by Jo Leigh
The elevator stopped at almost every floor, and everyone got very chummy by the time they reached the lobby. She was, of course, stuck in the back, and Mr. Swiss Watch’s back was squishing her boobs. Thank goodness for the layers of coat and clothes between them because she only wanted to think about her boobs in terms of last night and Jake.
She smiled as she crossed the lobby, nodding at the concierge and the doorman before hitting the street. It was freezing even though there was no snow left on Madison Avenue.
What she should have done was immediately get in line for a cab, but what she did was cross the street, swimming with the tide of dark coats and clicking heels, to Starbucks. Inevitably there was a long line, but she was desperate.
While she waited, she took out her cell phone and called Dani, her assistant, who would be wondering where the hell Rebecca was. Dani would have called her by nine, but not before.
“You okay?” Dani asked immediately.
“Headache. Late night. Everything okay there?”
“Except for your to-do list, everything’s great. Mr. Turner called, of course.”
Rebecca sighed. Turner was in charge of catering at the Four Seasons. “What now?”
“Something to do with the gift baskets for the guests, but he wouldn’t tell me what because I’m either a spy for another hotel or an idiot, I’m not quite sure.”
“I’ll call him when I get in. Do me a favor?”
“I’ll start the coffee in fifteen minutes. Are you getting something to eat?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“See you soon.”
Rebecca tried not to yawn, which made her yawn, and then she decided, the hell with it, she was going to think about Jake. To say he’d left an impression was…well, leaving him at the crack of dawn had been ridiculously difficult.
They’d been outside, on a very public street, and still she hadn’t been able to stop kissing him. She’d blamed him, of course, said it was all his fault, but it hadn’t been. She’d gotten all tingly the moment her lips met his. Tingly. God, who even said that. No one, that’s who.
The one very good thing he’d done was not ask for her phone number. Because that would have been stepping over the line. Last night was a one-night deal. Okay, so they’d technically had sex this morning in the shower, but that went under the rubric of one-night stand, so there was no need to get picky about it. The essence of the agreement, from both sides, had been that it was to be a singular event. Nothing more. One incredible, fantastic, amazing, toe-curling night. The end. Anything else was out of the question.
It would have been different if she was the kind of woman who regularly practiced recreational sex. She knew a lot who did, but she wasn’t one of them. First of all, she had too much on her plate as it was, and second, it never worked, not really. Sex and the City tried to glorify it, but in the end, all that fooling around didn’t amount to much.
She’d rather do without, thanks.
But goodness, if there was ever a man who appealed in a Sex and the City way, it was Jake. She closed her eyes as she pictured the way he’d looked at her with so much hunger she’d forgotten how to breathe. His hands on her bottom in the shower, such big hands, and such a very hard cock—
“Hey, lady, move it. Some of us got jobs to go to.”
Rebecca’s eyes jerked open, her face flushed with heat, even though she knew no one could tell what she’d been thinking, but her voice was firm and in control as she ordered the biggest espresso they made. And a lemon bar.
“LEAVE IT ALONE, OLD MAN.”
“I didn’t say a word.” Mike Donnelly rolled himself out of the path of the coffeemaker.
“I’m in no mood,” Jake said, filling his cup for the third time since he’d gotten up.
His father looked at his watch again. Jake knew it was noon. So he’d gone to bed the minute he’d gotten home, what of it. He wasn’t missing out on a day of work. And he’d already called to reschedule his physio appointment.
“You’re not gonna tell me anything? Not you had a good time, the dinner was crap, nothing?”
“The dinner was great, I had a terrific time and I’m not seeing her again, so what difference does it make?”
“Oh. What happened? She say something?” He leaned forward, his eyes wide. “You say something?”
“No. Neither of us said anything. It was the deal. That’s all. It was never going to be more than the one night.”
“Oh. So you work these things out ahead of time, huh? Like something in your day planner or your BlackBerry appointment book.”
“I don’t have a day planner or a BlackBerry. Pa, it’s no big deal. It was a setup, we had a nice night. She was…great. Really great. But no more than that.”
“Huh.”
Jake let out a hell of a sigh. “What?” He sat down at the nook, his thigh killing him. Worth it, though. Every ache and every pain. He’d do it again in a heartbeat. Which wasn’t an option.
“You liked her.”
“I just said that, yeah.”
“No. You liked her.”
“Dad, you have guests out on the patio. Go play dominoes.”
“Pete and Liam, guests? That’ll be the day.”
“What are you trying to tell me? I’ve got a headache, and if I have to listen to you any longer, I’m gonna turn around and go right back to bed.”
“I’m not trying to tell you anything, big shot. I know my boy, that’s all.”
Jake squinted at him over the rim of his mug. “Meaning?”
“Sometimes something prearranged can be rearranged. That’s all I’m saying.”
“You been watching those soap operas again? I’m not looking to rearrange my life.”
“Okay, fine. Be that way. I’m going to have lunch with my friends.”
“Knock yourself out.” Jake sipped his coffee until he was alone in the kitchen. The stupid thing was he did want to see her again. Ridiculous. The two of them, they might have been great between the sheets, on top of the sheets and in the shower, but outside of that, what did they have in common?
Okay, except for film noir. That had been a hell of a surprise, Rebecca loving those old black-and-white movies. She knew a lot about them, too, and yet she hadn’t even heard of Stranger on the Third Floor. It was the first film-noir thriller, and anybody who loved the genre as much as Rebecca should have that in her collection.
And yeah, she’d been completely interested when he’d told her about the secrets of Manhattan. Lived there her whole life, never knew what was right under her feet. He’d told her a few of the places, like the whispering gallery in Grand Central Terminal and she’d barely scratched the surface of Central Park, especially the Ramble, his favorite spot.
He could hardly believe they’d spent so much time talking last night. The in-betweens had been for refueling, but for two people who’d just met, they’d gotten on like a house on fire. Maybe being naked helped. He’d like to do more of that. Not instead of the sex, because Jesus, that had been spectacular, but he hadn’t connected with a woman, with anybody, like that since college.
He finished off his coffee, then got out his phone. He didn’t have Kenny on speed dial, but it was close.
“Jake, my man. What’s up?”
“You still doing that motorcycle messenger thing?”
“Nah, I’m designing webpages for geeks now.”
“You wouldn’t want to make a delivery to Midtown for, say, a fifty?”
“When?”
“Now.”
Kenny turned off whatever the hell noise had been in the background. “Sure. Why not? The business is just getting started.”
Jake knew “the business” was housed in Kenny’s grandmother’s basement, and if Kenny had a client, it was a relative or someone who owed him money. “Great. See you in ten.”
5
ALL THE CAFFEINE IN THE world might have been enough to keep Rebecca from zoning out while she looked at the spreadsheet for donations to date
, but she didn’t have access. What she did have was about two minutes until Bree would arrive, and that would help.
Bree had already been a friend when Rebecca had decided to play matchmaker between Bree and Charlie, and now that they’d been a couple for almost a month, Bree and Rebecca had gotten even closer.
The best part of Bree was that she made Charlie so very happy. Of all the relatives, and God knew the Winslows did like to procreate, Charlie was the best of them. He was also the most notorious, being the editor in chief of Naked New York, a blog that virtually everyone in Manhattan depended on to find out what was happening in the city.
It was fascinating to watch the changes her cousin continued to go through during his weird courtship with Bree. He’d been an unswerving commitment-phobe, ready to die on his sword before he’d succumb to a romantic attachment. Until Bree.
Which was one of the big reasons Rebecca had decided to stop actively putting herself out there for dates. It was a very Zen decision. The universe would provide, and in the meantime she’d relax about the whole life-partner thing and enjoy herself with Jake. With men like Jake.
She sneaked yet another glance at his trading card picture, and her sleep-deprived mind went directly to the memory of riding Jake like a rodeo queen. Holy—
“Incoming.”
Rebecca jerked at her assistant’s voice coming over the intercom. Good. Bree had brought them lunch, including a Red Bull, which would keep Rebecca going for another couple of hours. She had to be on her game today. Every day. Last night had been a horrible lapse in judgment as far as work was concerned. Personally, she had no regrets. It had been the best blind date in her life. One of the hottest dates, period. Just thinking about him made her want to pick up the phone right this—
“Wow, you look like crap,” Bree said as she crossed the office. “You must have had an incredible date.”
Rebecca ignored the dig because it was completely true and concentrated on her friend. Bree was a tiny thing, maybe five feet, but she carried herself with such panache, dressed herself with so much bravado and flair, that her short stature was always a surprise.
Today she had on superskinny black jeans, four-inch black heels, a white single-button jacket, which was all well and good, but the kicker was the sizzling chartreuse satchel purse and a matching wraparound belt. The outfit was one hundred percent Bree, as was the new do. “Hey, you did stuff to your bangs.”
“I did,” Bree said. “Little teeny tie-dye at the edges.” She put her big purse on Rebecca’s desk, then dragged over the wing chair so they could share the space as they shared their lunch. “Wanna see?”
Rebecca stood up and leaned over while Bree did the same. There were at least four colors teasing at the tips, including the brilliant chartreuse, cerise, blue and white. “Fantastic. How long did that take you?”
“Forever.” She pulled two Zabar’s bags from her purse, a Red Bull, a Dr. Brown’s cream soda and a stack of napkins. The unveiling of the meal was done sitting down. Pastrami and Swiss on rye with spicy mustard, a half-dozen dill pickles, a container of potato salad with two plastic forks and, for dessert, four chocolate rugelach.
Rebecca was tempted to start with the cookies; instead, she opened the energy drink.
“So talk to me,” Bree said, taking her half of the sandwich and two pickles. “And let me see the card again.”
Since the card was already next to her computer keyboard, Rebecca obliged before she grabbed her own food.
“Holy mother of pearl, this guy is so gorgeous I can’t stand it.” Bree looked up. “Was he even close?”
“Better,” Rebecca said, and the sigh that came out after the word made Bree laugh.
“Details, woman.”
“He’s a cop. Was a cop. Shot, in the line of duty, if you can believe that.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. He wouldn’t tell me too much about it, but he was hurt so badly he had the choice of early retirement or a desk job. He retired.”
“Where?”
“To the family home, which he’s remodeling for his father, who has something. Uh, wait, oh. Rheumatoid arthritis. Poor guy. Nice, though, huh, that Jake’s fixing up the house?”
“I meant where was he shot?”
“Oh.” Rebecca took a bite of her sandwich before moving on. She was clearly buzzed from the gobs of coffee she’d downed all morning, and now she was giving herself another big dose of caffeine. Eating was no longer optional. She couldn’t be flying around the room when her two-o’clock arrived. She ate for a bit, even though she could see Bree was impatient, but finally, she said, “In the shoulder and the thigh.”
“Ouch, ouch.”
“I’ll say. Not that he let it slow him down. Jeez Louise, he’s got some stamina. And a killer body.”
“Have you ever dated someone like him before?”
“What do you mean?”
Bree took a sip of her soda, then tilted her head to the right. “A blue-collar guy.”
Rebecca shook her head. “It made a nice change.”
“Did you talk at all?”
“Yes, we talked. What, you think I’m such a snob I can’t talk to anyone without an Ivy League degree?”
“It wasn’t about you being a snob. I’m wondering if there was any common ground.”
Putting down her sandwich for a moment, Rebecca smiled. “We not only had a lot in common, but he was really interesting. Even without discussing his work.”
“For example?”
“Films, for one.”
“He likes those old black-and-white movies you’re so annoying about?”
“A lot, it was— Hey!”
“Sorry to bother,” Dani interrupted via the intercom. “But you’ve got a package.”
Rebecca frowned. “It can’t wait?”
“It’s personal,” Dani said. “And I think you’re going to want to see it.”
“Okay, come on back.”
Not a minute later, the office door opened, and there was Dani, looking sharp in her Chanel-inspired suit, her dark hair pinned up in a very sixties chignon. More noteworthy was the vase she held, filled with what looked like a dozen white calla lilies.
Rebecca realized instantly who they were from. That sneak. She hadn’t given him her cell number or her work address, although she supposed she was incredibly easy to find. What did it matter? He’d remembered.
“Wow, those are gorgeous,” Bree said, as they watched Dani set the glass vase on the end of Rebecca’s credenza. “Are they from him?”
“Have to be.” Rebecca went around the desk to look for a card.
Dani handed her an oversized envelope. “This came with it.”
Suddenly flushed, Rebecca turned just enough that she could see the beautiful flowers and keep her reaction private as she opened the package. God, it would really be embarrassing now if it turned out Jake hadn’t been the one to send it, but nope, the moment she saw the DVD cover, she knew. Stranger on the Third Floor, starring Peter Lorre.
Jake had been surprised that she didn’t own it. With a collection of film noirs like hers, she should have what he referred to as the first “true” example of the genre. The conversation had been as enthusiastic as two punch- drunk disgustingly horny people could manage, especially when one of them was fingering the other blissfully as he spoke. What shocked her even more were the flowers.
“So?” Bree asked from directly behind Rebecca. “What is it? Where did he even find calla lilies? It’s still winter.”
Rebecca handed her the DVD. “It’s from the film,” she said, pulling out the note that was still in the envelope.
“Calla lilies are featured in a Peter Lorre picture?”
“Stage Door. Katharine Hepburn. They’re my favorite flowers.”
“Ah,” Bree said even as Dani said, “Wow,” but Bree went on. “Ten bucks says he wants an encore.”
“I’m not taking that bet,” Dani said. “Who the hell is this guy?”
>
Rebecca opened the plain note card.
Hey, Rebecca,
How about we go crazy and try this thing one more time. Dinner? You say when and where? Jake.
His number followed. That was it. That was enough.
Bree was next to her now, and there was no way she hadn’t seen Rebecca’s grin or the way her cheeks must still be flushed with pink. “Oh, yeah. You owe me ten bucks,” she said. “I like his style. You need to go out with him again.”
Rebecca stuffed the note back in the envelope. “Not possible,” she said, turning to face her friend. “We’d better finish up eating because I’ve got a fussy catering manager to deal with at two, and I need more sustenance. And more sugar.” She went back to the desk, Bree following.
“No one’s gonna tell me, huh?” Dani said. “Fine. No problem. I’m only the minion. I’ll go clean the mirrors in the executive lounge or something. That’ll be good.”
Rebecca’s first thought was to make sure Jake’s trading card wasn’t visible. Not because she didn’t want Dani to know; their relationship was a good one, and while they didn’t hang out together after work, they did their fair share of girl talk. But hot guys trading cards was like Fight Club. The first rule is that you don’t talk about it. “He’s a nice guy. A friend of a friend. Nothing serious. In fact, it’s all in the past tense now.”
“Those flowers seem pretty present to me,” Bree said. “And a movie with Peter Lorre as The Stranger? That alone is worth at least one more round.”
Rebecca took a large bite of sandwich as she sat down, purposefully ignoring the rolling eyes and shaking heads of her friends.
“Does Mr. Nothing Serious have a name at least?”
“Jake,” Rebecca said, at the same time as Bree.
“Jake.” Dani grinned as she went for the door. “Sounds hot.”
