herself. She'd almost had a heart attack in the ugliest hotel lobby in Ohio.
"The police would probably be bad publicity." Mr. Baxter sounded unsure.
"I'd bet on it," Dennie said.
"Well, then, you understand." Mr. Baxter nodded once, turned away, turned back, and said, "Uh, enjoy your stay."
"Thank you," Dennie said.
When he was gone, Dennie leaned back for a moment trying to calm her panic-stricken heart. You need to find someone you can't charm, Patience had told her, and then Fate sent her Janice Meredith. What a shame she couldn't call Patience on her honeymoon and tell her; somebody should be enjoying this. Think , she told herself, and then as she registered the curious looks that passersby were throwing at her as she sat frowning, she shoved herself out of her chair and headed for the mahogany and brass bar she could see through the archway at the end of the lobby. People in bars often scowled at random; she wouldn't be noticeable there.
Once inside the cool darkness, she ordered a scotch from the little redhead behind the bar and contemplated the humiliation of her afternoon. First Janice Meredith had looked at her as if she were lower than Howard Stern. And then there had been Trella, the throwback. Find a nice man, she'd said. And then that wimpy hotel manager who was probably the sole support of a large extended family—
"You okay?" the bartender said as she put the scotch in front of Dennie.
"I'm having a rough morning," Dennie said. "People are thwarting me."
The redhead grinned at her. "Welcome to my world. And it's afternoon now, so maybe things will pick up."
"They can't get much worse." Dennie picked up her scotch. "Thanks. I needed this."
"My pleasure," the bartender said.
Dennie sipped her scotch, and the bartender drifted away as she contemplated her problem. Okay, she'd been shot down. She wasn't out yet. She could still get the interview somehow. In spite of Meredith's resistance and Trella's obtuseness and that manager's rabbitlike terror—
She closed her eyes as she felt every muscle she had tense with frustration. Be calm. Tension never got anybody anywhere. Tension was nonproductive. Tension was bad.
Calm was good. Calm. Cool. Sophisticated. If she was calm, she'd think of a solution. If she was calm, she could be charming again. She composed herself, opened her eyes, and looked at herself in the mirror over the bar. Exactly. She looked like an adult. That was good. Very good. She practiced a charming adult smile in the mirror.
"That is some smile."
Dennie whipped her head around. Standing beside her was the I've-got-plenty-of-money doofus from the lobby, all blank brown eyes and aw-shucks grin and dumb good looks. He looked a lot like the first guy she'd bumped into at the door, but bigger. Broader. In fact, if he hadn't had such a blank look on his face, he'd have been really attractive. He must have inherited his pile. He couldn't possibly have had the brains to make it himself. Not that it mattered. She had other things to concentrate on. "Go away."
"Aw, now, really." He slid onto the bar seat next to her and smiled at her like a big puppy. Gee, gosh, ma'am. "I bet that smile gets you just about anything you want. Like dinner. It sure would get you dinner with me tonight."
The bartender had drifted back. Dennie caught her grinning and fought the urge to grin back. "No, thank you. As I mentioned to you earlier, you have nothing I want. I would like to be alone now, please." Dennie tried to turn her back on him.
"Pretty lady like you, alone? Aw, c'mon." He ducked his head in front of her, goofily confident.
Dennie reassessed her position on tension as she clenched her teeth. "No, never, not in this lifetime, absolutely not," she said, enunciating each word clearly, and the bartender bit her lip.
His eyes widened slightly, and he drew back. "Gee, usually that smile bit is a great line for me." He blinked at her. "But, hey, I'm adaptable. Okay. Your smile is really bad."
Dennie
"The police would probably be bad publicity." Mr. Baxter sounded unsure.
"I'd bet on it," Dennie said.
"Well, then, you understand." Mr. Baxter nodded once, turned away, turned back, and said, "Uh, enjoy your stay."
"Thank you," Dennie said.
When he was gone, Dennie leaned back for a moment trying to calm her panic-stricken heart. You need to find someone you can't charm, Patience had told her, and then Fate sent her Janice Meredith. What a shame she couldn't call Patience on her honeymoon and tell her; somebody should be enjoying this. Think , she told herself, and then as she registered the curious looks that passersby were throwing at her as she sat frowning, she shoved herself out of her chair and headed for the mahogany and brass bar she could see through the archway at the end of the lobby. People in bars often scowled at random; she wouldn't be noticeable there.
Once inside the cool darkness, she ordered a scotch from the little redhead behind the bar and contemplated the humiliation of her afternoon. First Janice Meredith had looked at her as if she were lower than Howard Stern. And then there had been Trella, the throwback. Find a nice man, she'd said. And then that wimpy hotel manager who was probably the sole support of a large extended family—
"You okay?" the bartender said as she put the scotch in front of Dennie.
"I'm having a rough morning," Dennie said. "People are thwarting me."
The redhead grinned at her. "Welcome to my world. And it's afternoon now, so maybe things will pick up."
"They can't get much worse." Dennie picked up her scotch. "Thanks. I needed this."
"My pleasure," the bartender said.
Dennie sipped her scotch, and the bartender drifted away as she contemplated her problem. Okay, she'd been shot down. She wasn't out yet. She could still get the interview somehow. In spite of Meredith's resistance and Trella's obtuseness and that manager's rabbitlike terror—
She closed her eyes as she felt every muscle she had tense with frustration. Be calm. Tension never got anybody anywhere. Tension was nonproductive. Tension was bad.
Calm was good. Calm. Cool. Sophisticated. If she was calm, she'd think of a solution. If she was calm, she could be charming again. She composed herself, opened her eyes, and looked at herself in the mirror over the bar. Exactly. She looked like an adult. That was good. Very good. She practiced a charming adult smile in the mirror.
"That is some smile."
Dennie whipped her head around. Standing beside her was the I've-got-plenty-of-money doofus from the lobby, all blank brown eyes and aw-shucks grin and dumb good looks. He looked a lot like the first guy she'd bumped into at the door, but bigger. Broader. In fact, if he hadn't had such a blank look on his face, he'd have been really attractive. He must have inherited his pile. He couldn't possibly have had the brains to make it himself. Not that it mattered. She had other things to concentrate on. "Go away."
"Aw, now, really." He slid onto the bar seat next to her and smiled at her like a big puppy. Gee, gosh, ma'am. "I bet that smile gets you just about anything you want. Like dinner. It sure would get you dinner with me tonight."
The bartender had drifted back. Dennie caught her grinning and fought the urge to grin back. "No, thank you. As I mentioned to you earlier, you have nothing I want. I would like to be alone now, please." Dennie tried to turn her back on him.
"Pretty lady like you, alone? Aw, c'mon." He ducked his head in front of her, goofily confident.
Dennie reassessed her position on tension as she clenched her teeth. "No, never, not in this lifetime, absolutely not," she said, enunciating each word clearly, and the bartender bit her lip.
His eyes widened slightly, and he drew back. "Gee, usually that smile bit is a great line for me." He blinked at her. "But, hey, I'm adaptable. Okay. Your smile is really bad."
Dennie
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