Chapter Nine
Jack drove Madelaine’s car to the bank, arriving soon after lunch.
There was not much traffic on the way, which worked well for them and Madelaine’s plan to be incognito.
She planned to use a foreign accent to throw off anyone who thought she might look familiar. Secretly, he couldn’t wait to hear it.
He helped her out of the passenger side of the car. She placed her hand on his forearm like she was queen of the world and wanted everyone to know it.
Once inside the quiet bank, Madelaine walked up to the only teller and said, “I need to speak to your manager.” She used a light Romanian accent. She paused a beat, then snapped, “Now!”
The female bank teller, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair styled short and curly, seemed instantly confused.
Jack tried to catch her eye and give her a sympathetic gaze, as if he was the long-suffering partner to Madelaine’s snotty personality, but the teller didn’t look his way.
“Mr. Preston is in his office,” the teller said, as if that explained everything. It did not.
“Do you not understand the word now? How about this instant?” Madelaine asked, disdain dripping from her accented tone.
The bank teller—her name tag identified her as Norma—started to frown, but seemed to catch herself, nodded once and picked up the phone next to her window. She dialed a couple of numbers and then whispered Madelaine’s request for managerial assistance into the receiver.
It took a long, slow count of fifteen before Mr. Preston appeared from a hallway on the other side of the bank’s lobby. He was straightening his tie as he approached them.
“How can I help you, ma’am?” he inquired.
They were the only non-employees in the room and very easy to spot. Aside from Norma the bank teller, a security guard—an older gentleman who looked like this low-key job might be his retirement plan—stood passively by the glass double doors at the front of the bank.
“Safety deposit box,” Madelaine said imperiously, as if the man should know why they were there.
“Oh? You wish to acquire one?” he asked, clearly confused as to their agenda.
“No. To access one.” Madelaine nodded at Jack as they’d prearranged, and he pulled the key from his pocket and showed it to the manager.
Mr. Preston did not take the key. Instead, he looked like he was about to pick a fight with Madelaine. His demeanor changed from conciliatory to annoyed in the blink of an eye.
“Well, you don’t need me for that. Miss Weatherby can help you.” He pointed to the bank teller who’d called him to come out of his office.
“No. I want you to do it,” Madelaine said haughtily. “That’s why Miss Weatherby called you out here.”
He squared his shoulders and it seemed to Jack like everyone in the bank—that being the bank teller, the security guard and the two of them—thought Mr. Preston was about to take a stand and refuse.
He surprised them all when he said in a harsh tone, “Box number?”
“One eighty-eight,” Madelaine said, her tone drenched with Romanian condescension.
That number certainly made an impression on the bank manager.
In one more blink of an eye, Mr. Preston turned from put-upon manager to appeasing and obsequious fanboy.
“Oh, my goodness. Forgive me, ma’am,” he said in a tiny voice.
“I would be delighted to help you. Follow me. Right this way.” He turned and led the way across the expanse of the bank to the hallway he’d emerged from, stopping twice to wave them along with him.
Madelaine, in perfect snobby form, frowned as she followed the man. Jack closed his hand around the key and kept pace with Madelaine.
The manager kept looking over his shoulder, as if fearful he’d get a sharp object shoved between his ribs through his back because of his initial poor attitude.
Jack thought it was smart of the man not to turn his back on them. He turned down another short hallway, one directly across from a door with his name emblazoned on it, and stopped.
Mr. Preston pulled a keyring from his front pocket and opened a door. A large step past the threshold was another door. It looked like a big metal grate with holes no bigger than half dollars. The manager opened it quickly and they all stepped inside. He relocked the grate.
On the opposite side of the room was a vault with a large metal door that was slightly ajar. On the left side of the room were five doors that looked like they went into small rooms—likely where safety deposit box owners could look at their boxes in privacy.
Jack had never had a safety deposit box, but it seemed like a logical setup.
Mr. Preston held out his hand for the key and Jack deposited it in his palm. Madelaine removed her hand from Jack’s arm and followed the manager into the vault.
From where he stood outside the big door, Jack could see rows of boxes on either side of the vault. He thought it looked just like it did in the movies.
Mr. Preston and Madelaine each put a key in a lock and turned at the same time.
Mr. Preston opened the little door wide, pulled the long safety deposit box out and led the way to the first door on the left, juggling the box carefully under one arm as he opened the door for Madelaine.
She entered and regally waited for the bank manager to place the box on the counter.
As soon as he’d done that, he hurried out with a mumbled statement to the effect that Madelaine should take her time. Madelaine closed the door with a snap and Mr. Preston, who waited beside Jack, looked relieved to be out of her presence.
Jack had only made it to a count of nineteen before Madelaine opened the door and reemerged.
She looked at Mr. Preston, pointed at the safety deposit box on the counter and demanded, “Put it back.”
Jack loved how she kept her Romanian accent in place without faltering. If it were him doing the accent, he likely would have forgotten by now and ruined everything.
Mr. Preston, moving faster than Jack thought anyone capable of doing, snagged the long, skinny safety deposit box from Madelaine’s room without a scintilla of attitude. He returned to the vault, put the box back in place and slammed the little door shut. He pulled both keys out and left the vault.
Mr. Preston set the vault door slightly ajar, as it was when they’d come in. He handed the customer key back to Jack, who dutifully deposited it in his pocket. The manager moved quickly to unlock the grate so they could exit and locked everything back up behind them.
When they were in the short hallway in front of Mr. Preston’s office door, he stopped moving as if he didn’t plan to escort them out of the bank.
Jack thought it was cowardly, but understood. Madelaine’s very well-acted snotty rich girl attitude was intimidating.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Mr. Preston asked, one hand on the door to his office.
“No. You have been adequate,” Madelaine said, not looking in his direction, gazing loftily toward the lobby and their exit.
“Thank you. Well, have a nice day.” He ducked into his office like his life depended on it.
Madelaine’s high-brow attitude slipped as a half-smile emerged. Clearly, toying with the manager had been fun for her.
“Don’t smile yet. We still need to get out of here,” Jack reminded her in a whisper, lifting his arm so she could drape one hand on him for show.
She nodded and the snotty expression reappeared. Madelaine put her hand back on Jack’s forearm and they walked slowly down the hallway.
Jack had his focus on Madelaine as they walked. His face was forward but his eyes were fixed to one side, keeping her in his peripheral vision. Even with the slight changes in her gait, hair length and overall appearance, she was still the woman he remembered. Still the woman he loved.
If luck was with them, the lobby would be just as empty on their way out as it had been when they’d arrived. Apparently, that was too much to hope for. Several customers were lined up at Norma’s window when they exited the hallway into the lobby.
Unfortunately, Jack knew one of them. He mentally sighed and silently ordered that person not to turn and see the two of them trying to escape notice.
Again, no such luck.
“Jack!” Ashleigh Graves said enthusiastically as he and Madelaine were five steps from the doors and freedom.
Under his breath, he said, “Space potatoes, Ashleigh Graves. We need to brush her off fast and get out.”
“What are you doing here?” Ashleigh’s gaze went directly to Madelaine and a quick frown shaped her mouth. “And who might this be?”
“Sorry, Ashleigh. That’s classified,” Jack said with a wink, hoping to escape without further comment. Once more, no such luck.
Her eyes widened. “Is this your secret date from the bachelor auction?”
More forcefully, he said, “No comment.”
They kept moving, but Ashleigh got out of line to block their path. Jack was thinking hard, trying to figure out what to do.
Madelaine pushed out a long sigh and, in her accented voice, said, “Listen closely, woman. Jack Grey is mine from now on. Remove yourself from our path or suffer the consequences.”
“What?” Ashleigh said, apparently confused by either Madelaine’s accent or her words. Hard to tell which.
Madelaine removed her hand from Jack’s arm and stepped into Ashleigh’s personal space.
“Jack. Is. Mine.” She punctuated each word clearly.
As if to prove her point further, she reached up with one hand, cupped Jack’s chin in her forefinger and thumb and promptly kissed his mouth like she was showing her ownership of him for all the world to see.
Her kiss was firm and long enough that it wasn’t a quick kiss, but one to show complete possession. Jack thought it was completely perfect.
His lips were buzzing when their mouths parted.
Madelaine pulled away, turning her sharp gaze back to Ashleigh as Jack reeled from having Madelaine’s lips pressed to his even for a few seconds.
She used her haughty Romanian-accented voice to add, “Do not pretend you have a chance with him ever again. In fact, do not pretend you ever had a chance with him. Now, get out of our way, this instant. Do I make myself clear?”
Ashleigh’s expression hardened, her gaze locked with Madelaine’s, as if to draw battle lines. She was clearly miffed that Madelaine could kiss Jack while Ashleigh had never been in any position to do the same.
Jack mentally rolled his eyes. Why was Ashleigh always spoiling for a fight, especially with regard to him? He had never dated her. He had never encouraged her. Not once.
Ashleigh gave Madelaine a truly epic hairy stink-eye, but after a few seconds, seemed to back off. She took a small step aside to allow them to pass. “Fine! Go! See if I care,” she said tartly and turned, cutting back to the same place in line she’d left to intercept them.
Everyone in the bank, including the security guard and Norma, had stopped to watch their little battle of personalities play out.
Now that Ashleigh had backed off, everyone pretended they hadn’t just been watching the local soap opera of the week. Whatever.
Jack put his arm around Madelaine and they headed for the door, this time without being stopped.
His lips buzzed with joy from the kiss he hadn’t been expecting, but was grateful to have received.
Without talking at all, they exited the bank and got in the car with Jack at the wheel. Before they left the parking lot of the Tractor Beam Credit Union, he handed Madelaine the safety deposit box key without uttering a word and drove them to her rental house.
Jack didn’t look at her and she didn’t look at him all the way there. Silence was golden in this case, because Jack wasn’t certain what to say about the spontaneous kiss.
He most assuredly didn’t want to find out the kiss had been less than spectacular from her point of view, because he’d been absolutely wowed by that simple contact.
His heart might get broken, but he foolishly wasn’t going to stop her if she tried to kiss him again.