by AJ Nuest
Tessa chuckled into her wineglass. Yeah, okay, she was the crazy one. “Tell me why men do that?”
He frowned, though the humor in his eyes had lightened them to match the gray of his sweater. “Do what?”
“Assume because they don’t think the way women do, we’re automatically crazy.”
A lop-sided smirk deepened the laugh lines on one side of his cheek. “Oh no, not this topic.”
“Just as an example, tell me what you’re thinking right now.”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Bah.” She flipped her hand dismissively. “How can you say that? It’s impossible for you to be thinking nothing.”
He planted his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. “All right, how’s this? I’m thinking how delightful it is to have dinner with you twice in a row.”
Now there was a genuine compliment. But he wasn’t getting off that easy. “Okay, fine. Exactly proves my point. Men only think about one subject at a time. Women, on the other hand, think about several things all at once. It’s part of our survival tactics; it’s the way we’re built, and because of this, men automatically assume we’re crazy.”
His full lips pursed against the hint of a smile. “All right, I’ll bite. What are you thinking about right now?” He pushed his wine aside as the waiter delivered their dinner.
“Well, I’m thinking how delightful it is to have dinner with you again.” She opened her napkin across her lap. “But I’m also considering how many calories are in this chicken, I’m trying to recall if I added the chocolate truffles to the invoice I started earlier today, I spent a brief moment debating if I should find a good placement service, and I’m currently agonizing over these shoes and wondering how much longer before I can remove them from my feet.” She popped a bite of chicken into her mouth, smiling as she chewed.
He paused, a skewered piece of his filet hovering in midair. “You’re really quite scary, you know that?”
“Consider yourself lucky.” She used her fork to point at him. “I just gave you a piece from the vault.”
“Ah. The ever-popular women’s vault of secrets. I’ve heard about that.”
“It exists, you know.”
“Yeah? What else do you keep in there?”
“The usual. Our hopes and dreams, but most importantly, how we really feel about things.”
He peered at her from under his brows. “Meaning it would be asking too much for women to just say how they really feel?”
She slumped. Oh, the sweet, clueless man. A long-suffering sigh rushed from her throat as she shook her head.
“What?”
“Well, why in the world would we do that?”
Scanning the tables nearest them, he leaned close. “Because it would make things a lot easier,” he whispered.
She smiled, her hand instinctively rising to cup his cheek. “Yes, but then how would we ever know if you’re paying attention?”
His grin lifted her palm, the stubble of his five o’clock shadow tickling the sensitive skin, eyes sparkling like a clear beacon in the low candlelight.
Her breath caught. The way he held her gaze, so tender and kind. If she tipped her head the slightest bit, they could share a kiss. She dropped her hand and withdrew. What the hell was that? But the linen tablecloth held no answers.
She’d come at this dinner with her eyes wide open, but even so Dibs’s easy-going manner had broken through her defenses. That had to be the reason for the faint fluttering of her heart…the warm cascade of adrenaline tingling in her belly.
Regardless, the moment lingered, and uncomfortable silences were never good.
She cleared her throat, brushed her wispy bangs from her eyes. “Keep that information to yourself, will you? A girl could get banned if word got out.” Hopefully her smile didn’t convey her discomfort.
Dibs chuckled and swiped his napkin across his lips. But his small nod expressed much more than simple agreement. He knew exactly what had passed between them.
The remainder of the meal, she rearranged the food on her plate, answering his questions about her family, the simple carefree days she enjoyed growing up in a small Midwestern town.
Thankfully the mundane topics helped her relax, the tension in her shoulders slowly ebbed. But the most startling revelation she accredited to Dibs. Even though he could easily have taken advantage of her vulnerability, teased her, or even closed the distance between them and stolen a kiss, he did none of those things.
She liked him for that. It was sweet the way he had taken a moment that would have normally made her run for the hills and turned it around. His efforts to increase her comfort ignited a small glow of appreciation that warmed her from the inside out, and the longer she remained seated beside him, the deeper her admiration grew. Perhaps, in some small way, she could even trust him.
As their meal drew to a close, she surveyed the emptying restaurant, finding she had done most of the talking while Dibs seemed content listen to her speak. And while she held no qualms about his interest being genuine, she had to admit her curiosity had been sparked as well. “So, at the risk of sounding like a complete idiot, what exactly do you do all day?”
“Been thinking about me, huh?”
She pinned him with a challenging brow.
“I’m the CEO of the Brenner Foundation. We’re a charitable organization that works with big money-making firms to ensure they spend enough in donations each year to declare a big tax write-off. We allocate the funds so the organizations that receive them get the most bang for their buck.”
“And you inherited this foundation?”
He snorted. “No. I started it.”
“Really? How come?”
“Well, for a long time I was your run-of-the-mill, spoiled rich kid. Partying, jetting around, no respect for authority…you know.” Fingertips braced on the rim of his coffee cup, he twisted the base back and forth on the saucer.
“I hit bottom at twenty-five. But, of course my bottom was in the penthouse suite at the Plaza Hotel, with a room full of friends and a closet stocked with contraband.”
When she lifted her eyebrows, he nodded, confirming her suspicions. At one time, his life had ventured down a very dark path.
“And I don’t know…” He sat back, scanning the restaurant as if it had suddenly been transformed into that same hotel room. “I was sitting in a chair, watching all my so-called friends, and I remember thinking ‘what the hell am I doing’? I mean, none of those people really cared about me. If they did, they wouldn’t have let me continue to ruin my life, would they? I mean, what was the point?”
He locked his gaze to hers. “It didn’t take long for me to conclude the only reason they spent time with me was because of the lifestyle—which, in turn, led me to conclude I was no better. After all, I had invited them into my life.” One of his shoulders lifted in a half-shrug. “There just wasn’t anything I truly cared about. No person, not one cause…nothing. And I couldn’t shake the horrible sensation I was wasting my life. That I was just waiting in limbo for a greater purpose to come along or…something.”
Tessa squeezed his arm, but remained silent. The stark image of Dibs, sitting alone within a group of strangers he called friends, broke her heart. Had those idiots really not noticed the desolate young man in their presence? Too bad she couldn’t go back in time and clunk some heads together.
“So I left. I got up from the chair and I left.” He lifted his cup to encompass the vacant tables.
“Where did you go?”
“Nowhere. I just walked the streets of New York all night, thinking about my life and what I wanted, what I could do to change it. As cliché as it sounds, I realized I wanted my life to mean something. I wanted to make a difference.”
“So that’s when you started the Brenner Foundation?”
“Not right away.” He shook his head. “I had to convince my father to back me, which was no small task. He really isn’t one for spending money without reason. And f
or him, to donate it isn’t a reason. But we made a deal if I went back to school and earned my degree, he would support the foundation and help get it started.
“So I enrolled at Harvard, the old man’s alma mater, and got my law degree. He loaned me the capital to start the foundation, fulfilling his end of the bargain—a gentlemen’s agreement.”
“And how long ago was that?”
“Four years now.”
“So that would make you…?”
He smiled. “Thirty-four.”
She nodded, but a sour churning tainted the coffee in her stomach. Vanessa and Benjamin Brenner came across exactly as Dibs had described them—a bunch of snobby assholes. With a father who used his son’s pursuit of a better life as leverage, not to mention the way his parents had insinuated their opinion over his love life, perhaps his assessment on the plane had been correct. He did need a good friend. “And the other children in your family? What about them?”
“My younger brother heads up Brenner Property Investments, and my sister, well, her biggest concern is marrying into the right family. Apparently that’s a full-time job.”
Tessa laughed quietly, shaking her head. The man was truly miraculous. He could have been anyone, done anything with his life, but instead he’d made the conscious decision to pursue higher ground, for himself and everyone, really, that he touched.
He pulled his money clip from his pocket and scanned the bill. “So, I think this friends thing is working out nicely, don’t you?” He slipped two one hundred dollar bills into the small leather payment portfolio and pushed it to the side.
“Maybe we should split the bill.”
“It’s already paid.”
“Friends usually split the check.” She dug through her purse for her wallet. “What’s my half?”
“Let me pay. It was my idea to go out, anyway.”
She dropped her wallet back into her purse. “You like to spend money, don’t you?”
“You sound like my father.”
“Ew, that’s a horrible thing to say.”
He showed off that cute smirk of his while lifting his coffee for another sip. “So, I’m taking a leap of faith here and assuming I can call you again?”
She tipped her head, hiding her own smile behind the rim of her cup. “If you feel you must.”
Chapter Seven
Icy rain ticked a sporadic rhythm against her bedroom window, and Tessa stretched and rolled over in bed. Based on the overcast sky, a pajama day was in order.
Morning passed accompanied by a full pot of coffee and the Sunday paper. She finished the crossword puzzle, and then tried her hand at a pedicure. Afternoon was spent online shopping, and when dusk arrived and the rain still showed no sign of stopping, she drew a bubble bath and opted for a long, hot soak.
As she floated in the soapy water, her thoughts drifted back to the previous night’s dinner—specifically that intimate moment she had shared with Dibs. In retrospect, her discomfort was understandable. Just like he had said on the plane, if they let what happened at the hotel be an issue, then it would be an issue. Well, that’s what she’d done. Even before he picked her up, she’d allowed their past to interfere. And she certainly didn’t want one awkward moment between them to ruin their friendship, especially after he’d gone out of his way to ease her anxiety—and even more so now that she’d learned the details surrounding the rift in his family.
In a strange way, she and Dibs needed each other. Perhaps her best course would be to keep that night exactly where it belonged—what happened in New York, stayed in New York—and not let past mistakes be an issue, for either of them.
Her cell rang and water sluiced down her body as she sat up, the sodden washcloth peeling off her chest and disappearing under the bubbles. She shook the droplets from her hand and stretched across the rug, snagging the phone from the countertop with her fingertips.
Only one person ever called on Sunday evening. “Hi, Mom.”
A long pause echoed through the line. “All right, I draw the line at being confused with your mother,” Dibs said.
She laughed. “What’re you doing?” Reclining against the tub, she replaced the washcloth, and then toed the faucet.
“Got a DVD Player?”
“Why?”
“Want to rent a movie?”
A movie with Dibs? Well, why not? Besides, it wasn’t like her agenda was exactly full. “Pick me up in half an hour.”
Hair dried and light makeup applied, she donned a comfortable pair of blue cotton lounging pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt and hoodie—best to be warm and cozy while out battling the elements.
In the lobby of her condo, she waited at the revolving door until a pair of headlights belonging to a low-slung black vehicle swung into the circular drive. But there was no mistaking the heady purr of the Jag’s engine. She sprinted through the rain, stretching her hood over her head, and then laughed when Dibs hopped out and jogged around the front to open the passenger side door.
“Are you crazy?” she yelled.
“Hurry up!” He kept his shoulders hunched against the freezing rain.
She launched inside, Dibs’s light-blue sweater a distorted blob through the rain-soaked windshield when he raced for the driver’s side and slammed the door.
“You don’t need to open the door for me, Dibs.”
“Yeah, yeah, save it.” He put the car in gear and roared out of the drive.
She flipped the sun visor down and peered into the mirror, clearing the melted drops of mascara from her cheeks with her fingertips. “Got any tissues?”
He shook his head, tipped aside to reach into the back pocket of his jeans, and brought out a cotton handkerchief. “Here.”
She stared at the white square in his hand. That night at the hotel bar she had removed a similar hankie from his breast pocket—after sharing their first kiss. His body heat emanated from the material when she lifted it from his fingers. “Thanks.”
The heady scent of his cologne filled her senses as she dabbed her cheeks—amber, a hint of cinnamon, and the gentle undercurrent of rich vanilla. He had wound a hand through her hair, his lips lingering like the softest velvet when he brushed his mouth across hers. And when he’d dipped his tongue inside—
“Just out of curiosity, why do women wear that stuff?”
She jerked back from the mirror, thoughts fishtailing like she’d stomped on a set of imaginary brakes. “What? Mascara?”
“Yeah, I don’t get it. It’s always making such a mess.”
“Several reasons, but mainly to make men crazy. It’s a big conspiracy we women designed to get on a man’s very last nerve.” She replaced the visor and flipped the handkerchief in his direction.
He grimaced. “Keep it.”
She followed his gaze down to the crisp linen, now dotted with small black splotches. “I’ll wash it and get it back to you.” Or she could always leave off the washing and sleep with it under her pillow.
“You’d better hang onto it. You might need it for your next makeup disaster.”
“Ha, ha.” She swatted the handkerchief against his arm before tucking it inside the pocket of her hoodie.
Dibs turned into the video store parking lot and slid the Jag into the only available spot, reached into the back seat, and retrieved an umbrella. “Wait there. I’ll come and get you.”
He walked around with the umbrella opened over the passenger side door and she remained glued to his side as they rushed for the door. Once inside, they immediately split up.
The latest new release drama she’d been dying to see was finally out and she plucked the last case from the shelf before scanning the store for Dibs. He was already walking toward her, a movie case in hand, his fitted sweater stretched taut across his chest as he scrubbed a hand through his damp hair. Epitomizing his usual masculine perfection, the man seemed as comfortable in jeans and loafers as he did in a tailored designer suit.
He stopped before her and without a word they exchange
d cases…and her stomach plummeted. Demonic possession? He had to be kidding. A sunken-eyed zombie-child adorned the cover, surrounded by a ring of skeletal faces, and she internally cringed.
“Um, do we have to?” She smacked the movie to his chest to hide the hideous visual. Unfortunately, the back cover was just as nauseating as the front. “Horror really isn’t my thing.”
A slight crease appeared between his brows, but his apparent confusion didn’t mask the delight dancing in his gaze. “You’re not afraid of scary movies, are you, Rex?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. Admitting to such a weakness was tantamount to jabbing a sharp stick in her eye, but the alternative was even worse. She wrinkled her nose. “No?”
He batted his lashes, full bottom lip pouty and turned down. “Aw, don’t worry. I’ll protect you. And if the boogieman shows up in the middle of the night, I’m only a phone call away.”
Oh great. As if she needed a reminder she’d be alone with the terrifying after-images once he’d gone. “Wow. Thanks for that.”
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as they headed for the counter and joined the line to check out.
The woman in front of them set off an abrupt elevation in Tessa’s eyebrows. Her top half spilled over a tight leopard-print shirt, bottom half stuffed into a pair of shiny black patent-leather pants. One strong breeze and that outfit was apt to blow.
Dibs’s breath whispered past her ear. “Oh…my…”
She tossed her elbow back and caught him in the ribs. The woman swiveled, her brow furrowed. Tessa smiled pleasantly before glancing at Dibs. His attention was riveted to the movie cases in his hands. “Don’t start,” she warned quietly.
A dark-haired boy of about four or five years approached. He stumbled to a stop behind the woman and screwed up his face, his distorted image grinning ghoulishly back at him in the woman’s right butt cheek. He stuck his thumbs in his ears and wiggled his fingers. His shiny reflection waved back.
