Free Summer on the Cape by J.M. Bronston

thing. Adam Talmadge owed her one hell of an explanation.
    * * *
    In front of his bathroom mirror, as Zach finished the shave that Allie had interrupted, he glared at himself in the mirror. Damn it! What was that all about? What the hell was she doing here? And what the hell was I doing, dragging her through the house, manhandling her like some dim-witted brute, ordering her around?
    He splashed water on his face and toweled himself dry. He stared at his reflection, shaking his head despairingly.
    “What is it about that woman? I do the damnedest things when she’s around.”

Chapter Six
    A dam’s chauffeur, spiffy in his black uniform, was waiting for Allie when she arrived at the LaGuardia airport.
    “Marcus!” She was delighted to see a friendly face. “Am I glad to see you,” she said as he took her carry-on bag from her. “Some boxes will be coming out in a minute. They’re all pictures for Mr. Talmadge and I was worried about trusting them to a taxi driver.”
    “No problem, Ms. Randall. Mr. T. told me to be ready for you when you got in. And he said you should give him a call while we’re on the way to your place. He needs to talk to you.”
    That’s good , Allie thought, with some impatience. I need to talk to him, too.
    “If you’d like to make your call now,” Marcus was saying, “while I’m getting your things, the car’s parked right in front.”
    “Marcus, I don’t know how you do it. You know that’s not legal. How do you manage not to get a ticket? Or worse. Get towed away?”
    Marcus laughed. “Don’t worry about me, Ms. Randall. I’ve got friends everywhere.”
    “Thank goodness.”
    Trust Adam to find the best people for every job.
    “I sure hope any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”
    “Oh, for sure, Ms. Randall. No worry about that. You just go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll be there in a minute.”
    Allie went through the automatic doors of the terminal into the city’s hot, late-afternoon humidity. Adam’s black town car was parked at the curb, and as she headed for it, a skycap, waiting for her at the car’s door, opened it for her. She tried to hand him a tip, but he waved it away, smiling broadly.
    “Don’t worry about it, miss,” he said. “Mr. Marcus took care of it.”
    Allie settled down into the backseat; the soft gray leather was cool against her body. She took the phone from her bag and punched in Adam’s number. His secretary put her right through to him.
    “Allie! Darling! After all these weeks, it’s good to welcome you back to the big, bad city.” There was that familiar voice of his crackling through the phone, a little raspy and fast-moving. Despite her irritation with Adam, Allie couldn’t help her feelings of fondness and admiration. And of gratitude, for no one had been so important to her success.
    And whatever wheeling and dealing he was up to, there was no one in New York—no one anywhere—who was as good at what Adam does as Adam himself. But still, that man had plenty of explaining to do!
    “Don’t ‘Allie, darling’ me, Adam! We have to talk.”
    “Of course. Of course.” He didn’t miss a beat. “But not now, my dear. We’ll have plenty of time for that later on.” Before she could protest, he sailed right on. “Now, Allie, sweetie, I have an important question. What do you have on?”
    “What do you mean, what do I have on?”
    “I mean, are you suitably dressed? What are you wearing?”
    “Suitably for what? What are you talking about?” She was in no mood for playing games. “I’m wearing jeans and a shirt. A red plaid shirt.” She didn’t bother to add that she was wearing her white poplin jacket and that she had pushed up the sleeves and that she had pulled her hair back with a red ribbon. “And tennis shoes.”
    “Ah, just as I thought. And no socks, I bet.”
    “That’s right, no socks.” Since when does Adam care what’s on my feet? “What are you planning?”
    “I’m planning for Marcus to