telephone finally disrupted her concentration, and she glanced at the clock, surprised to find that it was already after three o’clock. Chickie answered the call, listened for a moment, then said, “I’ll find out. Hold on.” She swiveled in her chair to look through the open door into Elizabeth’s office. “It’s the guard downstairs. He’s a substitute, not our regular guard, and he’s checking the offices, since he doesn’t know anyone’s routine. He says that almost everyone else has already gone, and he wants to know how late we’ll be here.”
“Why don’t you go on home now,” Elizabeth suggested. “There’s no point in your staying later. And tell the guard I’ll leave within the hour. I want to finish this sketch, but it won’t take long.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Chickie said yet again.
“No, there’s no need. Just switch on the answering machine. I promise I won’t be here much longer.”
“Well, all right.” Chickie relayed the message to the guard, then hung up and retrieved her purse from the bottom desk drawer. “I dread going out there,” she said. “It might be worth it to wait until after sundown, when it cools down to the nineties.”
“It’s over five hours until sundown. This is July, remember.”
“On the other hand, I could spend those five hours beguiling the cute guy who moved in across the hall last week.”
“Sounds more productive.”
“And more fun.” Chickie flashed her quick grin. “He won’t have a chance. See you tomorrow.”
“Yes. Good luck.” By the time Chickie sashayed out of the office, scarlet skirt swinging, Elizabeth had already become engrossed in the sketch taking shape beneath her talented fingers. She always did the best she could with any design, but she particularly wanted this one to be perfect, not just for the benefit to her career, but because that wonderful old house deserved it.