by Olivia Logan
Dropping the menu back down, CJ looked from the soft-spoken Italian man by her side to Jack. Jack, who didn’t look annoyed that this strange man was pretending to know him. Though there wasn’t any pretending about the familiar way Jack stood up and warmly shook the man’s hand, stopping himself from stumbling forward as the smaller man enveloped him in a hug.
“Hello, Sal. It’s been a long time.” His voice was friendly, his smile wide and genuine. Not the Jack she knew. Not the Jack she was sure many knew.
Clamping her jaw firmly shut to avoid the goldfish expression, she glanced quickly between the two men, feeling the inevitable heat creep up her neck at the smaller man’s penetrating stare before his questioning eyes darted from her to Jack then back again.
“Sal, this is CJ; she was the one who booked the table. CJ, this is Sal. He owns this restaurant.” She frowned at the warning tone she heard beneath Jack’s introduction—certainly the older man didn’t figure her as anything except Jack’s date, judging from the beaming smile he threw in her direction.
She stood up to clasp Sal’s hand between hers, her thighs knocking the top of the table as she was pulled forward into a tight embrace.
“It’s good to meet you, and thank you for bringing Jack back. He has been away long this time.”
What could she say to that? She still had no idea what was going on here. Her only thought had been to drag Jack out of his comfort zone and throw in a nice meal in the process. Yet now it seemed she had been the one to stumble, not only into his comfort zone but also into his friendship group.
Smiling widely, she nodded what she hoped would pass as a reply, grateful for the solid feel of the wooden booth beneath her as she sat down.
“I will make your old favorite, Jack, and CJ, you can have anything you want. You just let me know. It’s all on the house,” the owner said quickly, grabbing the set menu from under her and replacing it with the large, laminated everyday one before turning to leave. “I will have to tell the guys about this. Jack Harper is back in town.” She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her, Jack or himself.
The noise of the restaurant hummed around them, a decanter of wine suddenly appearing out of thin air, and she sat back, trying to ignore the strong twist of her date’s wrist in front of her as he poured the rich, burgundy liquid into her waiting glass.
“So what was that about?” she asked, reaching for her glass and taking a quick sip. It was strong. Stronger than she normally drank, so she pushed it back on the table. She needed all her wits about her tonight.
“That was Sal. He owns the restaurant,” Jack replied blandly, as if she hadn’t been listening the first time he told her.
“Well duh! I get that, but I don’t think it would be out of line for me to ask how you two know each other. Or while we’re on the subject, who ‘the guys’ are?”
“How is that relevant to this date?” He moved his wine glass slowly between his fingers, stilling when he saw her stare at the movement.
If she didn’t know better, she would have said he was nervous. He definitely seemed to be hiding something. She just wasn’t sure what.
“It’s called sharing and that’s what people do on dates, Jack. Share things about themselves.”
She rolled her eyes at the lack of forthcoming information, ignoring the alien tightening in her ovaries at the light shrug under his broad shoulders. “Well, this is going to be the best date yet, I predict.”
“You picked the venue.”
“Only because ...” She halted, nibbling on her lower lip. She could hardly confess the reason for picking this place was to drag him from his comfort zone.
“Because ...?”
“Because it’s different. But back to my earlier point of how you know the owner. I wouldn’t think Sal’s Place would have the kind of dining you would have for your client lunches.”
“I used to live above the restaurant.” His voice was censored as he reached for his glass, his Adam’s apple distracting her briefly before the enormity of what he said sunk in.
“You used to live above the restaurant?”
His curt nod was all the encouragement she needed to allow her jaw to drop open with shock as she tried to piece together this new bit of information with the man she had met on the last few dates. She came up with zip.
“And ‘the guys’?”
“‘The ‘guys’ are the men who own the market stalls, other restaurateurs. Anyone we used to play poker with.”
“You used to play poker with these guys?” she squeaked.
“You know, CJ, this is going to be a very boring conversation if all you do is repeat what I say.”
“Fine. How about asking you why you lived here?”
Her breath caught in her throat at the flash of hurt and anger reflected in his navy eyes before it was quickly replaced by nothing. A blank, unreadable look she was sure worked most effectively in the boardroom on his employees. It was a shame for him they were not in a boardroom and she wasn’t one of his employees.
“You worked here? Am I warm?”
Nothing.
“Okay. You were on holiday in England and you lost your money, or got mugged, and Sal was good enough to put you up. Am I getting warmer or colder?” She clucked her tongue at the lack of sound or movement from her dinner companion. “This game works, Jack, by you saying ‘warmer’ or ‘colder’ depending on how close I’m getting to the truth.”
“I don’t want to play these games.” His voice was frostier than the colder-than-normal spring air.
“Okay then, why don’t you just tell me?” She was careful to make her tone as neutral as possible. She felt like she had walked into “The Twilight Zone.”
“I lived here while my older brother, Brice, ran the business after my father and I had a difference of opinion.”
“Oh, I see.” She was surprised he shared and confused as to what his difference of opinion with his father and his brother running the business had to do with Jack living above a restaurant across the pond? And not even a Michelin five-star restaurant.
She shook her head, the almost white strands of hair catching the light as they danced about her. “No. I’m sorry. I take that back. I don’t see. So did your dad kick you out or something?”
“No, he did not kick me out,” he began, inhaling deeply, the effort of talking about this either too emotional for him or too boring, she couldn’t decide which. “I decided to leave.”
“And wound up sleeping over a restaurant?”
“It suited me at the time to drop off the radar for a while.”
“The pap’s radar? So what did you do that whole time?” Surely nothing could outdo this bombshell .
“Nothing for a while, till Sal asked for help.”
“Financial help?”
“No, business.”
“Which made you into what? Their business advisor?”
“I suppose. It was enjoyable. I was here,” he replied, his shoulders shrugging under the dark material, making them seem wider.
“So why go back to ...”
“New York.”
“Yeah. New York. From the way Sal was talking to you, it seemed like it wasn’t that long ago he knew you.”
The dark look that crossed Jack’s face made her shiver, the twisting feeling in her gut refusing to go away as she searched his face for a clue of what was going to come next. Whatever it was, it was not going to be good.
“It was three years ago. I went back because Brice died in a sailing accident. It was my place to take over.”
She curled her fingers to stop herself from reaching across the table to him. “Jack. I’m so sorry. I had no idea. And the difference of opinion with your dad...?”
“That was personal, this was business.”
She inhaled slowly, pieces of the rather complicated puzzle that was Jack Harper falling haphazardly into place. “So what you’re telling me is that if I was trying to shock you by taking you to a less-than-glam restaurant, this w
asn’t it,” she teased, striving for the levity they had earlier. A levity that didn’t make her think about what drove him or the feelings that arose when he reminded her of her own past.
• • •
She had been quiet for most of the meal. Jack had no idea what had driven him to confide in her. He could have told her that it was no concern of hers how he knew Sal or who the guys were. But he didn’t.
He hadn’t known what to expect this evening, but it definitely wasn’t being surrounded by ghosts of the past. Even the smell of the place dragged up long, pushed aside memories of why he had come to the U.K. in the first place. He had told CJ briefly about his move, but not his ex-stepmother’s allegations or that he had become a paid advisor to the restaurant in secret to earn money. And yet, despite excluding that information, he had told her things he had refrained from telling anyone else. The press had glossed over that time in his life—that, or they had been paid handsomely by his father’s lawyers to leave him alone. Only after Brice’s death did they take notice, along with the rest of the business world, of a man they had underestimated. It had served his purpose to play the wastrel. Not now.
Not when the business world had begun to hear rumors of a problem with a deal. The e-mail he had received only that morning from his board of directors still burned. His ex-ex-stepmother’s wedding was two weeks away according to his PR team, and for some reason, despite the work of his PR department, some reporters were like a dog with a bone about her past, including him. The only way to stop the rumors was to continue playing his social ace, this dating charade, and carry on showing how he had cast aside his feckless days, and that, combined with his knowledge of his business, he was prepared to undercut his opponent’s counteroffer.
Jack could tell from the way CJ’s brows drew together that she was curious to know more about his past but restrained from asking. He admired that, even while the only thing he wanted to do was to fall back to his teenage years and take her parking to a secluded spot.
The clink of metal against glass drew his attention from her face as she slid her cutlery along the empty plate. “That was an amazing meal. I remember now why I liked this place so much.” Her voice was chirpy in the hushed stillness of the restaurant, garnering more than a few strange looks from the loverly couples surrounding them, who sat with their heads pressed together, in a world of their own.
“When did you come here?” he asked, leaning back against the bench’s high wooden back, watching as she drummed her fingers lightly against the aged wooden surface, a bright smile on her face that highlighted the freckles dotted across her nose. A smile too bright, too wide to be real.
“Oh you know. It’s just one of those places. You see it, you stop for a coffee while you’re Christmas shopping, then you end up eating. Just one of those places.” She shrugged her delicate, bare shoulders beneath the sleeveless dress, the black wrap slipping lower.
“Have you lived in London all your life?” His neutral, uninterested tone was a technique he used in the boardroom when trying to figure out an opponent’s next move.
She reached for the napkin, her mumbled reply under it making him instantly alert. “That’s the great thing about London, you know. Sometimes you feel you’ve lived here forever and other times just a few years.” A tight smile played about her lips, her fingers moving over the napkin, whipping it forward then backward.
“London, Paris. Any big city can make you feel like that. But don’t your parents miss you, or are there more Stratts to keep them company?”
“What’s with the twenty questions, Jack?” Her high-pitched trill of laughter belied her defensive reply, and the telltale tomato-red flush creeping up her neck made him curious. She blushed when embarrassed. The question was, what was she embarrassed about?
“Just following your lead, CJ. Aren’t you the one who told me about making polite date-style conversations?”
“That must have been your other wager dates,” she shot back. “Besides, since when do you follow anyone’s lead?”
“Well, that depends,” he replied, lowering his voice, “on the destination or how skilled the other person is in leading.”
The blink of surprise was quickly replaced by a sharp, haughty look of censure that not for the first time gave him a sense of déjà vu. “Interesting that is your default setting,” she said.
“And that would be?”
“Sex and flirtation.”
He held back a laugh at her smug, knowing smile, all his senses on her like a hunter with 100 percent focus.
“If you feel more at ease talking about your work, then we can talk about that,” he said graciously, his voice soft.
He could tell she was instantly alert at the sudden switch of conversation from the minute rolling of her shoulders as she sat up to her dubious expression.
“There’s no need to do that. I’m fine with talking about whatever. I am an agony aunt after all.”
“After all. The question is why?”
“Why what? Did I become an agony aunt? Because”—she took a deep breath—“because I have what some people would call a knack for the profession. A calling, if you will. Others might even call it a gift.”
“A gift?”
“Yes, a gift.” Her bristling reminded him of a riled kitten. “I wouldn’t think that would be so hard for you of all people to understand. After all, it’s been said you think you are god’s gift to women.”
“Touché.” He laughed, the sound seeming to surprise her as she stared at him. “But it wasn’t said by me. So what is this gift?”
“I am a good relationship problem-solver.”
“A matchmaker?”
“No, that means setting two people up, and I don’t do that. What I do is listen to what people tell me and try to help them.”
“By listening to their problems? Isn’t that just being a shoulder to cry on?”
“Not always. You need to listen carefully but not just to their words. You can read a voice.”
“Read a voice?” Now he really was confused.
“Yes. You can read people by the tones in their voice, like you can read body language.”
“I think you missed your calling, CJ. There are plenty of companies in the corporate world that could use your voice-reading assistance.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” she replied, a small, shy smile pulling at her lips.
“What is my voice and body language saying? Or isn’t body language your forte?”
“I am more of an auditory person than a visual one, but both are part of my job, I guess, in a very loose sense.”
“So what am I saying now?”
“Umm, right now?” She paused, only carrying on at his nod. “Right now, your body language is pretty closed. The way your shoulders are all scrunched up and your arms are folded in front of you is telling me that you would prefer to not be in such a crowded place. Your tone of voice is telling me you are mocking me.”
“In what way is my tone mocking?”
“The lilt at certain points of your sentence is a dead giveaway. You learn a lot when you’re at the other end of a microphone.”
“So what would my voice sound like if I were trying to seduce you?” He arched one brow.
“Generally speaking, people tend to lower their voice, which creates intimacy.” Her voice was suddenly serious and professional.
“And what about body language?”
“That’s similar to the voice. Studies have shown that people tend to lean closer to the object of their ... um ...”
“Desire?”
“I was going to say interest,” she corrected him, rolling her eyes.
“One and the same.”
“No. Interest shows the recipient longer term than desire. But anyway, we digress. I was saying that people lean closer when they are attracted to someone and, occasionally, though it is not necessary, will also touch hands, signaling that they want to get closer.”
“Like that cou
ple over there.” He nodded to a couple at an opposite table.
“Not quite. More like this.”
Crap. She was moving slowly around the booth to him, sliding her hand tentatively over his. The wild fluttering of her pulse on top of his wrist was a sharp wake-up call for his raison d’être for this date. The success of this business deal would prove to himself and to all those people like the board members, stockholders and bankers who doubted him that his brother’s death wasn’t the death knell to Harper Inc., and that Jack was no longer the spare to the heir son of a property baron. He was able to rule in his own right as a global property king.
Jack flicked an eyebrow up questioningly, allowing a charming, easy smile of old to form on his face.
“Ms Stratt. Are you trying to seduce me?”
He allowed himself the luxury of a genuine smile at her goldfishlike expression before she snatched her hand back, cold air replacing its heat.
“One for the kiss cam?”
Jack turned at the nasally voice next to him, narrowing his eyes at the sight of a woman holding a large, black camera.
“Kiss cam?” CJ’s confused tone was soft next to his ear. He fought the need to lean closer.
“Yeah. Kiss Cam, like the one they have at U.S. ball games. Hey, aren’t you ... you’re that radio couple! Can’t believe you’re here at Sal’s. Do I like win that prize your show was talking about?”
Prize? He opened his mouth to refute any prize, shutting it quickly as CJ’s voice carried over the woman’s excited breathing.
“You sure do. Congratulations. It’s a meal for two at the restaurant where you find us, complete with all courses paid for by the station.”
Since when did they discuss that with him?
“Sweet! So do you guys, you know ... want a pic for the show? It was Sal’s idea for Valentine’s Day,” the woman said, her trigger finger already hovering over the button.
Time to get the ball back in his court. It was an unsettling feeling to not know the game plan, especially when he had been the one to instigate it in the first place.
“Sure thing,” he drawled, fully aware of the power of his dimples.
