Artur gave him a black look, but said nothing.
“Careful,” Fred warned. “That’s your new roommate you’re irritating. It’ll make your nightcap together awkward.”
He grimaced. He was already regretting the mad impulse that prompted him to offer up his suite to Artur. Still, in his own way, he was fascinating, and Thomas had plenty of questions for the man.
Too bad they were rivals. He knew it. Artur knew it. Jonas even appeared to get it.
Everybody but the object of their adoration, who was even now bitching, “Thomas, is English your fourth language? I can barely read your writing.”
“Shut up,” he said warmly. “You’ve got bigger problems than my writing.”
“Impossible,” she said, looking alarmed.
“If it’s a new hotel—let’s see, who do we know who just popped up at the NEA whose parents are rich and own half the waterfont?”
Now she was looking positively revolted. “No.”
“There is a suspect?” Artur asked.
“No,” Fred snapped.
“I’m just saying,” Thomas added.
“No.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to talk to her.”
Fred grimaced. “Obviously you haven’t talked to her.”
“Oh, I have, honey, believe me. She threw a pass at me that nearly knocked me unconscious with its subtlety.”
“How awful for you,” Fred sneered.
He ignored the sarcasm. “That whole ‘look at me, I’m a sub-human twit’ thing could be a front.”
“Olivier wasn’t; that good an actor.”
“Have it your way. But you have to admit, it’s an interesting coincidence. And talking to Madison Fehr can’t be worse than sucking down shit.” Her glare was so sizzling, he nearly flinched, and changed the subject.
“I’m getting pretty hungry. Are you guys?”
Both Undersea Folk looked positively ill.
“Oh. Sorry. Yeah, that’d put me off my feed for a while, too. But I can’t help being hungry. It’s lunchtime.”
“Well, Jonas can run out and get you something…” Fred suddenly looked around, then looked at her watch. “Where the hell is Jonas? Not still with Dr. Barb, I hope. Poor guy.”
Thomas thought of the way Jonas had run off with Dr. Barb, who was in awfully good shape and pretty young to be running the NEA, and didn’t think the guy had it so bad at all.
“Hey, Artur. Maybe you could get me a sandwich.” He couldn’t resist.
He chuckled at the prince’s expression, deciding it was worth Fred’s sigh of exasperation. Yes, the day was definitely looking up.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Okay, come out.”
“Jonas, I can’t.”
“Will you come out already? How can I tell you how it looks if you won’t let me see?”
“I’ll tell you how it looks. It looks silly.”
“I’ll be the judge of that, Dr. Lab Coat. Out.” Blushing to her eyebrows, Dr. Barb pushed open the dressing room door and stepped into the tiny hallway. She was wearing one of the four outfits Jonas had bullied her into trying on and, in his opinion, the most flattering.
It was a navy two piece suit, the skirt falling softly just above the knee, the jacket double-breasted, and held together in the middle by one big button. And it was a Givenchy. On sale!
Jonas stared at the button. “We have to pick out a bra in the same color as the jacket.”
“No we do not. Jonas, I feel half naked in this thing! You can see my brassiere, for heaven’s sake.”
“News flash, Dr. Barb: people stopped saying brassiere forty years ago.”
“I’m trying to be an authority figure not a—a Playmate of the Month.”
“Barb, bras are trendy right now. Women are buying strappy tees and then buying bras so they can coordinate. And don’t forget the whale-tail trend—you know, when you can see a woman’s thong above the waist line of her jeans?”
“That,” she said firmly, “was a trend for the young.”
“Well, the young can’t afford this suit. Showing an inch of the front of your bra is hardly the same as forgetting to wear shorts and bending over a tractor to be Miss February.”
Her face went, if possible, even redder and without a word she turned around to duck back inside the changing room, but he caught her by the elbow and gently pulled her back. “Come on, let me get a good look,” he coaxed. “I think it’s fabulous. Let me tell you why.”
He led her to the three mirrors at the end of the room. “See, the skirt is long enough so you don’t look like an escapee from the Ally McBeal set, but short enough to show off your legs. You have really terrific legs. And the color is awesome. Brings out your eyes, puts some color in your cheeks, even brightens up your hair. Which we’ll get to in a minute. Now, the jacket… wrist-length sleeves, but not too much padding in the shoulders, so you don’t look like you’ve OD’d on I Love the 80’s. The cut in the front really doesn’t show much skin. See, you could wear this under an open—open—lab coat and look like a million bucks, and still be the boss, and show everybody how gorgeous you are at the same time.”
She tried to pull away. “Oh, Jonas, you’re sweet, but I’m not—”
“That is a gorgeous forty-year-old woman in there,” he said, not letting go of her arm, and pointing to the mirror with his other hand. “Sexy and smart and The Boss. I mean, what could possibly be hotter than that?”
“Forty-five.” She added, a little bitterly, “As my ex never failed to remind me, I’m never going to see thirty again.”
“Fuck your ex. I think this is the one. We should get this one. And a matching bra.”
Dr. Barb stared at herself for a long minute. “Well. The color is nice.”
“The color is fucking phenomenal, I’m telling you, it brings out all your natural color, brightens up your—oh, right. Your hair.”
She clutched her braid and tried to back away. “Never mind my hair.”
“Come on, Dr. Barb. All I’m asking is that you cut two feet off of it.”
“No!”
“But it would look so much better if it wasn’t dragging your whole face down. I’m thinking layers around your face, and shoulder length. And,” he added slyly, “everybody could still read your name on the coat.”
“No, Jonas. No. Not the hair.”
“Yes, the hair, listen, trust me. I’m an impartial observer. Besides, you think I do this for every woman?”
“Certainly you’ve never done it for Dr. Bimm,” she said slyly, and he laughed. She looked at the mirror, and it was almost like his laughing reflection helped her make up her mind. “All right. I’ll take it. But when the board fires me for dressing like a slut, I’m moving in with you.”
“Done,” he said fervently. “Okay, hurry up. We’ve got time to hit the lingerie counter and then it’ll be lunch time.”
“Lunch time?” Dr. Barb practically shrieked, looking at her watch. “Oh, Lord! I should have been back—”
“Dr. Barb, what in the world is the use of being The Boss if you can’t fuck off for a Saturday? I mean, a Saturday. Come on.”
“You are very bad for me, Jonas,” she scolded, stepping into the dressing room and (rats!) closing the door. “You are a bad, bad boy.”
He leaned against the wall so he wouldn’t fall down. God, he loved the older teacher type thing she had going, but when she scolded him! He hoped to God she didn’t notice the raging boner lurking in his boxers.
“I never even let Phillip pick out my clothes,” she said from the other side of the door, and laughed. “I can’t imagine what he’d think of this.”
“He’d think ‘when did I turn into the world’s biggest dumb shit?’ is what he’d think.”
She laughed and he heard the sound of rustling clothing. He squashed the urge to mash his ear against the door and imagine what she was putting on. Or taking off. “Considering the fact that you never had the pleasure of meeting him, you certainly have
strong opinions about him!”
“He’s a dumbass. Anybody who’d let you go isn’t worth a nanosecond of my time. Or yours.”
“Oh, Jonas,” she sighed. There was more of that tantalizing rustling. “You’re so very good for my ego!”
Chapter Twenty-three
“Dr.Bimm is lucky to have a friend like you,” Dr. Barb was saying over arctic char half an hour later. They were at the Legal’s right by the NEA, within sight of the building in her charge. As long as she was sitting where she could see tourists weren’t stampeding out, or the building wasn’t collapsing in flames, she was almost relaxed. “It was so sweet of you to take me shopping. Especially when you were the one who needed a new shirt.”
Note to self: Fred owes me a new shirt, I ruined a Ralph Lauren polo for that ungrateful harpy! “Yeah, well, I was free. And it was fun. I love to shop. And I got three new shirts out of it, too.” Dr. Barb had insisted on paying for his clothes, even though he’d dunked his coffee on himself on purpose. And Fred still owed him a new shirt. He could have been scalded to death!
“I don’t understand how it’s possible for a man like you to have a free Saturday. Why haven’t you ever settled down, Jonas? Too young?”
He laughed. “You’re talking like you’re ready for a nursing home. You’ve only got about fifteen years on me.”
Dr. Barb looked away. “Ah—don’t remind me. But let’s get back to you. Why hasn’t someone snapped you up?”
“Well. I’ve been—I mean, you know, I see people. I get out. A helluva lot more than you NEA geeks, that’s for sure.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “I think you should set your goals a bit higher.”
He laughed again. “Right, right.” The waitress brought him his appletini and a ginger ale for Dr. Barb. They clicked glasses. “To the new, sexy, awesomely gorgeous you, who really isn’t new, but now other people will figure it out, too.”
She blushed—God, he didn’t know women still did that!—and they clinked glasses again. Then he resumed the chatter that either irritated Fred or bored the hell out of her, but which the luscious Dr. Barb appeared to find fascinating.
“Anyway, I see people and go out and there’s always a party going on and stuff like that, but I just, you know, haven’t found that special someone.”
“That’s amazing to me. You must have people lining up.”
“Well… I don’t know about that… but I’ve kind of got a crush on someone. So it makes it hard to want to get to know someone else, get it?”
Dr. Barb nodded. “Of course, I understand perfectly. What is that you’re drinking? It’s the color of lamb jelly.”
“Appletini. Try.”
She picked up his glass and took a sip, raised her eyebrows, and took another one. “Oh. That’s wonderful! I’ll have one when I’m not working.”
“You’re not working today, Dr. Barb.”
She giggled. Giggled. He thought it was adorable. He wanted her to do it again. Maybe if I juggled? “Oh yes I am. I’m going back after lunch.”
“You can’t. After lunch we’re going to Sergei’s.”
“Who?”
“Only the hottest stylist in town right now, booked for months, but he owes me a favor—I introduced him to his husband—so he’ll see you. And he’ll give you a discount on the cut.”
She shook her head and set his glass down. “No, Jonas. No hair cut. No Sergei.”
“But you’re so closed to goddess-hood!” he wailed.
“Goddess-hood? Oh, Jonas. We have to stop. You’re going to give me a swelled head. Soon I’ll forget I’m a middle-aged frump and then where would we be?”
He stared at her. “Frump? Frump?” he repeated, incredulous. Okay, maybe that last one was a little loud; the table in front of them turned to look.
“Dr. Barb, when we were in that department store with all the mirrors, did you bother to look in any of them? You’re as far from a frump as—as—” He groped for a simile. Or was it a metaphor? “As Fred is from Miss Congeniality.”
She reached across the table and took his hand. Took. His. Hand! “Jonas, you’re so sweet. You’ve given my ego such a boost, I can’t thank you enough. And I’m thrilled that you see me that way, really I am, even if I can’t quite make that leap myself. Now, you’ve done so much for me I’d like to do something for you. Tell me about this crush you have. Maybe we can get you hooked up, as the kids say.”
Oh. Gulp. “Well… I’ve known this person for years but haven’t really screwed up the courage to get to know them very well. I can hardly even be in the same room—you know how it is.”
Dr. Barb nodded. “Now, Jonas, you listen to me.”
“Sterner.”
She looked puzzled, but raised and hardened her voice. “Now, Jonas, you listen to me.” He got all tingly when she used her schoolteacher voice. “You are a wonderful guy: handsome, funny, smart, sweet. You’re going to make some man very happy. The trick is finding Mr. Right, as they say.”
“What?”
“You’ve got a lot to offer some lucky fellow, and I’m sure the gentleman you’ve got a crush on will see that if you can just get to know him a little better.”
“But—” In his surprise, he blurted out the truth. “But you’re the gentleman I’ve got a crush on!”
They stared at: each other. Dr. Barb froze with her ginger ale halfway to her mouth. And Jonas cursed himself. This wasn’t the first time a woman had assumed he was gay, but he never dreamed that Dr, Barb would think—Couldn’t she tell he could hardly keep his hands—Couldn’t she tell?
“But—you’re gay. You’re Dr. Bimm’s gay best friend.”
“I’m not gay.”
“But you are.”
“Dr. Barb,” he snapped, “I think I would know, okay? Trust me, I’m not even bi. I’m just very very very secure in my masculinity, okay?”
Color began to climb in her face. “But—you like to—”
“Metrosexual.”
“But you also like—”
“Secure in my masculinity.”
Now she was red faced and stammering. “But I—I never s-see you w-with any girls—women, I mean—”
“You’ve never seen me with anybody.”
She closed her mouth so quickly, he heard the click of her teeth coming together. When she spoke, her voice was very small and she sort of breathed the whole thing out, really fast.
“Youmeanrmtheoneyou’vehadacrushonallthistime?”
“Sure. I liked you the first time I saw you, even though you were wearing that awful green pantsuit under your lab coat.”
“But Jonas—I’m so much older than—”
He snorted. “Fifteen years—”
“Sixteen, I believe.”
“—Big deal, that hardly makes you Methuselah. And I love older women. Love. Them. Especially really smart ones. Especially authority figures. Especially—never mind, I think you’ve had enough shocks for one day.”
“It’s just that I never—I mean, Fred never—and I never had—I mean you never said—I mean—” She was looking around wildly, possibly for the fire exit.
“Believe it or not, I know what you’re thinking. You thought you were having a totally platonic sexual tension free morning with a gay guy who would never ever have sex with you, and now that you’re replaying the morning, you’ve realized we were actually on a date and I saw your bra in the dressing room.”
She was spry, that Dr. Barb. She was on her feet and he hadn’t seen her move. “No, I’m—it’s impossible. It’s just not possible.” She threw her napkin down on the table.
“Which part? The part where I’ve been crushing on you for six years, or the fact that you’ve been the object of my fantasies? Or the part where I think you’re hot and gorgeous? Or the part where I’m not crushing on Colin Farrell instead of you?”
But he was talking to nobody. She had turned and run out of the restaurant.
“Waitress! Three more, please.”
&nbs
p; He laid his head on the table, pulled out his cell, and stabbed Fred’s number.
“What?”
“Dr. Barb’s on her way back.”
“Okay. We’ve done about all we can here, anyway. Everybody wants to break for something to eat. Wanna come?”
“Frankly, no.”
“Oh. Are you all right? You sound kind of… hollow.”
“My heart has been stomped on.”
“So no lunch then?”
“No.”
“Okay, well, bye.”
Fred hung up. He didn’t hold it against her. It just wasn’t in her nature, when she was working on a thorny problem, to notice anything else. Or anyone else.
Besides, for once in his life, he had no urge to tell Fred anything. At all.
Chapter Twenty-four
Fred hung up. “He sounded weird.”
“I’ve just met him, but are you surprised?”
“No, really, even for Jonas.” She shrugged. She had enough problems right now. “I’ll talk to him later. He’ll magically show up and find me, probably when I least expect it. That’s his super power.”
“Ah, I wondered if bipeds had any abilities beyond destruction.”
“Well,” Thomas said cheerfully, opening the door for Fred, “some of us can toss princes ass over teakettle into fish tanks.”
Fred snickered; she couldn’t help it—it had been funny. Thomas stepped in behind her, neatly cutting Artur off so that he nearly walked into the door frame. Artur in turn gave Thomas a “friendly” shove—and he nearly went sprawling into the wall.
She turned and frowned. “Play nice, you two.”
“What?” Thomas said innocently.
“Little Rika, you have a suspicious mind.”
“I have a headache from the trouble you two are causing, not to mention all the shit’s that’s probably still in my lungs.” That was a small lie; she didn’t have a headache. She never got sick. But still. They were driving her to one, and that was bad enough.
“Legal’s okay?” Thomas was asking, shouldering into a leather jacket. “Or do you want to go back to that sushi place? Art? You need raw fish?”
Sleeping With the Fishes Page 9
