Kara Lennox - Tame An Older Man

"Not a secret," she said. "But I don't want to advertise it, especially at work. You are my boss, after all, and that can get a little sticky. I know from experience."

"Fair enough."

"And I'll let my mother know. In my own way."

"Okay. What about your friends?"

"Elise and Daisy will figure it out. They've got a sixth sense where these things are concerned." They would want details, too, which she did not intend to provide. After having her romantic liaisons detailed in one of the lesser tabloids, she turned into a very private person when it came to her personal life.

Phoebe wasn't too far off in her estimation of Elise's and Daisy's sixth sense. She didn't say one word, but when the three of them, plus her mother, met at The Prickly Pear Friday night, as was their habit, it didn't take them five minutes to pick up on her change of mood.

"You're humming," Elise said, after they'd given their order to George. "What's got you so perky?"

"Oh, nothing much," Phoebe said. Of course, her face immediately heated up when she fibbed.

"Nothing much?" Daisy repeated. "You're blushing."

"I bet I know," Olga said in a singsong voice.

"Mama…" Phoebe implored.

"It's Wyatt!" Daisy and Elise said together.

Phoebe nearly choked on her iced tea. "How did you come to that conclusion?"

"I saw him this morning," Daisy said. "I had to get to the gallery early, and he was on his way to his car. He smiled and waved, and he had a spring to his step I've never noticed before."

"And I saw him as he got home from work," Elise said. "I passed him on the stairs. When I asked him how he was doing, he said, 'Fantastic.' Only one thing I can think of changes a man overnight from a grouchy, hibernating bear to Mr. Congeniality."

"He got the weekly ratings yesterday," Phoebe said. "'Heads Up' is first in its time slot." Which was true. But Elise and Daisy weren't buying it.

"Oh, just tell them," Olga said. "You can't keep a man like Wyatt secret for long, and I don't know why you'd want to."

Phoebe sighed. "Yes, Wyatt and I have been spending time together-but it's nothing serious," she added quickly. "We're just having fun. Wyatt's new in town, he doesn't know anyone, and the Madisons did expect me to help him get settled into Phoenix."

"That's great, Phoebes," Elise said, squeezing Phoebe's arm. "I thought from the beginning there might be a little spark there."

"I told you so," Daisy added. "I knew he was smitten."

"Now don't you guys go making wedding plans. This is not some fairy tale, I'm no princess, and Wyatt certainly isn't Prince Charming. I doubt this thing will last through the summer. What with working together, we'll probably get tired of each other."

"My, what a bright, sunshiny outlook you have," Elise said dryly. "Nothing like low expectations."

"I'm just being realistic," Phoebe argued. "My expectations aren't low, they're reasonable. And if things don't… when things don't work out, I won't have so far to fall." She'd learned the hard way about falling, with Joel. She'd lost that starry-eyed attitude a long time ago, and she had no intention of bringing it back.

"I just have one question," Daisy said. "If you and Wyatt are an item, how come you're not with him tonight?"

"How come Elise isn't with James?" Phoebe countered.

"We're meeting later," Elise said.

"Well, that's fine for you. You're getting married. But I have no desire to attach myself to Wyatt at the hip. We both have our own lives to live."

Then why did she suddenly, desperately, wish she could be with him? She'd seen him just this morning, but at work she couldn't touch him, kiss him, laugh with him. She'd thought that giving in to their desires would decrease the tension and make her stop thinking about him so much. In fact, the opposite was true.

She was rapidly becoming obsessed with the man.

Wyatt did his best to honor Phoebe's wishes about privacy. At work he resisted the urge to touch her, even innocently, though it just about killed him to do so. Even so, by the end of the first day the whole crew knew something was up with him and Phoebe, especially when they both got a case of the giggles talking to Kelly in her dressing room, assiduously avoiding even a peek at the fur rug.

Phoebe seemed okay with it when Phyllis, the director, made a teasing remark, so he tried not to worry.

He didn't need more worries in his life. Running this show and trying to juggle dozens of people's expectations and ego trips was aging him. At least the ratings were good so far-steadily increasing. He must be doing something right.

On Friday night, for the first time since moving to Phoenix, he found himself bored. No budgets or forecasts to do, no phone calls to make. He gave the condo a good cleaning, in anticipation of bringing Phoebe here tomorrow night, but that only took an hour. He made himself a hamburger for dinner, gave all his grandmother's plants some plant food, and dutifully talked to the cacti. That took him to eight o'clock.

He worked out in the Mesa Blue weight room, hoping he might run into Phoebe or one of her friends there, but the room was deserted. He showered.

Nine o'clock.

Maybe two nights a week weren't enough.

He decided to call Phoebe. He could at least finalize their plans for tomorrow. But her answering machine picked up.

Where was she? he fumed. Out with one of her college beaux?

He knew his anger was unreasonable. He had no claim to Phoebe, just as she had none on him. He could pick up the phone right now and call that cute brunette who worked at the deli where he often had lunch. She'd thoughtfully included her phone number with his hoagie sandwich earlier this week.

But the brunette held little appeal. It was blond hair he thought of now-long, straight, white-gold silk he could swim in.

He went to bed with a boring book, hoping it would dull him to sleep.

Phoebe dressed with more than usual care for her Saturday date with Wyatt. She wanted to look her best-she wanted to look hot. But she didn't want to look like a teenager. So she tried on one outfit after another, while her mother gave her a running commentary.

"What about this?" Phoebe asked as she stood in front of the mirror in red hip-hugger jeans, platform clogs and a ribbed halter top.

"Beautiful," Olga said. "If you want to look like a teen hooker. All you need is a ring in your navel."

She didn't tell her mother she'd actually had her navel pierced when she lived in L.A. She'd done it for Joel. After they broke up, she decided it didn't suit her and quit wearing the ring. She still had a tiny scar.

Next she tried on a pair of baggy pants and an oversize T-shirt.

"Lovely," Olga said. "Except no one can tell you're a girl. Don't you have something in between? Gawd, not those overalls," she said quickly, when Phoebe reached for a lilac pair. Phoebe hid a secret smile, remembering how she'd wanted to peel off her overalls during her first confrontation with Wyatt.

She finally settled on snug black pants, a crop top that showed only a narrow strip of skin at her waist, and flat-heeled boots. She wouldn't set the fashion world on fire, but she wouldn't scare Wyatt.

He knocked on her door promptly at ten. He'd sounded a little dubious when she'd suggested that time, but when she'd explained that The Pit, the club she wanted to take him to, didn't really get going until midnight, he'd agreed. She liked that about him: his flexibility. Joel had always wanted to be right.

She opened the door, taking a moment to appreciate the visual impact. He wore a pair of starched khakis, a forest-green shirt, polished loafers-and a tie. A grown-up preppie. Apparently he'd taken more than a little care with his wardrobe, because even at work he didn't wear a tie.