second thought, don’t change.” Sabrina grabbed her arm. “Come down just as you are.”
Paige said flatly, “I can’t.”
“Why not? You mean, the dress? It only matters that Caleb not see my wedding gown before the ceremony, you know. The bridesmaids’ dresses don’t count. Come on, Paige—oh, I didn’t get nearly all the buttons fastened, did I? Here, turn around and let me finish.”
Paige didn’t move. “Why are you so anxious for me to meet Austin? And why right now?”
Sabrina’s eyes sparkled. “You think I’m trying to fix you up, don’t you?” She chuckled. “Darling, I’ve known you for more than two years, and I’ve learned the lesson well. I would never dare try to organize anything which even faintly resembled a date for you.”
“That all sounds good,” Paige said suspiciously, “but—”
“I just think you should get to know Austin. If Rent-A-Wife is going to keep on taking care of Tanner Electronics’ employees, it wouldn’t hurt a bit for all three of us to be on speaking terms with the new CEO.”
Paige bit her lip. She could hardly argue with that. And it was a little late to start explaining that she’d gone well past speaking terms with Austin Weaver, all the way to ferocious argument and accusation, earlier this very afternoon—to say nothing of sharing the whole history of her relationship with Austin Weaver while the man himself was waiting just downstairs…
“All right,” she said finally. “I’ll come down. But I’ll have to get into my own clothes first. I can’t walk around wearing this elegant dress and my everyday loafers.” And I’ll take my own sweet time about changing, Paige told herself. With any luck, Sabrina would mention that Paige was upstairs, and Austin would set a speed record for the door.
“On second thought,” Sabrina murmured, “if you’re trying to look your best for him, Paige, perhaps I should try to organize a date!”
But Paige’s luck was cold indeed. Either Sabrina hadn’t commented about the friend who’d be coming down in a few minutes, or Austin had seen no acceptable way to excuse himself, for when Paige came down the stairs she could hear the murmur of several voices in the living room. Among them she had no trouble picking out the low, rich tones of Austin’s voice and the high notes of Jennifer’s.
Though why, Paige asked herself, should she leap to the conclusion that he’d be uncomfortable enough to run just because she happened to be on the scene?
You’d better get over the idea that you’re anything more than incidental to him, she told herself. And the sooner, the better.
As the man had said himself this afternoon, he had gone on with his life—and straight on, at that, barely even pausing over the little matter of a divorce. Jennifer’s childish soprano ought to be reminder enough of that; even if Paige had once been the most important thing in Austin Weaver’s life—which seemed increasingly doubtful, from the evidence at hand—she had long since ceased to be significant.
Just as he was no longer significant to her. She’d made a mistake earlier in the day, allowing herself to put too much importance on the past, allowing herself to become shrill over something which didn’t matter at all anymore. Now that she’d realized her error, she could be every bit as indifferent to Austin as he was to her.
She paused in the doorway, taking in the scene at a glance. Austin was seated on the couch, with his back to her and his daughter nestled up against his side.
Knowing she could still walk away, Paige had to force herself to step into the living room.
Sabrina passed a cup to Austin and asked, “You’ve already been to the apartment, of course? How do you like it?”
“It’s very nice. I understand Jennifer has you to thank for the fact that her room looks exactly like the one she had in Atlanta.”
“Does it?” Sabrina asked earnestly. “I hoped it would. All the photos you faxed helped, of course.”
“But there aren’t any right-sized hooks,” Jennifer said earnestly. “My size, I mean.”
Sabrina frowned. “Oh, dear. I didn’t even think of that. It must be because I don’t have any little girls of my own.”
“I wanted to ask about making the apartment a little more child-friendly,” Austin said, “with lower closet rods and coat hooks and shelves that she can reach. Is that the sort of thing Rent-A-Wife does?”
“All the time.” As Sabrina settled back with her own coffee cup, her gaze lighted on Paige in the doorway, and she said with a twinkle, “But that kind of job would be Paige’s department. Both Cassie and I are hopeless with hammers and drills and screwdrivers, you see. Come on in, Paige, so I can introduce you.”
Austin looked over his shoulder, set his cup down, and got to his feet. His expression was bland, Paige saw, showing no recognition, no irritation—and no surprise. He was obviously waiting for her cue, she realized.
She came forward, hand outstretched. Sabrina was watching them fondly, Paige saw, like a matchmaking mama. Annoyed, Paige said under her breath, “Sometimes I wonder what you are good at, Sabrina Saunders!”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Sabrina said brightly. “Human relations are my specialty.”
Before she could go on, Jennifer bounced onto her knees on the couch, leaned over the back toward Paige, and said cheerfully, “Hello. I’ve forgotten your name, wasn’t that silly?”
Paige saw Sabrina’s eyebrows soar.
“Do you know what?” the child went on engagingly. “Daddy told me I probably wouldn’t see you again.”
Paige thought she saw a flicker of annoyance cross Austin’s face.
Jennifer’s announcement was interesting, Paige thought, in several ways. Because the child had taken her father’s statement seriously enough to repeat. Because he’d said it in the first place. Because it so obviously indicated that he intended to avoid Paige. And most of all, because he was clearly put out at his daughter for bringing the matter up.
“Again?” Sabrina asked.
“We’ve already met,” Paige said. She tried to make it sound casual. “I was just leaving the apartment this evening when Mr. Weaver and Jennifer arrived.” She offered a hand to the child. “Will you shake hands? I wouldn’t dream of patting you on the head, you see.”
Jennifer giggled. “She tried again when we were leaving to come over here. It’s because my daddy is—”
“Very tired from a long drive,” Austin said smoothly. “And it’s time for us to go. Thank Ms. Saunders again for your room, Jennifer.”
“It’s nice,” the child said dutifully. “I didn’t want to leave my other one, you know, because my mother planned it all for me before she died.”
I don’t have a forwarding address, Austin had said. Paige had thought he was simply being irreverent. Only in retrospect did she hear pain under the flippant words.
Paige closed her eyes and heard in her brain the echo of every catty comment she’d made in that short conversation with him this afternoon. The relationship obviously wasn’t successful…. People do crazy things after a divorce…. Your bad choices aren’t my responsibility…. At least I learned my lesson….
Her head ached at the memory of every one of those statements—all unfounded, all judgmental, all wrong. Dead wrong.
Why had she never even considered the possibility that Jennifer’s mother had died? Why had she so blithely assumed that relationship, too, must have ended in divorce?
Because, Paige accused herself, he divorced you—and you wanted to believe that he couldn’t commit himself to another woman any more than he could to you.
She’d