by Julie Kenner
By the time she reappeared, he’d spread out a quilt and topped it with Ling’s impress-the-girl dinnertime selections. He’d say this, Ling had gone all out. They had hot and sour soup, Kung Pao chicken, scallops in garlic sauce, beef with broccoli, assorted egg rolls, some pan-fried dumplings, and, of course, fortune cookies. She’d even thrown in four bottles of Sapporo. David had no idea if Jacey liked Japanese beer, but if she didn’t, he’d be more than happy to drink her share.
“I’m impressed,” she said.
He opened a bottle of beer for her and she took it, gratefully downing a sip. She nodded toward the window as she sat down. “How’d you manage to snag a table with a view?”
“I tipped the maitre d’.”
“Classy.” She crossed her legs and took the bowl he passed her, then tasted the soup. “And yummy. Be sure and tip the waiter, too. And my compliments to the chef.”
“I’ll be sure to pass them along,” he said, grabbing a paper plate and dishing out some of Ling’s specialties.
She grinned, clearly enjoying their game. “You must come here often.” She put down her soup and took the plate he passed her.
He shrugged. “You know how it is as a private dick. Wining and dining the women. Anything for a lead.”
The warmth that had started to fade from her cheeks returned. “Sorry about that. People say I have a smart mouth.” She toyed with her chopsticks, moving the broccoli and beef around on her plate.
“People?”
“My mom. Tasha. Pretty much anyone I’ve ever met.” She took a bite, swallowed, then took another gulp of the beer. “It’s one of my character flaws.”
“Color me smart,” he said. “I picked up on your mouth a few seconds after I met you.”
Her grin reached her eyes. “Guess you are a detective.” She licked her lips as her gaze shifted to the plate in her lap. “So are you wining and dining me?”
He laughed and edged a little closer. “Absolutely. I’m a big believer in keeping good client relations.”
She tilted her head up just enough to look him in the eye. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He had no idea what she was thinking, but he knew what he was thinking, and his thoughts were skirting dangerously close to sex. Not that he had anything against sex on principle. And, despite his original impression of her, he didn’t have anything against the thought of sex with Jacey. She might have her irritating moments, but, hey, so did he. And he might not be looking to get hooked up with a woman permanently, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun.
And, surprise, surprise, the idea of having a little fun with Jacey was starting to look pretty damned appealing. He aimed a grin in her direction. “Be sure and let me know if you’re not satisfied. Customer satisfaction is job one.”
One eyebrow arched up. “Really?” she asked, her voice breathy.
“Absolutely. Referrals are a big part of my business.” He leaned toward her, then wiped away some sauce at the corner of her mouth with the side of his thumb. She trembled ever so slightly, but enough that he noticed. He met her eyes, wondering what she saw in his. “I have to make sure you’re absolutely satisfied with my performance.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “Your performance.” He’d thrown her off, but he could tell when she regrouped. She sat up straighter, then aimed her gaze in the general direction of his crotch. “I don’t have any complaints so far.”
Score one for her team. He shifted on the blanket, his cock hardening. He lowered his plate to his lap to hide the evidence, and decided it was time to down-shift. Either that, or strip her naked and sink himself deep inside her.
The second option was appealing, but complicated. He could more than handle some one-on-one with a woman like Jacey, but Jacey was the kind of woman who would want to stick around and get entangled in his life. And that wasn’t something he was interested in. All in all, probably better to ignore his hard-on and focus on old-fashioned conversation. He nodded toward her food. “So how is it?” he asked, at a loss for anything witty to say.
“It’s great.” She snared a prawn, then looked around the blanket. “Only fortune cookies for dessert?”
“There’s a Häagen-Dazs just down the way.”
“That’s true. And you do owe me ice cream.” Her smile faded on her lips, and he mentally kicked himself for bringing up the ice cream and reminding her all over again.
He leaned over and took her hand. A simple gesture, but the best he could do right then. “Are you okay?”
Her smile seemed a little weak. “I’m fine.” She tapped the end of a chopstick lightly on the floor. “It’s been a strange and unusual day.”
“Is that good or bad?” he asked, then immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. That was stupid. Al—”
“No.” She held up a hand. “That’s just it. I mean, I’m sorry he’s dead.” She shivered. “No one should die like that. But I was foolish to look for him in the first place.”
“I thought—”
“That I was desperately in love.” She shrugged. “Not exactly.”
For reasons he didn’t care to examine too closely, that little confession cheered him. “What do you mean?”
She finished the bottle of beer and set it aside. “It wasn’t so much that I wanted Al, it’s that I wanted what he stood for.”
“A schmo who couldn’t get into Harvard so he lied about it?”
“Forget it,” she said.
David silently cursed himself. “No, I’m sorry.” He tried to get a water chestnut with chopsticks, missed, and then grabbed it with his fingers. “You said you’ve got a smart mouth. Not me. Mine’s just plain stupid.”
That got a smile from her, and he gave himself a couple of mental points.
“I just mean that you were right—”
“I always am,” he said, opening another beer and passing it to her. “What was I right about this time?”
“The whole June Cleaver thing. Maybe not the housework in heels part of it, but the house and the family and the…” She broke off with a shrug while David gave himself even more brownie points for pegging her picket-fence tendencies so precisely.
“I don’t know,” she continued. “The normalcy, I guess. That’s what I want.” She looked him in the eye. “I’m almost thirty and it’s time to get my life in order.”
“I’m almost thirty-five and I haven’t gotten around to that yet.”
“Maybe you should.”
He shook his head. “Not my schtick, babe. I’m perfectly happy with my life the way it is.” He shrugged. “But I can understand where you’re coming from. I mean, everybody wants what they want.” He crunched another water chestnut. “Me, I want to travel. Europe. Canada. Australia. And I’m going to, dammit. No matter how long it takes. I’ve even got a friend in Paris who’ll rent me a room to use as home base. As soon as I can scrape together the money, I’m out of here for at least a year.” He sighed, wondering if he’d ever manage to get Millie’s bills under control and pay off his own debts. So far, it wasn’t looking too likely, but he was determined. The only question was how.
After a second, he shook his head, pulling himself back into their conversation. “Besides, I’ve already done the house-in-the-suburbs thing.”
“You?”
“Hell yes. You’re talking to a man who’s already taken one trip through the meat grinder.”
She made a swooshing motion over her head.
“Marriage,” he said. “I got married right after grad school and she dragged me straight to the suburbs. Susan thought our house in Valencia was heaven, but I knew we’d moved straight into the bowels of hell.”
“You were married?” Her eyes widened.
“Hard to believe, huh? Let’s just say I was young and foolish.”
Jacey smirked. “And so was she, I guess.” Her mouth twitched. “Foolish, I mean.”
He rolled his eyes. “Very nice.”
“Hey, I hired you. I own you.” Her pla
yful smile tugged at him in a comfortable-but-uncomfortable sort of way. “That means I’m allowed to insult you.”
“Yeah?” He lowered his voice. “What else are you allowed to do to me?”
“I…” She trailed off, her cheeks turning pink again as he cursed himself for screwing up the moment, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Her chin lifted just slightly. “I’m allowed to interrogate you about being married.”
He exhaled, not sure if he was relieved or frustrated that she’d ignored his overture. Relieved. Definitely relieved. Jacey was a complication he didn’t need. “I can live with that,” he said.
“Well?” She twirled her hand as if urging him on.
“Well, what?”
“I’m interrogating you, remember? So spill it.”
“What exactly do you want me to spill?”
She shrugged, took a sip of her second beer. “I dunno.” She poked around on her plate with her chopsticks. “So, um, do you have kids?”
“Nope.” Thank God. He didn’t have anything against kids, but if he’d had a munchkin or two with Susan, then he’d have been tied to her for life. And that really would be hell. “But I did have the fuel-efficient car, the commute to work, and the fun-filled weekends overflowing with yard work.”
She twisted a strand of hair around her index finger. “See, this is why life isn’t fair. You’ve had my life.”
“You want a wife you hardly ever talk to who’s more interested in making sure you bring home a steady paycheck than whether you’re happy?”
She gave him that typical sisterhood-of-females look and he held up his hands in surrender.
“Hey, I didn’t say it was an amicable divorce.” Actually, as divorces go, he supposed his and Susan’s had been downright chummy. They’d disappointed the hell out of each other—shouldn’t have tied the knot in the first place. Thankfully, Susan had had the balls to call it quits, or else David might still be wearing a tie, disappointing his wife, and trying like hell to be a square peg in a round hole.
“I wanted normal, and I never had it,” she said.
“A swing set in the backyard, a dog named Rover, and a station wagon?”
“Exactly.”
“Been there, done that.”
She aimed a dirty look in his direction. “See? What did I say? You had my life and you didn’t even appreciate it.”
He considered arguing the point, but decided she wasn’t really in the mood to hear why his marriage was a miserable failure. She was well into her own pity party, and since he’d come because she’d had such a crappy day, it only seemed fair to let her believe his life with Susan had been all sunshine and roses.
He tilted his head and squinted at her. “Are you an army brat or something?”
She more or less snorted. “I wish. We probably would have moved less. As it was, Mom moved us every other month just because she’d had a fight with her boyfriend du jour.” She took another sip of her soup, then washed it down with a gulp of beer.
“Us? Brothers and sisters? Your dad?”
“Nope. Just me and Mom.” She took another sip of Sapporo. “This is really good. I think it’s going to my head.” She hiccuped, and slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Go easy on that stuff,” he said. “It’s got a kick.”
“So I noticed.” She took one more gulp. “Anyway, if we weren’t moving, it was probably because my mom had dumped me with her squeeze of the month while she popped off to some artists’ retreat. Her maternal instincts weren’t exactly operating on overdrive. Half the time we didn’t have any food in the fridge because she couldn’t be bothered to find a job since it would drain her energy for working on her art. If I hadn’t worked after school, we probably would have starved.”
“Sounds like a stellar childhood,” he said dryly.
“To be fair, it wasn’t a total nightmare. I mean, I love my mom. She taught me to paint, and she always did our apartments up. When I turned twelve, she turned my bedroom into a jungle. While I was at school, she painted trees and snakes with smiley faces and lions and birds. It really was amazing.”
“Pretty nifty,” he said, meaning it. “The extent of my parents’ creativity was to buy some construction paper, some crayons, and tell me to go for it. They’re still astounded I’m a writer. A little too right-brain for them, I think.”
“Yeah,” she said. “In the last few years, I’ve come to appreciate the good things about my mom. But you can love a person and still hate the way they live.”
He nodded. Despite everything that had gone wrong, Susan really had loved him. He just couldn’t be the man she wanted.
“And I guess in one way it was good,” she added. “Because now I know that I don’t ever want to fall into that trap.”
“Trap?”
“Living hand to mouth. No roots, no stability.” She held her bottle up in a toast. “So I’m going cold turkey. I’m trading in my paintbrushes for a spreadsheet.”
He frowned. “Yeah, you said that yesterday. So what are you doing working here?”
“A favor. The owner’s a friend.” She waved a hand toward the mural he’d noticed earlier. “I spent three weeks here doing that, so I pretty much learned the routine and met a lot of the customers.”
“You did that?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t sound so surprised. I told you I was an artist.”
“Sorry.” The mural was damn good. It actually looked like something, as opposed to a mishmash of stuff.
“I happen to have a classical art background. Life drawing, oils, watercolors. My major was accounting, but my minor was art.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m impressed.”
She looked at him as if he’d just said her head was on fire.
“What? I mean it. I’m impressed.”
“Oh. Well, thank you.” She licked her lips. “That means a lot, actually. I worked really hard on it. I spent a week planning, and then another three weeks sketching and painting. And I worked pretty much around the clock.” She shrugged. “That mural represents all of Hollywood, but I’d love to do the other three walls with specific movies. Like maybe Casablanca, The Wizard of Oz, and Gone With the Wind.”
“Or The Big Sleep.”
“That’s a great idea, actually. Theme walls. Fantasy and epic and noir.” She grinned, clearly liking the idea, and he felt absurdly pleased to have suggested it. “Gregory would love it.”
“So suggest it to him. Maybe he’ll hire you.”
A shadow crossed her face as she shook her head. “He’s offered a million times, but I can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
She took another slug of Sapporo, then spread her arms wide, indicating the room. “It would take me about three months to do the walls. Maybe four. And, yeah, Gregory would pay me. But after I finished, where would I be?”
“Standing in the middle of a pretty damn cool-looking store?”
“No. I’d be back on the street. Just one more starving artist looking for a gig.” She shook her head. “Nope. Not for me. Monday I start work at Prescott and Associates.”
“Law firm?” he asked.
“Accounting,” she said.
“Same diff, as far as I’m concerned. And, babe, it’s so not you.”
“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you’re not really the type to wear some tight little skirt and blazer, slip on the pumps, and head off into the trenches with your hair pulled back and a pencil behind your ear.”
She managed to look down her nose at him. “I don’t think you know me well enough to know what type I am.”
“No? Then tell me.” He cocked his head, wanting to hear the answer more than he wanted to admit. “Who is Jacey Wilder?”
“A woman with a plan,” she said. She paused long enough to snag a shrimp off his plate. “Before the year is out, I’m going to have a house and be the picture of responsibility.”
“So you gave up art for responsi
bility?” He spooned the rest of his shrimp onto her plate, then took the last of her miniature corn.
“Yup. I gave myself until I was twenty-eight, and said that’s it.”
He frowned. “I thought you said you’re almost thirty.”
A dot of pink stained her cheeks. “So I fudged on my deadline. But I’m holding firm at thirty.” She cocked her head. “Don’t you have a deadline? For making it to Paris, I mean.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “However long it takes.”
“That’s not a deadline.”
“It’s my deadline.”
She gave him a disapproving look, and David wondered if he’d failed some unspoken test.
“I bet you do the dishes every night,” he said.
Her disapproving look morphed into a blank stare. “What?”
“You’re one of those a-place-for-everything-and-everything-in-its-place girls, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean you’ll buy one of those houses in Valencia and five years from now it’ll still look like a model home.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like I’ve just been insulted for being neat?”
“Not an insult,” he said, thinking she looked damned cute in her indignation. “Just an observation.”
“You’re the one who had laundry spread all over his couch. And boxes stacked everywhere. And newspaper clippings taped to the walls.”
“I haven’t finished unpacking.”
She squinted. “How long have you lived there?”
“A year.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, well, I’m getting around to it.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. “Never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” She licked her lips. “Just…” She shook her head again. “Never mind.” She met his eyes, clearly deciding not to pick a fight. “You’re a strange man, David Anderson. But you’re okay.”
He swallowed, her backhanded compliment pleasing him more than it should have. “Glad I’m up to snuff,” he said.
The color on her cheeks increased. “Well, you’re a good listener,” she said, her words skimming over him like a caress. “And it is nice to get some of this off my chest. Even if you do think I’m too structured.”
