Abby Gaines - That New York Minute

It was amazing none of those landlords had tracked them down and taken them to court … but then, her folks were nice people who always meant well. Their creditors always seemed to end up excusing them.

Rachel excused them, too. They were loving parents, and if she’d had to be particularly tenacious to burrow herself into each new school and earn the grades she wanted … well, that was character building. And it wasn’t as if Mom and Dad didn’t work hard or try to get ahead.

The problem was their method of doing so.

For as long as Rachel could remember, they’d been suckers for the promise of good times around the corner. Over and again, they’d uprooted themselves so Burton could chase after an exciting new job. Or borrowed more than they could afford to invest in a “sure thing.”

Just once, they’d had a great return. They’d lent a thousand bucks to a guy who’d patented a new can opener, and got three thousand back. Other than that, to give it the most charitable interpretation, they were the unluckiest investors in the world.

Rachel had long ago agreed to disagree with her parents. She loved them, but she didn’t want their lives, and she couldn’t share their excitement about the Next Big Thing. And they’d had enough of what they called her cynicism.

They talked about harmless subjects until LeeAnne and the twins, Kylie and Dannii—named after the Minogue sisters—arrived for lunch. After they’d eaten and cleared away the dishes, the girls stayed at the table with crayons and coloring books, while the adults spread out in the living area, ready to bend their brains to Rachel’s latest problem. Her family treated it like a game, and with them it felt like one.

As opposed to feeling as if her life was on the line.

“So let’s talk about how people without a college background choose a college for their kids,” she said. “I’ve been trying to remember the discussions we had when I was in high school.”

“You girls could have gone to college,” Nora said. “You were both bright enough.”

“We looked into the whole student loans thing,” her father reminded Rachel. “But you said you didn’t want to go.”

They’d had no way of funding a college education beyond massive loans. And Rachel had seen firsthand the consequences of excessive borrowing; she’d wanted nothing to do with it.

“I’d love it if Kylie and Dannii went to college,” LeeAnne said wistfully. “Maybe they’ll end up in these schools you’re advertising and really make something of themselves.”

“They already are something,” Nora scolded. “They’re the two most adorable girls that ever lived. After you and your sister.”

“There is that.” LeeAnne smiled.

Threads of ideas began to float in Rachel’s mind. She knew better than to try pinning them down when they were this ephemeral. If she let them float a while, they might coalesce into something solid.

Solid . That’s how Tony had described her work. She needed better than solid.

“Takes four years to get a degree,” Burton warned LeeAnne.

“I know.”

“I guess we have a few years to come into some money,” Burton joked.

Oh, boy. Rachel hoped her sister had more of a plan than that. Maybe Rachel could start a college fund for her nieces.

They talked for a while longer. Then LeeAnne glanced at her combined watch and pedometer, which sported the name of a well-known cereal company, one of Rachel’s clients. “I’d better go, I’m trying to get the girls into more of a daily routine before they start nursery school. It’s time for their nap.”

Rachel walked her sister out to her rusting Toyota. They each held one of the twins by the hand.

“So this routine thing is new,” Rachel said as she buckled Dannii into her car seat.

“Yeah, I sound almost like you.” LeeAnne flashed her a grin and clipped Kylie in.

“Don’t knock it—it works.” Rachel kissed Dannii, then closed the door, stuffing a twenty into the door pocket as she did so. “So they start nursery school in September?”

“Yep.” LeeAnne climbed into the driver’s seat and lowered the passenger window so they could continue talking. “There’s a great school right near us. I hope we’re still in the neighborhood.”

Had her sister ever expressed a desire to remain in one place before?

Rachel leaned in through the window and said casually, “You could stay. If Mom and Dad move, I mean.”

“You know I need to be near them. I couldn’t raise the girls without their moral support, not to mention Mom’s babysitting.” LeeAnne looked in her rearview mirror, back at the trailer.

“Dad’s work is steady, right?” Rachel asked. “There’s no reason to move.”

“Only if something too good to miss comes up somewhere else.” LeeAnne let out a breath that was almost a sigh.

“Maybe if you refused to go with them, Mom and Dad would stay put,” Rachel suggested. LeeAnne had grumbled a bit when they were kids, but she’d never been upset by their constant moves as Rachel had. Maybe, at last, she was developing an interest in stability.

Her sister looked skeptical. “I’m not sure that’s what I want. Moving can be exciting. Though maybe not as often as we do it,” she admitted.

“You should think about staying. For the twins’ sake.” Rachel figured she’d better not push her luck. She stepped back and patted the side of the car. “Off you go, sis.”

She watched until the Toyota turned out onto the road. As she headed back inside, a couple of images that might work for Brightwater Group flashed in her mind. Rachel picked up the pace and ran to make notes. If she was going to be number one with the client on Monday, there could be No Idea Left Behind.

RACHEL TOOK A TRAIN to Princeton, New Jersey, where Brightwater had its headquarters, presumably so some of the luster associated with Princeton University might reflect on its private colleges. Smart strategy.

She arrived in plenty of time for the meeting. Before her colleagues. If punctuality was a deciding factor for the KBC partnership, she would ace the promotion.

Since the morning was sunny but not too hot, she stood outside to wait. Tony and Clive were next to arrive. They’d caught the same train and shared a cab from the station. Coincidence, or clever planning by Clive? She didn’t think of him as a schemer—six foot four, slow-moving and good-natured, he was the epitome of a gentle giant.

There was no sign of Garrett. Dared she hope that he’d thrown in the towel?

“Good weekend?” Rachel asked Clive, trying to gauge how much time he’d spent reading up about private colleges.

“I had my in-laws staying,” he said. “They’re helping us paint the apartment.”

“How nice.” Didn’t sound like he’d been able to work. She checked her watch … oops, she wasn’t supposed to be doing that so often. Three minutes past nine. Garrett couldn’t be coming; even he wouldn’t dare to be late today. “Shall we go in?” she said cheerfully.

Tony scanned the parking lot. “Any idea how Garrett’s getting here?”

He’d barely finished speaking when a black BMW M5 roared into the lot.

“I think,” Rachel said, “he’s driving.”

Garrett parked right in front of them, in a space that wasn’t strictly a space. He got out of the car empty-handed. No briefcase. No notepad.

Rachel felt suddenly weighed down by her tools of the trade. Un-nimble. At least I was here on time . She waited for him to apologize for keeping them waiting.

“Hi,” he said to Tony.

Tony nodded and glanced at his watch.

“Is that peanut butter on your tie?” Garrett asked Clive.

“Probably,” Clive said equably.

Garrett’s gaze skimmed over Rachel’s black silk blouse and dropped to the hem of the Pick me, I’m the best cerise skirt that ended just above her knees.

“Love the pink, Rach,” he said, his voice deepening. “Your legs aren’t bad, either.”

Good grief, the guy had a career death wish!

That was fine by Rachel. Tony opened his mouth to object to Garrett’s comment, but she held up a hand to tell him she could deal with it.

“Cerise,” she corrected Garrett coolly. “And it’s Rachel. I don’t expect my legs to affect the outcome of this meeting.”

How pathetic did he think she was, to fall for another attempt to disconcert her?

He peered closer. “Don’t underestimate yourself—they’re damn good.”

“That’s enough, Garrett,” Tony snapped.

Garrett shrugged. A twinge of envy surprised Rachel. When she’d let herself think about it, KBC’s decision to fire two creative directors filled her with fear and anger. Consequently, she was on her best behavior. Garrett’s don’t-give-a-damn attitude spoke of a courage she didn’t have.

In their meeting, Mark Van de Kamp, Brightwater’s marketing director, seemed excited about the level of creative talent he was being offered. He gave them a more in-depth briefing about the new colleges—actually a bunch of existing colleges the group had acquired—and their target market. Rachel managed to slip in a couple of what she considered insightful comments.

“Any questions?” Mark asked at the conclusion of his presentation.

Clive jumped in, showing a good grasp of the issues. Some of them, at least.

Rachel stepped up to the plate with one he’d missed. “Mark, there’s been a suggestion that companies like Brightwater exploit the low-income families they claim to serve, encouraging them to take out loans they can’t afford to pay back. How worried are you that what you’re doing will be seen in that light?” With her own nieces in mind, she’d spent half of Sunday researching issues surrounding low-income families and college fees.

Garrett looked surprised—whether at the information or the fact she’d come up with such an unexpected question, she wasn’t sure. Tony seemed intrigued. All in all, Rachel felt as if she’d made a strong attempt to step outside the box.

“Good question.” Mark smiled at her. “Those other organizations have typically offered punitive loan conditions and poor academic quality. Our loan rates will be competitive, and we’re currently lining up endorsements by Action Against Poverty and the NAACP in support of the quality of our programs.”

“Sounds good.” Rachel made some notes on her legal pad.

Logic dictated it was Garrett’s turn to ask the next question.

She set down her pen so she could observe The Shark in action.

For long seconds silence reigned.

“So tell me, Mark,” Garrett said, “If Brightwater was a fruit, what fruit would it be?”

What?

Clive glanced down at the peanut-butter stain on his tie, so Rachel couldn’t read his expression. Tony froze in his seat. Garrett was straight-faced, totally relaxed.

“Hmm.” Mark propped his chin on his hand. “That’s very interesting, Garrett, very interesting indeed.”

It’s a crock! He’s kidding!

Both Tony and Clive took their cue from the client, and nodded.

Excuse me? Am I the only rational person in this room?

Garrett’s glance flicked toward her, as if he could read her thoughts. She couldn’t suppress an eye roll. His eyebrows rose in spurious inquiry.

“I think I’d have to say … a melon,” Mark said.

“Cantaloupe or honeydew?” Garrett shot back.

Oh, puh-lease .

“Cantaloupe, definitely.”

“I see,” Garrett said. “Thanks, Mark, that’s useful.” He smiled at Van de Kamp, and it was such a rare thing, it was as if the sun had come out from a cloud. Rachel could practically see the man basking in its warmth.