Leigh Michaels – Maybe Married (страница 3)

“Of course it won’t, my dear.” He started flipping through CDs again. “Still, I think you should know. He might be the biggest single donor this university ever snags—he’ll certainly have the cash to do it, when the sale of his company is final. And he owes us a debt of gratitude, too, since he got his degree here and that’s what made him the success he is today. I looked it up, so I’d be sure to have it right—he studied mechanical engineering.”

Dana’s breath caught in her throat.

Don’t be silly, she told herself. Barclay hadn’t given any time period; the man he was talking about might have graduated decades ago. If he was selling a company, he was probably near retirement age.

To say nothing of the fact that every semester there were at least a hundred graduates who’d majored in mechanical engineering, and a fair number of them must have eventually gone on to own good-size businesses. So why should her mind instantly conjure up a particular one? Especially when the one she was thinking of had said, the last time she’d talked to him, that he’d never set foot on this campus again.

Besides, there was absolutely no reason for her heart to start pounding like an out-of-balance washing machine at the very thought of him. That was over. Done with. Finished.

She managed a casual tone. “So who is this marvelous catch?”

Barclay said the name slowly, with relish, as if the syllables tasted good. “Zeke Ferris.”

And suddenly Dana’s heart wasn’t thumping madly anymore. But that was only because it had almost stopped beating altogether.

The foundation people were always the first to arrive at any university function, because they never missed an opportunity to talk someone into making a pledge. Next came the honor students, starched and stiff and on their best behavior, sitting in a row along the edge of the room. The professors always came as late as they dared—missing the president’s parties altogether would be extremely bad form, but a token appearance was all that most of them seemed to be able to stomach. The alumni and the big donors trickled in and out throughout the party, making it clear that they couldn’t be expected to limit themselves to one event per evening.

But halfway through the time set aside for the cocktail party, it appeared that Zeke Ferris wasn’t going to show up at all.

Dana circulated through the crowd, a half-full glass of sparkling water in her hand, making sure that no one was left out of the conversation. Some of the students looked as though they’d rather climb under their chairs than talk to the president.

Dana sympathized; she was feeling a bit out of place herself. Always before, she’d stayed in the shadows, orchestrating the party and keeping it running smoothly but not coming into direct contact with the guests. This, she thought irritably, would have to be the one evening that Barclay Howell changed the rules. She tried once more to smooth the creases out of her rust-colored skirt. She’d chosen the suit because it was just a shade darker than the auburn of her hair, and normally she liked wearing it. But tonight, next to the neat little cocktail dresses the other women were wearing, her suit felt sadly lacking in style. If she’d had any idea what Barclay had had in mind, she’d have brought along a change of clothes.

Beneath the president’s smile, Dana could see tension. He kept looking toward the door—expectantly at first, then hopefully, and finally with irritation.

Dana was sorry for his disappointment, as well as relieved that Zeke hadn’t shown up after all. But she was not at all surprised. Once she’d had a chance to calm down and think it over, she’d have been willing to bet her next paycheck that he wouldn’t appear.

She entertained herself, while she pretended to listen to an alumni who wanted to describe in detail the last football game of his college career, by listing the possible reasons why Zeke wasn’t there. First and most likely, Zeke had accepted the invitation and then completely forgotten the time and even the day. Or perhaps he had actually not accepted the invitation at all, but Barclay thought he had. The same way he thinks I’ve accepted his proposal, Dana thought. Or, possibly, Zeke had never intended to show up—though he wasn’t habitually rude. At least, he hadn’t been when….

But she wasn’t going to think about that.

That’s over, she reminded herself. Done with. Finished.

Just as the alumnus was reaching the climactic play of the game he was describing, gesturing wildly as he demonstrated the gymnastics required to cross the goal line, the chatter of the crowd dropped by a good ten decibels. Sensitive to the atmosphere of the party, Dana let her gaze sweep across the room, seeking out the cause of the sudden comparative silence.

Not that it required much effort. Her attention, like that of every other person in the room, was drawn as if by a magnet to a man standing in the arched doorway between the drawing room and the entrance hall. He was tall and lean, dressed in a silvery-gray business suit, and he stood perfectly at ease as he surveyed the room. His face was shadowed by the deep arch, but the light of the chandelier behind him fell warmly across his black hair, almost crowning him with its golden glow.

Like he’s wearing a halo, Dana thought grimly. I’ve never seen a better example of false advertising.

She surveyed the perfect tailoring of his suit with interest and had to admit a wisp of relief that he hadn’t shown up in blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Not that it mattered to her what he wore, she added hastily. Or how he presented himself to a crowd.

Barclay had hurried toward him, beaming, his hand extended. “Mr. Ferris,” he exclaimed. “How kind of you to honor us with your presence tonight. I hope your business meetings went well today.”

Zeke stepped forward. The halo vanished as the soft light of the drawing room fell across his face. “Call me Zeke,” Dana heard him say.

The alumnus cleared his throat, and she turned hastily back to him. “And that was the play which won the game?”

But the man wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at Zeke. “What’s so important about that young fella?” he demanded. “President’s hardly said a word to me all evening, but he falls all over him. Has he given a lot of money to the university, or something?”

“Not yet,” Dana said.

“Oh, I see. Howell’s trying to put the squeeze on him. Well, I suppose there’s never enough money.”

A man on Dana’s other side, a member of the university’s board of directors, said, “You can say that again. We need a new stadium, for one thing.”

Dana started to say that the last thing Zeke Ferris was likely to give the university was a sports stadium, but she stopped herself just in time. How could she know that, anyway? People changed—the Zeke Ferris she had known certainly hadn’t been the perfectly-tailored business suit type. “And we could use a new conference center,” she pointed out.

“Oh, well, I suppose if you’re interested in that sort of thing,” one of the men conceded.

She left the two of them discussing the university’s sports program and excused herself. But the party seemed to be taking care of itself at the moment; no one was standing alone, no one was looking forlorn, and no one seemed to be plunging into an argument. When a waiter passed, she swapped her sparkling water for a glass of champagne, and as she turned away she came face-to-face with Zeke Ferris.

She looked past him and saw that the alumnus who had told her all about the game he’d won had buttonholed Barclay as he crossed the room and was drawing him off into a corner. Even Barclay’s celebrated people skills might not get him out of that conversation in a hurry, she thought.

She’d almost forgotten how tall Zeke was. Even in her highest heels she’d always had to look up at him. Today, in the comfortable flats she habitually wore when she was in charge of a party, she seemed to look a very long way up into eyes bright as sapphires and filled with speculation.

“Dana,” he said softly. “Now this is a surprise.”

He had not said, she noted, that it was a pleasant surprise. And you can multiply that reaction times two, she thought. But she smiled and put out her hand. “Zeke.”

His grip was warm and firm, and he continued to hold her hand. “It’s been a long time.”

Not long enough.

He looked around the room and then back at her. “So what are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you faculty? Staff? Or are you finally going after that graduate degree you wanted so badly?”

“Staff,” she said coolly, and tugged her hand away. He let her fingers slip slowly out of his. She could feel her hands trembling, so she folded both of them around her cold glass to hide the telltale tremor. “I hope you’ll enjoy your visit here, Zeke. May I get you a drink?”

She watched a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He might as well have said it, she thought, for it was quite clear what he was thinking. So that’s the way you’re going to play it.

“When you said you were staff,” Zeke murmured, “I thought you meant something administrative. It didn’t occur to me you might be just a waitress.”