Trust Me

businesslike about marriage got me on Saturday.”
    “True. It was not a pretty sight. That makes two strikes. Think you’ll ever go for a third?”
    “Do me a favor,” Stark muttered. “Don’t even mention the possibility.”
    Dane twitched the crease in his slack. “What happens next?”
    “Business as usual,” Stark said. “I’m fine-tuning ARCANE. Now that I don’t have to take ten days off to go sit on a beach in Bora Bora, I should finish ahead of schedule. I think I’ll have the last of the bugs worked out of the program by August.”
    Dane pursed his lips. “That is ahead of schedule. Two months ahead.”
    “I’m not having much trouble with the usual program glitches,” Stark said. “Things are going well. Have Lancaster start work on the sales projections.”
    “Right.”
    “And remember,” Stark muttered, “I want conservative numbers, not blue sky figures.”
    “I’ll tell Lancaster.” Dane grinned. “But don’t blame me if he comes back with rosy projections. I think he’s sweet on Maud.”
    “God help us.”

    In the days that followed his cancelled wedding, Stark did what he always did when things went wrong in his life. He buried himself in work.
    He did not surface until two weeks later when Maud stationed herself in the doorway of his office and cleared her throat in a manner that boded ill.
    She had to clear her throat twice because Stark was concentrating on a spreadsheet that Dane, who was sitting in his favorite chair in front of Stark’s desk, had just handed to him. He looked up reluctantly.
    “What is it, Maud?”
    “Your social schedule for the next three months, sir.”
    A chill of alarm went through Stark. “What social schedule?”
    Maud held up a notebook. “The one Miss Bedford arranged for you before the wedding.”
    “Damn,” Stark said. He thought quickly. “Cancel everything.”
    “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, sir.” Maud glanced at Dane for backup.
    “She’s right,” Dane said. “Pamela consulted with me a month ago regarding that schedule. Everything on it is business-related. You put that side of things in her hands, remember?”
    “Hell, yes, I remember.” Stark felt trapped. “But that was when I thought I was going to get married.”
    “I realize that,” Dane said. “But business is business.”
    Stark eyed Maud warily. “What, exactly, is on that schedule?”
    Maud glanced down at the list in her hand. “You’re hosting cocktail parties and buffets following each of the seminars on computer security that we’re putting on once a month. The first is in two weeks. There are three receptions for various clients and corporate officers scheduled, a couple of charity events – “
    “Charity events.” Stark glowered at her. “What do charity events have to do with business?”
    Dane stirred in his chair. “Those are the kind of events where you mingle with the movers and shakers, Stark. It’s where business contacts are made. Pamela knew that. It was why she put them on your schedule.”
    “Damn.” Stark took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Give me a minute to think.”
    Maud fell silent. Dane waited expectantly.
    Inspiration struck. Stark slowly replaced his glasses. “What I need is a professional.”
    Maud tilted her head to one side. “A professional?”
    “Yes.” Stark opened a desk drawer and pulled out a folder full of business cards. He slipped Desdemona’s out of the plastic envelope.
    “Give the owner of this firm a call. Tell her what we need. See if she’ll commit to a contract to handle all of Stark Security Systems’ social events for the next quarter. We’ll need her to cater and act as hostess at the events.”
    Maud walked to the desk and squinted at the card. “Right Touch Catering Services. Got it.”
    Dane’s brows rose. “That’s the firm that handled your wedding, isn’t it?”
    “My non-wedding.”
    “A professional caterer under contract to us,” Dane mused. “Not a bad idea.”
    “Thank you,” Stark said. He was suddenly unaccountably pleased with himself. “I should have thought of this days ago.”
    Dane smiled. “You always were the brains of the outfit.”
    Maud beamed. “When life give you lemons…”

    The door of Desdemona’s glass-walled office slammed open shortly after ten on Monday morning. Rafael Crumpton, ice sculptor and part-time server, struck a dramatic pose.
    He was dressed in the pristine white uniform and cap that all