Strange Bedpersons by Jennifer Crusie Read Free Book Online Page B

screw up his life, particularly this weekend. The more he thought about Tess and her cheerful bluntness, the more tense he got. He closed his eyes and thought about calling the whole thing off, and then he thought about Tess and spending the weekend with Tess and—if he laid his plans carefully—spending the night with Tess. The career comes first, he reminded himself, but then he also reminded himself that man did not live by career alone. At least she’d be dressed well for the party, and as long as he never left her side maybe he could stop her from actually ruining his life, and besides, he wanted to be with her. He missed her. Okay, the weekend with Welch was probably not the best place to renew Tess’s acquaintance, but it was all he had. There was no point in obsessing over her unpredictability. That was the penalty for being with Tess. Tess would stop being spontaneous when she stopped being sloppy and late, and that would be never. Sometimes he thought that was one of the reasons he missed having her around—her chaos had been a sort of relief from his carefully mapped-out life. Not that there was anything wrong with a carefully mapped-out life. He’d spent twenty years weighing his every option and it had gotten him everything he’d ever wanted.
    Except partner.
    Well, he’d have that soon, too. If it took getting the Welch account, he’d get it, even if he had to bind and gag Tess to do it. And then he’d have everything he’d ever wanted.
    And then what?
    Nick considered his future.
    He’d been thinking about Park’s father’s theory that unmarried men over thirty-five were pathetic. Park’s father was wrong, of course, but he might have a point if he changed the age limit to forty. That was two years away for Nick. It might actually be time to start thinking marriage. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t wanted to get married. He had. Eventually. When his career was in place. When he found the right woman.
    But now he might make partner. And if he did, he’d need somebody to be a hostess, somebody to open the door of his house and welcome people in, somebody to call the caterers. It occurred to him that if Christine could develop some expression, it would probably be easiest just to upgrade her status to wife. God knew, she was undemanding and efficient. Unfortunately she was also Morticia Addams without the enthusiasm.
    What he needed was a cross between Christine and Tess.
    He thought about being married to Tess and grinned. Of course, she’d have to get different clothes, and he’d have to get his housekeeper to come every day to pick up after her, and she’d have to learn to shut up when it was politically necessary, but she’d also be around all the time, laughing, warming his life, warming his bed...
    It was a thought with definite promise.
    He heard the door slam downstairs, and then someone pounding up the three flights to Tess’s floor, and then Tess herself surged into view, stopping in her tracks when she saw him.
    She looked like a Gap ad, although he knew better than to tell her that. Her short red hair curled around her pale face, and her eyes were huge and placating as she smiled at him in apology. Her oversize navy T-shirt hung just to her hips over a navy cotton mini skirt, and she was wearing that god-awful baggy navy tweed jacket she loved. It was worn so thin that it fluttered as she walked toward him, but for once, he didn’t care. He felt good just looking at her.
    Suddenly the thought of a life with her had a lot more promise.
    “I’m sorry,” she said when she reached him. “I really am.”
    “Relax,” he said, keeping his arms folded so he wouldn’t reach for her. “We’ve got time.”
    Tess stopped and put her hands on her hips. “You said four at the latest.”
    “That’s because I knew you’d be late.” Nick looked at his Rolex. “But now we do have to get moving. Tell me you’re packed.”
    “I’m packed,” Tess said, giving up as she moved past him to