Sadly, it was proving to be a lot different, and he had been attempting to tie the blasted thing for a good ten minutes. Luckily, Leona, his new and dynamite secretary-cum-file clerk and even newer companion, had been preoccupied with her makeup in the bathroom. Worst case, he'd have to ask her if she knew how to do it. Craig really didn't want to do that. They hadn't been seeing each other socially that long, and Craig preferred that she maintain her apparent belief in his sophistication, fearing he'd otherwise never hear the end of it. Leona had what his matronly receptionist-secretary and his nurse called a "mouth." Tactfulness wasn't her strong suit.

Craig shot a quick glance in Leona's direction. The door to the bathroom was ajar, and she was doing her eyes, but all he could see was a side view of her curvaceous twenty-three-year-old derriere covered with a lustrous pink silk crepe. She was on her tiptoes, leaning over the sink to get closer to the mirror. A fleeting, self-satisfied smile passed over Craig's face as he thought of them walking down the aisle of Symphony Hall that evening, which was why they were getting decked out in their finery. Compensating for being a "mouth," Leona was a "looker," especially in the low-cut dress that they had recently bought at Neiman Marcus. He was sure she was going to turn some heads and that he'd be dodging some envious looks from fellow forty-five-year-old men. Craig realized such feelings were rather juvenile, to say the least, but he'd not felt them since that first time he'd worn a tuxedo, and he was going to enjoy it.