by Lynne Silver
“Nice to meet you. Do you work around here?”
Harper sighed. “No. We’re summer interns on the Hill. We arrived yesterday and we’re renting a place here in Virginia.”
“From where?” Jason asked, casually laying his hand with the gleaming gold band on the table.
“North Carolina.” She giggled, as if there was something inherently funny about North Carolina.
Lance tried to smile back, but his facial muscles felt tight, unused. “How do you like Washington?”
“It’s great,” Jennifer said. “The city is so impressive and old with all the monuments and stuff.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”
“Not as cool as where you work, right, Lance?” Jason said. “Or even you, Sam.”
Shit, why had Jason said that? Now he’d have to stay and answer a million questions about his job or risk looking like an ass. He nodded.
“Where do you work?” Harper asked.
Jason leaned over the table to smile conspiratorially at the women. “Sam is an FBI agent, and”—he pointed at Lance—“he works at the White House. Or, more accurately, he works wherever the president is. He’s a Secret Service agent.” He leaned back and gave a snarky smile at Lance, daring him to up his mojo. Damn it. It was one thing to say you were going to reenter the dating world; it was another to actually flirt with women. Though these two were really more girls.
Lance’s fingers crept toward the gun under his suit jacket, then remembered he didn’t have it. Alcohol and firearms was a no-no. But if he had had it and laid it on the table, would Jason have shut the hell up? Nah, more likely the girls would shriek loud enough to shatter the beer bottles. He forced his hand back down to massage his thigh, which had been aching nightly following long workdays.
“No way. Have you met the president?” Jennifer asked, wide-eyed.
He nodded, wishing he could claim Jason had lied and that he was a lobbyist or something. “Yes, I’m on his detail.”
“Wow. That’s so interesting.” Both girls smiled brightly at him and he realized he felt like a dirty old man sitting with them. Who the hell had he been kidding? He didn’t want to sleep with Jennifer or her friend Holly Hobby, or whatever her name was. The only woman spiking his blood to fever pitch these days was Arianna Rose.
Jennifer scooted closer and ran a hand over his forearm. When she reached to toy with his red striped tie, he shoved back in his chair.
“Do you wear bulletproof vests? Are you wearing one now, or are you that muscular?”
Shit, she was flirting with him. He took a deep breath and forced himself to be polite. “If the situation warrants it, yeah, I wear one.”
She gave him a smooth smile that told him she’d be his if he wanted her. He pulled out the bar menu to study it.
His stomach rebelled at the thought of sitting much longer in conversation with these two nice, albeit boring, women. He’d much rather be home mooning over the memory of Ari in his bed than sitting in the hot and crowded bar pretending to care what these women said. Was this what his future held, then? Pining for Ari, while feigning interest in other women? Christ, he might remain celibate for the remainder of his days.
Short, polished fingernails slipped over the top of the menu, pulling it down to the tabletop. “We’re thinking of ordering some nachos. Want to share?” Jennifer asked.
“I’ll share nachos,” Sam volunteered, but Jason ignored the rest of the exchange because he’d looked up and caught a glimpse above Jennifer’s head of one of the three gray, flat television screens hanging on the wall over the bar. Sports games played on all but one, where a familiar sexy redhead sat on a couch talking with a coiffed, polished reporter. What the hell?
He rose from the table, pushing one of the girls’ chairs to the side in his effort to get close enough to hear the television. What was Arianna doing on television? Had her father been caught? Nah, he would’ve heard about Stanley Rose’s capture at work.
The shouts of drink orders and dozens of conversations surrounding the bar made hearing Ari damn near impossible. Again he contemplated pulling out his Secret Service credentials and ordering people to shut the hell up. He had enough sober brain cells left to recognize the stupidity of that plan.
He signaled for the bartender’s attention, leaning up on the slightly sticky chest-high wooden counter. “Hey, can you please turn up the volume or put on the closed caption?”
“Sure thing.”
It took only a moment of watching to realize Ari was on live television giving her side of the story and countering every one of Sorenson’s lies. Brilliant PR move. It had the mark of Valerie all over it. So that’s why Jason had been so coy about Valerie’s whereabouts. With Ari’s charm and vivid beauty, she’d be America’s darling by tomorrow morning.
He stood leaning against the bar transfixed, watching Ari’s brave interview. Seeing her was amazing; he only wished he could hear her musical, sweet voice better, but the dull roar of the crowd made it difficult.
When feminine arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, he tried shrugging them off, but Jennifer was persistent. “You abandoned us.”
He put a finger to his lips and gestured at the TV, but she didn’t care or didn’t get it.
“You can watch TV anytime. Come back to the table with me.”
He took his eyes off the screen for five reluctant seconds. “Look, Jennifer. You seem like a nice girl. I’ll tell you the truth. You have zero chance with me tonight.” He pointed up at the on-screen Ari. “That woman up there is the only woman I’m interested in being with. Okay?” Without waiting for her reply, he turned back to focus on Ari.
Relief calmed him as Jennifer walked back to the table, leaving him alone. Who the hell had he been kidding? Dating? Back in the game? Yeah, right. He needed Ari back.
Ari unclipped the mini black microphone off her turquoise blouse with fingers that had finally stopped shaking halfway through the interview. “How do you think it went?” she said. Distantly in the dark shadows behind the camera, she saw Valerie giving her two thumbs up.
“It went beautifully. You’re a natural on camera.” Yvonne, a hungry shark of an NBC journalist, gave her a compliment that contrasted sharply with the fifteen minutes of grueling on-screen questions Ari had endured.
“Thank you.” She stumbled off the set into Val’s embrace, grateful to be through with the interview. If she never had to say the words innocent or shocked again, it would be fine with her. She’d stuck to Valerie’s key talking points accurately, and the only stumbling block had been when Yvonne asked her to comment on the rumors she was sleeping with one of the members of the FBI investigation team.
It wasn’t hard to imagine how that rumor got started, but denying it unleashed a flood of suppressed feelings for Lance right in the middle of the interview. Luckily for her, Yvonne, and hopefully the American viewing audience, would think her tears were the result of getting screwed by Stanley Rose, not from missing her lover.
And miss him she did. She’d hidden it well the last week, since she’d been busy preparing for her show and the TV interview. Who had time for an emotional breakdown? However, when Yvonne had asked about her relationship with a certain government agent, the aching memory of Lance wouldn’t dissipate.
“Ready to go?” Val asked.
“In a minute; I need to hit the restroom first.” She ducked down a hall decorated with pictures of current and former local newscasters and into the women’s lavatory. Ari took care of personal business, then reached into her purse for lotion after washing her hands. Her fingers hit a slightly crumpled picture that she took out to look at.
Tears welled as she stared down into the smiling face of Lance. She’d purloined the photograph from Valerie’s house and folded it in half so one side showed Lance and the other showed Jason. Both men wore collared golf shirts and they hoisted a silver trophy between them that now had a crease down the center.
It hurt that she’d been reduced to s
tealing photographs of him; that they hadn’t even been together long enough to have a photo-taking opportunity to have her own memento of them together.
She wiped the tears off her cheeks viciously enough to leave pink streaks and walked out of the bathroom ready to face the world again. “Let’s go,” she said to a waiting Valerie. When Val opened her mouth, probably to ask about the obvious signs of tears, Ari held up a hand to stave off any questions.
“Back to the hotel, or do you want to grab a late-night snack?” Val asked.
“I can’t. I’m going to visit Nana in Silver Spring.”
“Nana,” Val repeated.
“Nana. Lance’s grandmother.”
“Honey, are you sure that’s a good idea? You and Lance aren’t dating anymore. Won’t that be uncomfortable? Also, it’s nine o’clock at night.”
“She called to offer me a cooking lesson tonight. I figured if I’m too poor to eat out in restaurants anymore, learning to cook is a good idea.” There had also been a mystery in Nana’s tone, something that told Ari there was more to discuss than the difference between broiling and baking.
“Tilt the bowl a bit.” Nana angled the bowl enough so the contents didn’t spill over the edge. “There you go.”
Ari spun the metal whisk faster in the golden liquid, amazed at the change to the once bland-looking eggs. At the counter next to her, Nana chopped earthy green scallions with quick, deft strokes.
“The eggs look well beaten. Go ahead and grab a frying pan off the rack.”
Ari eyed the medley of mysterious-looking pans hanging by their gleaming metal handles on a long rack above the stovetop. Frying pan…hmm…That had low sides, right? She unhooked a likely looking candidate and brought it down to the glossy blue ceramic tile countertop.
“Pour a little olive oil in the pan. Just a dollop. I used to use butter, but Lance nags me to cook healthier for him.”
Ari dropped the plastic bottle of oil onto the edge of the pan, upending it with a loud clatter. “Is Lance coming over for dinner?” Thank goodness the lid had been sealed on the bottle or they’d be swimming in oil now.
Nana finished with the scallions and moved on to chopping mushrooms into even pieces. “No. This is a girls’ night, but now that you mentioned him, I can ask. What’s going on with you two?”
Ari opened the oil and studied the golden stream forming an oval in the bottom of the pan, unsure of how to respond. “Nothing’s going on with us.”
“But something was?” Nana was entirely too perceptive for comfort.
She nodded. “Should I pour the eggs in?”
“No. Wait for the oil to heat a bit, but if it starts smoking it’s too hot. Lower the heat if that happens.” She opened the fridge door and pulled out a block of pale yellow cheese. She didn’t say anything more about her grandson until Ari was bursting with the need to talk about him.
“I left him,” she admitted. “He bought a ring for me, but I threw it back in his face.” Her cheeks were warm. “I mean, not literally, I left the ring on the dresser, but the effect was the same.”
Nana pursed her lips and raised her brows, but only said, “The pan looks hot enough. Drop the scallions in and give them a stir.”
Ari carefully followed the directions, delighted by the savory onion smell that filled the small, cozy kitchen. “Ouch.” She gingerly touched a spatter of hot oil on her forearm.
“Time to add the mushrooms.”
Ari dropped the mushrooms in, stirring in a similar fashion to the scallions. Now the room smelled delicious. Call the Food Network. She was their next star.
“Lance must love you for him to have proposed.” Nana’s hand gently guided Ari’s, stirring the vegetable mixture.
She turned almost into Nana’s arms—that’s how close they stood. “I guess.”
“You guess? You don’t know? Well, I know. If he bought a ring, he loved you. What happened? You don’t love him? Pour the eggs in, but don’t stir.”
Ari struggled to follow the rapid-fire combination of Nana’s cooking directions and personal questions. She tilted the mixing bowl over the hot pan and poured the eggs in over the cooked vegetables. “I did…do love him, but sometimes love isn’t enough, right? I mean, we only dated for a few weeks. It wasn’t long enough to know if it was a forever kind of love, right?”
The noise Nana made had her checking her frying omelet in alarm. “Honey, sometimes love is the only thing we’ve got.”
“But…what about trust?” She hated to say anything negative about Lance to his grandmother. “Lance spied on me for his boss.”
Nana deftly loosened the edges of the omelet from the sides of the pan. “And what did he report back to his boss?”
“Well, nothing. So he claims.”
“Oh? Slide the plate over here, please, and grab the grater.”
“There was nothing to report, but I have no doubt he would’ve spilled everything if given the opportunity.” She looked around the counter for the boxy silver metal grater and tried to hand it to the older woman, who shook her head while tipping the omelet onto the plate.
“Not my job. Hold the grater in your left hand, cheese in your right, and move it up and down with a little elbow grease, but not too much.”
Ari hastened to obey, thrilled to see perfect little flecks of cheese falling and melting onto the golden omelet. “Look at that. I can cook.”
Nana chuckled. “Yes, you can. Ari, I know I’m not your grandmother, but if I may, I’d offer you some advice.”
“Of course.” The words came automatically, but she was hesitant to hear wisdom from her former lover’s grandmother.
Nana walked over to the small, round, wooden table and sat down. Ari followed, holding her prize omelet and two forks.
“I said before love is sometimes all we have, and it’s true, but sometimes love takes many forms, and often people in love screw up. Badly.”
Ari broke off a bit of the omelet with the edge of her fork and blew on the gently steaming cheese.
“Take your father, for example…”
Ari looked up, startled, at the older woman.
“Didn’t think I knew who you were?” Nana smiled wryly. “I knew, and I’m terribly sorry for you, but don’t take his mistakes to mean he doesn’t love you.” She reached for the extra fork and broke off her own piece of omelet.
“He has a funny way of showing it.”
“Does he? I heard you on TV say you hadn’t spoken to him in eight months, right?”
She nodded.
“He was protecting you out of love. Will you ever trust him again? Probably not, and deservedly so, but does Lance deserve that kind of judgment?” She paused to chew her bite. “Only you can decide.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lance shook himself awake to blearily grab for the ringing cell phone on his nightstand. His clumsy, tired movements knocked things around, causing a soft thud as the black velvet ring box hit the carpet. He’d taken to sleeping with the damn thing next to him on the nightstand. He figured it was the next best thing to having Ari next to him in bed. The ring made a crap substitute.
“Shit,” he muttered. He sat up to flick on the light and glare at the caller ID on his cell phone. He blinked at the unknown number and let it go to voice mail.
A stretch got his blood and muscles waking up in time for the phone to ring again. Didn’t his mystery caller know it was Saturday? This was his first Saturday off in two weeks and he’d planned on sleeping in if he was able, though he hadn’t been sleeping well lately; something to do with a five-foot, sexy body missing from his bed. “Down, boy,” he said to his ever hopeful morning erection, which missed Ari also.
The phone rang again and he growled, deciding to finally answer it. “Hello?” he said into his phone after the third ring.
An unfamiliar voice said, “Sorry, wrong number.”
Of course. He hung up and tossed the phone aside slightly harder than was wise with a small, delicate piece of electronic
s. He tried to shake off his sleepiness and glanced at the clock to see it was only eight in the morning.
He sat on the edge of the bed staring at the emptiness of an entire day with nothing to do. He’d looked forward to his day off all week long, but now that it was here, it was a huge gaping hole. How had he spent his weekends pre-Ari? Hanging out with friends and sleeping with the occasional random chick, but given how badly his attempt with the interns in the bar had gone, dating wasn’t going to be on his calendar anytime soon.
He shuffled to his front door and opened it a crack to pull in the newspaper. Over a bowl of Cheerios he scanned the sports page and the local headlines. His spoon fell with a clatter and milky splash into the bowl as he saw Ari’s smiling face staring back at him from the Post’s weekend Going-Out Guide. Christ, ever since her television interview made her America’s most beloved victim, she was everywhere. He loved that things were going well for her, but his heart raced like it had been hit with a vein full of illegal substances.
That’s right; her art show was this weekend. He read the article twice through with painful concentration. His admiration and love for Ari grew as he read that a portion of proceeds from gallery sales were being donated to a new fund for victims of Stanley Rose set up by Ms. Rose. Wow, talk about the apple falling far from the tree—light-years away. Ari was righting the wrongs of her father in a public way, and he had to find a way to support her.
He got dressed, then dialed Ari’s cell phone. He needed to talk to her and make her listen; make her realize he could be trusted, that he was an idiot for choosing his career over her. He’d let her go way too easily.
No answer. He tried Valerie’s and Jason’s next. Again, no answer. Damn, why hadn’t he stuck a tracer or something in Ari’s phone to keep better tabs on her? Because he was a law-abiding idiot, that was why. He knew from Jason that she was staying at a cheap residence inn outside the Beltway and was going to apartment hunt once her big art show was over.
Everyone was probably out helping Ari set up. He could head out too, and knew from the paper that the show was to be held tonight at an indoor skateboard park, of all places. Interesting choice for a venue, but if that was where Ari Rose was, it’s where he would be too. With another glance at his clock, he started making phone calls and arrangements for the evening.
