Free Set Up by Cheryl B. Dale Page B

phone Noelle or not?
    Her assistant stuck her head into Amanda's office. “Jane, Johanna Lathen is here for the final fitting.”
    “Thanks, Melissa. I'll be right out.” Johanna was a nice child. The fitting would mark the end of a long day and leave Amanda plenty of time to call Noelle at home when the shop closed.
    Getting up without undue haste, she inspected herself at the full-length mirror beside the door. Looks were important, and her severe image let customers know they were dealing with a professional. The loose jersey fell gently to mid-calf, with only a white lace collar to relieve the austere gray. A stray hair needed tucking into the knot at the nape of her neck before she headed toward the door to meet Johanna.
    She froze.
    Beyond the glass wall of her office, Johanna and a man talked to one of the clerks. A man with a wide forehead and prominent cheekbones.
    Callaway McIntyre.
    In her shop.
    Her legs threatened to buckle. Instinctively she stepped back, out of sight of the couple in the front room. Her shoulder, propped against the wall to hold her upright, wrinkled a drawing of an unfinished design destined to go to the governor's niece, but no matter.
    Panic welled, was pressed down.
    Callaway McIntyre couldn't possibly know who she was. There was no way he could know.
    Then why is he here ?
    Sick at her stomach, she made her rubbery legs carry her over to the corner desk and its intercom. “Melissa, will you come back here, please?”
    Her assistant returned, raised brows questioning.
    “Who is that man?”
    “Ooooooh.” Melissa's eyes sparkled, widened. “He's hot, isn't he? That's Cal McIntyre, Johanna Lathen's brother.”
    “Her brother?” Amanda repeated faintly.
    Melissa frowned. “Half-brother, I guess. Do you remember Claire Winslow? She’s bought one or two things from us. She’s his sister, too.”
    “Claire Winslow?” Johanna and another customer? Callaway McIntyre’s sisters? Dear God, what was she going to do? “I can’t quite place her.”
    “She’s only been in a couple of times. Anyway, he and Claire had a different father. He left them the McIntyre hotel chain. Johanna's father was a mere diplomat.” Melissa flapped one hand in exaggerated downplay.
    She was going to throw up.
    “You've probably seen him in the newspapers,” Melissa went on. “He and his girlfriend had a falling out a while back and there was a picture of him on the front page of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution , soaking wet after she pushed him into a fountain at some fancy party in Paris. Boy, did he look annoyed.”
    “I’m sure,” Amanda murmured, managing to breathe.
    Melissa lingered. “He wants a dress for his sister's birthday. Claire, not Johanna. I could show him what we have while you're with Johanna.”
    “Yes. Have her go back to the fitting room and I'll meet her there.”
    “Are you all right? You’re awfully pale.”
    “I’m fine.”
    Brother. Callaway McIntyre was Johanna Lathen and Claire Winslow’s brother. Brother to two of her customers. Claire owned part of the McIntyre hotel chain.
    Calm down, calm down . She would stay in the back, fit Johanna's dress, and let Melissa help Callaway. With any luck, he’d never see her, though it wouldn't hurt to disguise herself a little.
    Reading glasses would help hide her face and wasn’t there some cologne in her desk drawer an elderly customer had given her? Yes. A liberal spritzing of the awful stuff should make him think of wrinkled old ladies instead of sexy Scarlet Smith.
    There. The very essence of a discreet salesperson. Even if he saw her, Callaway wouldn't be expecting the wanton Scarlet in the prim woman with brown hair pulled back in a spinster's knot.
    Purely coincidence. It had to be.
    * * * *
    “We cater to a clientele from all over the country,” the attentive clerk told Cal as a clarinet's haunting notes showered them from a hidden sound system. “We provide antique lace and hand-sewn beading and anything else