Contract, Rachael. Damn. But she couldn’t sit there and listen to this any longer.
Frowning, he toyed with the stem of his glass. “I want to get to know you better. I’m intrigued by you.”
Ha!
Her lips twitched. “Really. I don’t believe that’s what this is,” she gestured around them. “If I had called you, you’d have moved on already to the next girl. You’re not used to someone not falling head over heels for you, are you? And it’s eating. You. Up.”
If she wasn’t the object of his desire, if this was happening to someone else, the whole situation would have been laughable.
He gazed into her eyes, trying again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rachael laughed, rolling her eyes at the act. “Oh, please. Stop batting those gorgeous blue eyes at me, hoping I’ll drop my panties for you.” Again. “No wonder they call you The Playboy. Grow up.”
Frustration flickered across his face. “Is that all you think I’m after?”
“Put yourself in my position. What would you think?”
He stared at her dumbly, then tilted his head back and roared with laughter. A waiter froze midstep, astonished, before he remembered his place and fled the scene.
Rachael glared at Gabe. He’s lost his damn mind.
Not one to tolerate foolishness or play the wilting flower, she slid away, scooting across the booth’s curved leather seat to leave. He held up his hand. “Wait! Wait, please,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “I’m sorry. I really am,” he squeezed out between his laughter. “Please, I’m not laughing at you. This is—this is entirely self-directed,” he continued, pressing a hand to his chest and trying to regain control of himself. “I’m such an ass. Can we start over? Please?”
At least we could agree on that.
She pushed the wine glass away and faced him. “What, exactly, is happening here?”
He was quiet for a moment before slumping against the seat. “Look, I know you think I’m crazy, and I probably am. But the truth is, I was nervous. This was me trying to impress you. It backfired.”
“And now?”
“And now, let’s start over.” He held his hand out for a handshake, of all things. “Please?”
Sighing, she slid back into the booth and eyeballed his hand before shaking it. “I must be nuts to stay here. You’d better be worth this.”
“I am.” He smiled.
Rachael quirked a brow at him. “You sound pretty confident for a guy who just struck out over sushi and wine.”
“You can’t blame me. I don’t do this often.”
“Do what?”
“Go on a date. With someone I might actually like.”
“Who said this was a date?” she murmured, watching him squirm.
“Touché.” He lifted his chin, an appreciative grin curving his mouth, then waved a hand dismissively. “Lunch, a date, call it what you will.”
She took a sip of water and weighed the risk she was assuming, both to herself and to her career. “If you can show me the real you and not some crazy, pawing creature, I’m willing to give this one shot. One. I’m serious. One more cringeworthy line or juvenile prank and I’m out. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Turned out he was a pretty normal guy when he wasn’t being an egotistical frat boy. They shared the last of the sushi while he talked about how his family ended up in Cincinnati.
“You don’t miss California?”
“Of course I do. I still travel a lot, but now that we’ve been here a couple of years, the area’s grown on me.”
“Soon you’ll be cheering for the Buckeyes and telling everyone the Wright brothers did it here first.”
“The Wright brothers?”
“Never mind, you’ll eventually get it. Or not,” she shrugged.
He laughed and turned his phone face up, bringing them back to reality. “This has been fun, Rachael.”
Shockingly, she couldn’t disagree. “I have to get back to my office,” she replied.
He nodded. “Me too.”
Rachael made him let her pay for part of the check before they returned to the car. “I hear you have quite the collection.”
Petting the top of his Audi, Gabe smiled fondly at the black coupe. “I confess: I like pretty, fast things.”
Hold up. Was he referring to more than cars? Did he think she made a habit of one-night stands?
He held open the car door and she slid in, trying to decide if she should address it. After the awkwardness at the start of lunch, she wasn’t eager to return to it. Yet . . .
Damn it. Might as well get it out of the way. “About the other night,” Rachael started, watching him buckle up. “I don’t normally do that. I mean, like, I never do that.”
He grinned, a dimple returning to his chin. “I know.”
Huh? “You know? What do you know?”
He started the car and stared ahead. “You’re not the only one who knows how to research a prospect, Miss Eller.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back into her seat and mulled that over. “And what did you learn about me?”
“For starters, you can sell anything to anyone. Your record is unparalleled. You’re a natural. I wasn’t lying when I said you did a good job in the presentation. Man, I’d pay to watch you put Stoneworth in his place again.”
Laughing, Rachael nodded and shrugged. “What else?”
“Aside from your family, work, a small circle of friends, and a few very short-lived relationships, you’re pretty isolated. Though I do know, ahem, that you’re passionate and not opposed to physical connections.”
Her face must have been as red as her jacket. “You found that through your research?”
“Some of it took a little personal research. Very personal.” Gabe had the decency to not look at her as he won that point.
Flustered, she remained quiet as they pulled up in front of EHL, her home away from home. When she had her own home, that was.
“But I also recently discovered something else.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re as boldly fascinating as you are beautiful, and a person I’d very much like to know better.”
She searched his clear eyes, speechless, not seeing anything to make her believe he wasn’t being truthful.
Gabe leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Can I call you?”
Rachael slowly nodded and exited the car, wondering if it was a mistake to let this go on, but how could she say no? Leaning over, she rapped on the window until he unrolled it. She flashed him a genuine smile. “Thanks for a surprising afternoon, Gabe.”
He grinned hugely and drove off.
She stared after him for several minutes, replaying his last comments. This all went much worse and much better than she thought it would. But she wasn’t sure if allowing him to be closer was better or worse.
4
Working through her contracts, Rachael kept picturing those eyes and that incredible smile. That dimple. Oddly enough, she was actually looking forward to seeing him again. She groaned as she recalled her embarrassment at his “research.”
The sun was well into its downward arc in the sky when she wrapped up her work to head home. Along the way, she swung by the store and bought a bottle of wine. A glass of wine on the patio with the dogs would be the perfect way to end the day.
A note on the table said Mom and Dad were out at dinner, so she dug through the fridge for some leftovers, grabbed a corkscrew and glass, and went out to the deck. Olive was sitting on the top step, watching Martini run through the freshly cut grass. The lawn company must have come out today. She poured a glass of wine and picked at her cold plate. Both dogs ran to her feet, looking up with giant, hopeful eyes. Tearing off a bit of turkey for each, she secured their love and devotion for another day.
Rachael sipped the wine, watching the dogs lick their muzzles, happy and content. Relaxing in the chair, she thought about the lunch with Gabe. She
still couldn’t believe she sat through those first few minutes. That was asinine, with a capital ass. But she was glad she called him out on it. Once he shed the nauseating veneer, he went back to the charming and casual man she had met at the bar.
Could she see something coming from their spending time together? He was certainly attractive and given his family, she didn’t need to worry about him being infatuated with her dad. But with that reputation, she doubted she could trust him enough to be in a real romantic relationship. God, she was being so judgmental. But this was one area where an individual had every right to be, right?
Martini sat by her foot and whined.
“Where’s your ball, buddy?”
Both dogs perked up at the magic words, taking off down the stairs. They came flying back in record time with their fuzzy, well-loved tennis balls. She played tug-of-war with Martini and threw his ball out to the right side of the yard. When he scampered off, she repeated with Olive, throwing hers out to the left. Rachael watched her fluffy form fly down the stairs and around the side of the deck while Martini ran back, dropping his beloved ball at her feet.
She scratched behind his ears and simultaneously stole the ball, throwing it out to his side again. Rachael glanced over to the other side, searching for Olive. Where was she? Martini came back, and she patted his head absently, throwing the ball once more.
“Olive?” She peered over the edge of the deck and groaned. The fence gate was open. Crap. The lawn company didn’t close it before leaving. Making a mental note to tell her parents, Rachael grabbed her phone then started off into the gathering dusk to hunt for Olive, pulling the gate shut behind her.
“Where are you, girl?” She flicked on the phone’s flashlight and kept walking, careful not to trip in the dark shadows. The deck extended just past the edge of the house, casting a dim light into the side yard, but not enough to avoid the tree roots and landscaping rocks. She peered into the shadows around the trees, hoping Olive was tucked in between some of the foliage.
The quiet rumble of a vehicle coming nearer reached her ears, and her eyes flew toward the road, where a pair of eyes reflected the streetlight. “Olive? Olive!” She stopped and looked toward Rachael, but didn’t move.
Racing down the long driveway, Rachael saw the headlights grow brighter between the tall trees on the street as the car progressed toward them. “Olive! Come!”
Ignoring the commands, Olive remained still as a statue in the street, motionless in the face of the oncoming car.
Rachael wasn’t going to make it to her in time.
Oh, God. No, no, no!
Her mind raced as her feet flew faster. What could she do to get her to move? “Olive! Come here, girl! Come! Want a treat? Come here!”
At the last second, the little dog scuttled toward her, but it was too late. It happened in slow motion. The driver didn’t see her. It was too dark. She was too small. The car clipped her. Olive disappeared from view, and Rachael imagined she could hear the sound of Olive’s whimper, of her tiny body being crushed by the rubber and steel. She was going to be sick.
“Olive!” Rachael gasped, running into the street. “No!”
The car continued down the road, the driver unaware of the unfolding tragedy.
No, no, no, no, no!
“Olive?” she whispered, dropping to her knees on the asphalt. “Please be okay.”
Her dog didn’t move. Olive was breathing, but not moving. Rachael looked in horror at the blood coming from a gash on her side and gagged.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
“Just hold tight,” Rachael cried. “You’re going to be just fine.”
She peeled off her jacket and gingerly wrapped Olive in it, trying to press the fabric against the gaping wound. Clutching her firmly but gently, she raced back to the house to snag her car keys. “Hold on, Olive,” she begged, the tears falling faster.
In the car, Rachael asked Siri for the nearest emergency vet and let her navigation dictate the way. She babbled nonsense the entire trip, softly stroking Olive’s coat peeking out from the bundle in the passenger seat. The dog was warm but remained immobile. Rachael made two wrong turns and sobbed harder, convinced she was not going to get there in time.
After an eternity, she turned into the well-lit parking lot. Her elbow hit the horn as she swept Olive off the seat and ran out the door. Rachael carried her as quickly and steadily as she could, tears running unchecked down her face.
I just adopted her, how could she be dying?
This could not be happening.
Nudging the door open, Rachael rushed to the counter. “Please help! My dog got hit by a car.”
The matronly woman at the desk looked up with sympathy. “Sure, honey. Just take a seat right there and I’ll see if the doctor is available.”
Rachael stared at her in disbelief. “Take a seat? Take a seat! My dog is dying, and you want me to take a fucking seat?!”
“Now, now, there’s no need for that kind of language, young lady. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll be right back with you.”
Fuming, Rachael paced around the cool waiting room and felt her fear escalate into a near panic. What should she do? She peeled back the jacket from her wound, and saw the pool of blood soaked into the fabric. Olive whimpered weakly and Rachael’s heart stuttered.
“Right this way.” The evil receptionist had returned.
Rachael glared at the woman and stormed through the door, clutching Olive to her breast.
The veterinarian was bent over, typing notes at his computer station.
“Please, Doctor. She got hit by a car. I didn’t know what to do, she’s not moving,” Rachael babbled on, not entirely sure what she was saying after that. Her tears increased and she swiped at her face with her shoulder, trying to clear her vision.
He turned toward her, his warm eyes full of concern. “May I take her from you? Or if you prefer, you can lay her down here.” He patted the steel tabletop.
Trembling, Rachael laid Olive down and continued to stroke her small head, touching her here and there. “You’ll be all right,” she whispered.
“Her name?”
“Olive,” Rachael sobbed.
“How old is she?”
“Six or seven. I rescued her and her brother from the shelter a few weeks ago.”
He gently unwrapped Olive, murmuring soothingly as he pulled the red jacket away from her wounds. The vet glanced at Rachael. “There’s a sink in the corner there, and a sweater on the back of the door if you’re cold.”
She glanced down and realized all she had on was the cream skirt and somewhat sheer cream camisole. Spots of blood marred the shirt, and she had blood on her hands. Rachael shrugged his comment away, not wanting to leave Olive’s side. “Is she . . . ?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.
“She has a couple of deep lacerations and at least one broken bone. We’ll need to run a few tests and sedate her for her own comfort. Are you able to fill out some paperwork?”
Rachael nodded absently, and turned to the sink. A stack of forms on a clipboard appeared at her side as she scrubbed the blood from her knuckles and nails, the soap bubbles tinged with pink.
When she finished drying her hands, the vet took her elbow and led her to a chair in the corner.
“Thank you, Doctor . . . ?”
“Thomas. Richard Thomas. But please, call me Rick.” He smiled and gave her shoulder a small squeeze before returning to Olive.
Working through the papers, she reached the end and scrawled her signature across it, allowing the chained pen to dangle from the clipboard. The woman from the front stepped in to collect it. Remembering her outburst, Rachael flushed as she handed over the paperwork. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
She gave her a grandmotherly smile and patted the back of Rachael’s hand. “It’s fine. Sometimes fear and worry make us do funny things.”
The sympathetic response got her tears going again, and Rachael hunched over,
weeping.
“There, there, honey,” she said, wrapping an arm around Rachael. “Rick, get this young lady a tissue.”
He looked up at her, perplexed. “A little busy over here, Nancy.”
“Oh, pish,” Nancy said, then waddled over and returned with a box of tissues and the sweater from the door. She placed the box on Rachael’s lap and draped the sweater around her bare shoulders. “This sweater is going to swallow you whole, dear, but it’s the only thing we’ve got right now.”
She left and Rachael sniffed into the tissue, shuddering as she tried to catch her breath. Recalling Carlie’s frequent childhood panic attacks, Rachael thought of how they had helped her deal with them over the years. Feet firmly on the floor, she closed her eyes and focused on breathing, in and out. In and out. She felt her pulse begin to calm. The warmth of the sweater was comforting, and she noted a hint of cologne. It smelled good. Soothing.
Finally coming back to herself, Rachael returned to the steel table where Olive was quiet and unmoving. She gasped, thinking the worst. Dr. Thomas—Rick—heard and quickly reassured her. “She’s sleeping,” he explained.
“Can I?” she stretched her shaking hand toward Olive’s head and he nodded.
“Gentle,” he cautioned. “We still need to clean these wounds, and she has a broken leg that will need to be set. I can patch her up, but we will need to watch for infection and see how she responds to the treatment. She’ll stay here until she’s stable enough to go home.”
Another tear leaked out of Rachael’s eye, and she felt a burst of affection for her broken girl. “You’re going to be fine, Olive. I’ll make sure of it.”
An assistant came in and conferred with Rick. He turned and introduced her to Rachael. “This is Cora Willis, an intern and a pre-veterinary medicine senior from UC. With your permission, I’d like to allow her to clean and treat Olive’s lacerations. Cora has extensive experience in this area already. I’ll review her sutures and address the fractures once that is complete.”
Rachael nodded and greeted Cora, a bespectacled young Black woman. “That’s fine.”
The future veterinarian glowed with pleasure and began cleaning and assessing Olive, talking to her patient in a low voice. Rick turned his attention to Rachael, taking in her state. “Now, Ms. . . . ?”
Animal Attraction Page 3
