Mad About You (56 page)

She jerked forward and pressed her nose against the window, unable to believe her eyes. All moisture left her mouth, and her lips parted to drag in more oxygen.

"Slow down!" she cried, holding a hand over her heart. This wasn't happening. She wasn't staring out the window at more than a dozen billboards fading over the horizon that proclaimed in yellow letters on a black background "Ladden Sanderson is crazy about Jasmine Crowne."

The cabdriver leaned forward, grinning at the signs. "Is lucky woman, no?"

She sank back into the seat, her hand on her forehead. Colored lights flashed behind her eyelids. "No," she whispered.

What was Ladden thinking? What was she going to tell Trey? She gulped for air as perspiration gathered around her hairline. Would this affect his campaign? Her stomach lurched sickeningly. Of course it would affect his campaign.

Clawing for her phone, Jasmine stopped. Who should she call first? Ladden? Trey?

Her heart hammered against her breastbone, and she laid her head back. Maybe she should tell the driver to just keep going until they reached Ohio—somewhere she could disappear without a trace. Before she had time to decide, her phone rang. Her pulse vaulted, and she relaxed only a bit when she saw it was her assistant.

“Hi, April."

"I hate to disturb you, Ms. Crowne, but the phones are going crazy—newspapers, TV reporters." She lowered her voice. "Even the governor's office. Something about billboards?"

Her mind spun. What could she say? "Oh, my God."

"And that nice Mr. Sanderson called, but he sounded frantic—he said he needed to speak to you immediately."

"April," she said evenly, taking deep breaths. "Whatever you do, don't give this number to anyone."

"I won't."

"If anyone else calls, tell them the billboards are a simple misunderstanding and take down their name."

"Yes, ma'am, but what should I do about the crowd that's gathering outside?"

Jasmine closed her eyes. "C-crowd?"

"I locked the door, but they're banging on it nonstop. You can probably hear it in the background."

"Oh, my God."

"You already said that, Ms. Crowne."

"April, I won't be coming in today," Jasmine managed to croak. "I'll call you later." Weakly, she punched a button to disconnect the call, then stabbed in the number to Ladden's Castle. After five rings, his recorder clicked on. "Ladden," she said, as lightly as she dared, "this is Jasmine. There seems to be some misunderstanding about our, uh, relationship, and I really need to talk to you. I'll call you later." A shiver tickled her spine when she thought about how much she had trusted him last night... and she felt absurdly saddened by the realization that Ladden Sanderson might be a little off his antique rocker.

That said, she conceded she was just a tiny bit flattered that he would make his crush so public.

Before she had time to consider that revelation, her phone rang again… and it was Trey.

She took a couple of deep breaths, then connected the call. "Hello?" she ventured.

"Hello again, my dear," Trey said smoothly. His voice sounded cheerful—a bit
too
cheerful. "I'm sitting in a traffic jam on the bypass. It seems everyone is stopping to gawk at some very interesting billboards. Maybe I'm mistaken, but I thought we had an understanding. Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Her stomach pitched. "I... I..." She manufactured a laugh that came out sounding high-pitched. "Oh, that Ladden. What a kidder he is."

"So this
kidder
—he's an acquaintance of yours?"

"A business acquaintance," she supplied quickly. "He owns an antiques store on Pacific and often finds me special pieces." She laughed again, sounding slightly less squeaky. "He's holding a table now that I'd like to put in the small conference room in the Winchester wing." Jasmine knew she was rambling, but she couldn't stop. "In fact, he has a rug I think would look great in your bedroom."

"Oh, really?" he asked, his voice teasing. "Why do I get the feeling this Sanderson guy is trying to pull the rug out from under
me
?"

"We're strictly friends," she assured him, rolling her shoulders as her underarms grew moist. "I'm sure the billboards are some kind of joke."

"Well, he has a lousy sense of timing." Trey's voice grew softer. "Jasmine, are you sure there isn't something going on between the two of you? I can't deny that I'd be very hurt, but I'd rather know now than be embroiled in some kind of love triangle scandal."

The warm, fuzzy feeling Ladden had evoked in her last night barbed through her chest. "Trey, there is absolutely nothing going on between me and Ladden Sanderson."

"Good," he said, his good mood seemingly restored. "But the reporters will probably shadow us tonight. Do you think you can force yourself to occasionally throw adoring glances my way?"

She smiled into the phone. "I think I can manage that."

"Wear something red."

Jasmine said good-bye, then pushed a button with a shaky finger to disconnect the call. She longed for a few quiet hours to sort through the emotions ricocheting through her, but she realized nothing would be resolved until she spoke with Ladden.

"This is it, no?" the driver asked.

With a jolt, Jasmine looked up and saw they had indeed arrived at the city impound lot. She paid the little man, took a deep breath, and entered the government office. To her amazement, the clerk accepted her payment and released her car without comment or raised eyebrows. Feeling marginally better, she handed a copy of the release to the attendant, then walked stiffly to her car. But just as she inserted her key, a voice split the air.

"Ms. Crowne, over here!"

She jerked her head toward the sound, then froze when she saw a lone camera with a large lens pointed in her direction.

"Say cheese."

She could hear the whirring succession of photos being taken as the man twisted his shoulders for different angles. Her tongue would not move.

At last he paused. "Care to make a statement, Ms. Crowne?"

"About what?" she sputtered, putting on as brave a face as she could muster.

"About how the governor's neglect has driven you into the arms of a blue-collar lover?"

"That's ridiculous," she stammered.

The man smirked. "Not according to the guard at the complex where you live. You really should be more discreet, Ms. Crowne."

* * *

Ladden gripped the steering wheel of Mrs. Pickney's car and eased it onto the shoulder of the bypass.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God," he breathed. "I'm in the Twilight Zone."

But the line of billboards that stretched before him were all too real. Yesterday most of them had encouraged citizens to vote for Governor Trey McDonald. Today they all announced that the governor's girlfriend was being pursued by an idiot.

He climbed out of the car on shaky legs, still unable to believe his eyes. How had this happened?

Ladden raked his hand through his hair. A shudder of fear traveled his spine as the words he'd muttered last night on the way home finally came back to him.
I wish Jasmine could see how crazy I am about her.

He swallowed hard, shaking his head. No way.

There were no such things as magic lamps and mobile carpets and genies and wishes. Yet his paper's headline taunted him.
A wise second wish, Master.
He leaned heavily against the car. He was absolutely, positively losing his mind.

"Greetings, Master."

Ladden jerked his head around, straightening when he saw the skinny homeless man from his store, swathed in yards of pale fabric and still sporting his black turban. The man looked completely at ease, as if he often passed time at the base of a billboard. Ladden's mouth twisted—the oddball probably did.

"You," he said, striding toward the man, "have some explaining to do."

The man grinned, revealing white, gapped teeth. "Your lady saw the signs this morning. She was quite surprised."

Ladden's stomach lurched. "No more surprised than I was." He tried to keep his voice calm. He was, after all, dealing with a maniac. "Or, I wager, her boyfriend," he added dryly. Then he frowned. "How do you know she saw them?"

Another grin. "I was with her, of course."

"Of course," Ladden said.

"My last master wasted his wishes foolishly," the man said with a sad face. Then he brightened. "But you... you are a good man with a big heart and—how you say—a big head?" He tapped his finger to his temple.

Ladden pursed his lips. "I hope you mean smart."

"Ah, yes—smart," the man affirmed. "A wise master. Have you thought about your final wish?"

"Wait a minute." Ladden threw up his hands, shaking his head. "I am standing beside a busy highway talking to some kook in a turban who is trying to convince me he has the power to grant me anything I want."

The man frowned. "I cannot grant
any
wish. I am unable to take a life, to bring someone back to life, or to make someone fall in love." His face lit in another grin as he lifted a bony finger. "But I can help." He winked. "She is beautiful, your Jasmine. She reminds me of a princess I once knew."

"Okay, okay," Ladden said, clasping the man by his arm and steering him back to the car. "You're some rich lunatic who goes around eavesdropping on people and trying to make them happy. But I can assure you," he said sternly, waving back to the billboards, "this did not make
anyone
happy. Because of you, I am in deep hooey."

"Hooey?" the man asked.

"Horse shit," he clarified.

"Ah, camel dung," the man said, nodding.

Ladden sighed, guiding the man toward the passenger door and getting him settled. He waited for a break in the speeding traffic to walk around and climb in on the driver's side.

"Call whoever you have to call to get rid of those things," Ladden said as he turned over the ignition.

"They will be gone soon," the man promised.

"Good," he said as he pulled out on the highway. "Now I've got to come up with an explanation for Jasmine."

"Remember," the man said, when Ladden dropped him off in front of the homeless shelter a few minutes later. "A final wish—do not waste it."

Ladden smirked, then pulled away and drove as fast as he could to the rear entrance of his store. "Jasmine," he practiced, as he unlocked and swung open the back door, "you're not going to believe this, but—"

Ladden stopped, eyeing the carpet that once again lay draped over the table he was saving for Jasmine. He glanced at the corner where he had left it, rolled and standing on its end, then bit the inside of his cheek. He kept walking through the connecting door and into his showroom.

"But there's this madman with a turban who—"

He stopped again, glancing toward his front door where a crowd of people had gathered, including Uncle Ernie, Aunt Silvie, various other friends and relatives, and several photographers who were capturing the front of his store on film. His heart thudded in his chest as he unlocked the door to admit his uncle and aunt. Instead, a stocky, suited man pushed his way inside, then closed behind him, shutting out Uncle Ernie and Aunt Silvie.

"Ladden Sanderson?" he barked.

Ladden frowned at the man and crossed his arms. "Yes."

The man flashed a badge, then shoved it back into his breast pocket. "Security, governor's office. Mr. Sanderson, if you so much as look at, talk to, or think about Jasmine Crowne again, you will be sorry. Is that understood?"

Chapter Seven

LADDEN FLICKED HIS GAZE over the stocky man standing before him. Inch for inch and pound for pound, they were a match. But with a badge and the weight of the governor's office behind him, the suited man had the upper hand, and by the smug look on his face, he knew it.

Ladden's mind raced as he considered the alternatives. He could deny he had anything to do with the billboards and risk looking like a fool, or he could lie and take responsibility for the ads and
prove
he was a fool.

Or he could try to turn the tables. And at this point, what did he have to lose? Certainly not his dignity. Assuming a wide-legged stance, he said, "I didn't catch your name, friend."

The man's expression remained stony. "Duncan, but I'm no friend."

Crossing his arms slowly, Ladden said, "Well, Duncan, I didn't realize Governor McDonald was Ms. Crowne's personal keeper."

Duncan's left eyebrow rose a fraction. "Let's just say he's concerned about a very close acquaintance."

Ladden gave the man a tight smile. "Was this visit at the request of Ms. Crowne, or did the governor take it upon himself to come to her rescue?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Which meant Jasmine probably didn't know about it, he thought with a little zing of relief. "Funny, but I'm wondering what bothers the governor more—the fact that those billboards are directed toward a 'close acquaintance' of his, or the fact that the messages replaced his campaign ads."

Duncan narrowed his eyes and turned to leave. "Watch your step, Sanderson. Trey McDonald could buy and sell you a thousand times."

Despite the reality of the man's words, Ladden raised his voice after Duncan's retreating back. "That might be true, but I'll wager that Jasmine Crowne can't be bought."

The bullish man stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "Listen, pal, I know she's a looker, but get real." He glanced around Ladden's messy showroom. "Do you honestly think the lady is going to dump the governor for this?"

Ladden frowned, stricken. The man was right, of course.

"Besides," Duncan said, his voice deceptively innocent, "I'd hate to see the fire marshal or the health inspector hanging around here all the time."