He appeared wounded but recovered quickly. “Where would you go?”
“There are other law firms where I could find work. The government is scrambling to hire clerks with legal experience.”
Wesley adjusted the knot of his tie. “Well, if that’s what you want...”
It’s not what I want, she silently screamed inside. I want to stay here with you. I want you tofight for me,to beg me to stay. To tell me you can’t function without me and you lookforward to seeing me first thing every morning.
She bit her tongue and didn’t say anything as she pushed away from the door, circled his desk, and approached him from behind. He still hadn’t left his chair, but he watched her from the corner of his eye, a muscle in his jaw beginning to twitch.
She leaned over him to set her hands on the armrests. She was close enough to see the tiny bit of dark stubble forming along his jaw. “I want to stay right here,” she whispered in his ear.
His breath left in a rush. Unbelievably, the hint of a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Do you?” His voice was rough with just a hint of flirtation. It sent her heart into triple time.
She straightened and rotated his chair until he faced her. “I do.”
He stood, but she didn’t step back. She tilted her head up to lock eyes with him again.
“Sometimes you can be shockingly forward, Delia.”
“And you’re maddeningly reticent,” she said, her gaze traveling over his starched collar, buttoned-down vest, and his firm jawline.
His lips parted as he leaned toward her, his mouth only inches from her.
The door banged open, and she leapt back. Amy, Wesley’s seventeen-year-old daughter, barged into the office, all brunette curls and lacy flounce. “Papa, everything is a disaster, and the whole world hates me.”
Wesley jerked back, leaving a tingle along Delia’s cheek where his nose had just been nuzzling her.
“Darling...” Wesley soothed, but the affectionate word was directed at Amy, not the woman who was ready to lay the world at his feet.
Wesley’s only failing in the entire world was in spoiling his daughter rotten. After her mother’s death ten years ago, Wesley lavished money, praise, and indulgence on Amy, who devoured it all with the ferocity of a hyena scavenging for new flesh.
“The Westchester ball is tomorrow night, and I don’t have any opera gloves.”
“But you do,” Wesley assured her.
“No, I don’t! I only have wrist-length gloves, and Gladys Conner says wrist gloves are for babies. Gimbels is sold out of opera gloves, and I won’t go without them.”
Delia glanced at the clock, wondering how she could fix this. The Gimbels flagship store was in Boston, and they could put a pair of opera gloves on the overnight steamship operated by the Fall River Line.
“I’ll take care of it,” Delia said, hating the capitulation in her voice. “If I leave now, I can get a telegram to the store in Boston and arrange to have them shipped overnight.”
The gratitude shining in Wesley’s eyes made her annoyance worthwhile. “Thank you,” he said. “A million times, thank you, Delia. You’re a miracle worker.”
“Isn’t that her job?” Amy pointed out, and at last Wesley showed a hint of backbone.
“Yes, it’s her job, but Delia’s quick thinking and efficiency is something you could learn from, Amy.”
Amazingly, Amy looked properly cowed. Delia picked up her clipboard and eyed Wesley. “This isn’t over,” she said.
“I suspected as much,” he said dryly, and she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or worried.
Either way, the battle would begin again on Monday.
7
Finn couldn’t understand why he was so terrified of surgery. He had never been afraid to hop in an airplane and risk his life in a dogfight with German pilots. When he was in the air, he had a fighting chance, and if he died in pursuit of a noble cause? Well, that was okay with him.
Surgery was different. Instead of relying on his own wits, he had to lie on a table and surrender his body into the care of strangers. People didn’t always wake up from surgery. The drugs could stop his heart. The slip of a scalpel could sever a nerve or vein, leaving him to die on the table. Infection could get him.
