In His Wildest Dreams
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“Ethical…professional…moral. What did you think of her?”
He shrugged, and then put a little more elbow grease into the job. If he got the Chevy looking good enough, he’d pick Tiffany up in it tonight.
“You have to have some sort of opinion.”
“She’s okay.”
“That’s it?”
He snorted, and stopped polishing. “What do you want from me? You know damn well I’m being blackmailed into doing this. Do I have to like the woman, too?”
“Don’t you?”
“I said she was okay.”
“Fine.” Brenda folded her arms across her chest in that sulky way he knew all too well. “Have you gone to see Mom lately?”
Oh, brother. Now she was on the offensive. “Nope, and the subject is not open for discussion.”
“Have you at least talked to her on the phone?”
“Yeah, but I bet you already know that.”
“Mom might have mentioned you phoned her last month.”
He gave her an amused look and kept working.
“Nick, you can’t blame her for wanting to see you married and settled down with children before she dies.”
He stared at his sister in disbelief. “For God’s sake, she’s only fifty-two. I doubt she has one foot in the grave already.”
“Yeah, but you know Mom.”
“Yeah, I do. That’s why I’m staying clear until she either gets over this phase or starts picking on you instead.” He stopped, and used the back of his hand to wipe his forehead. “Why isn’t she bugging you to get married and have kids?”
“Because I’m not the one turning thirty next year.”
“Ah, that explains everything.” Shaking his head, he glanced skyward. The afternoon sun was fading. He had to get a move on. “Look, if you want to keep yapping, grab a rag and help.”
“And ruin my manicure? I don’t think so.”
“Too bad. If I don’t finish, I just may have to cancel my appointment with Doc.”
“That is too bad.” Brenda turned to go, and over her shoulder added, “I hear Aspen is really nice in November.”
“You’re a brat,” he called after her.
“And proud of it. Don’t keep Emma waiting.”
He watched her walk to her car, open the door and pause to waggle her fingers at him before getting in. After she’d driven away, he checked his watch again. No way was he going to finish in time for his date with Tiffany.
What the hell…Tiffany was a Porsche kind of gal anyway.
He finished the hood, threw the rag aside, and then stored all the cleaning supplies on the garage shelves he’d had the architect design when he had the house built last year.
The English Tudor was too big for one person, but on the advice of his accountant, he’d gone ahead and had it designed and built, but customized to suit his needs. Which meant he basically lived in the family room and the third garage where he kept the Chevy.
Unfortunately, his mother couldn’t see the financial reason for such a big house, that he needed a sizeable mortgage to reduce his taxable income. All she wanted to see was that he was finally ready to give her grandchildren.
Like that would happen.
At least not anytime soon. There were too many Tiffanys in the world…lovely, willing and able, and wanting nothing more from him than a good time and an occasional trinket. He was of the opinion that you didn’t fix what wasn’t broken. He was extremely successful at dating. Marriage he might not be so good at. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take. Too many unknowns set you up for failure.
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