Mad About You

someone found out, the media would blow it way out of proportion."
    He sighed. "As petty as it sounds, you're probably right."
    "I already called a taxi, so I'll pick up my car in an hour or so. I hope this doesn't embarrass you."
    "I'm sure the incident will go unnoticed, but thanks for being so concerned about how it might look. These days, it only takes a whiff of gossip to get a scandal started." He laughed dryly. "And right now I can't afford to lose a single vote."
    "Things will turn around," she offered, a finger of guilt nudging her.
    "I hope you're right. Will you still go out with me if I'm only an ex-governor?"
    Jasmine laughed. "You don't sound very optimistic this morning."
    "Have you seen this morning's headline? The numbers are pretty grim—oh, there's my other line. Are you sure I can't send over a car this evening?"
    "No, I'll drive," she assured him. "See you tonight."
    She disconnected the call. Trey's words about scandal echoed in her head. How foolish she had been last night. Even though nothing had happened, if a photographer had been inclined to mischief, a photo of Ladden Sanderson dropping her off at her townhome would be easy to exaggerate. She glanced over at the unfolded newspaper and swallowed hard. Such a photo would have sold more papers than the news that the incumbent governor was falling behind in the polls.
    Jasmine fastened the end of her braid with a silver clasp, then stepped into pumps and walked to the tiny kitchen. Of the sparse contents of her refrigerator, orange juice looked like the safest choice. Her stomach still churned over her physical and emotional brush with Ladden, and she decided the best course of action would be to avoid contact with him until she got her head back on straight. An evening with Trey would do wonders. But when she wandered back into the living room, the copper lamp drew her to the mantel, and she felt an uncomfortable twinge of longing for Ladden's easy smile. A single black-and-orange butterfly sat perched on the blade of the silent ceiling fan.
    "I'm bringing a net home with me," she said, shaking a warning finger at the insect.
    Unable to resist, she lifted the lamp and ran her hands over the smooth, shiny copper. When she felt raised etchings, she moved to the window and squinted at the symbols near the bottom. "Arabic," she murmured, amazed that she could even recognize a letter or two because she hadn't studied the alphabet of her mother's lineage since she was very young. The full words escaped her, however, and she resolved to unearth the old textbooks buried somewhere in her attic.
    Frowning, she fought the sadness that filled her chest when she thought about her childhood. Her mother, gone now for over twenty years, would be happy to know she was thinking about the old language, no matter how flimsy the excuse. Running her fingers over the cool metal surface, she smiled at the source of the unlikely link to her heritage.
    A car horn interrupted her reverie. Jasmine ran out the front door and hopped into the backseat of the cab. She leaned forward to give the driver directions, then stopped at the sight of his black turban. He looked strangely familiar. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
    The skinny man shook his head. "No. Just arrived in city."
    She nodded, wondering how on earth the man could drive with all that fabric draped around his body. But he seemed to understand where she told him to go, so she sat back and flipped through her calendar, planning her day. She had written herself a note to schedule delivery of the table Ladden had refinished for her. Always conscientious, Ladden would remember.
    Jasmine still wished she could talk him into selling her that carpet—it would be the perfect congratulatory gift for Trey. With a sigh, she decided that despite the awkwardness that had sprung up between her and Ladden, she needed to stay in touch if she was going to get her hands on that rug. When guilt pricked her conscience, she squashed it. After all, she was willing to pay him a goodly sum.
    She planned to spend most of the day at the office building of a wireless communications company she had acquired as a customer only last week. The company president, a young, aggressive woman, had challenged her to give the offices a cutting edge decor, an atmosphere to match their progressive philosophy. Jasmine's mouth twisted into a wry smile. Lots of metal and glass—at least she wouldn't need to shop at Ladden's Castle for this job.
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