by R. S. Kovach
Before she could attempt to ask about his background, the sommelier arrived with the bottle of red wine. After pouring a sample into her companion’s glass and getting a nod of approval after the requisite tasting, the man filled both glasses before leaving.
“To a nice meal with nice company.” Hank raised his glass in a toast. Ali did the same and took a sip of the fruity beverage. It was an excellent choice but clearly a strong vintage. Knowing her low tolerance for alcohol and not wanting to repeat her embarrassment at the bar, she left most for later. Hank wasn’t as cautious, emptying his glass in just a few gulps.
“Tell me more about yourself.” He poured himself another serving.
She watched a stray drop of liquid slide down the bottle’s neck. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything, but let’s start with something easy.” He picked up a folded napkin, shook it apart, and draped it in his lap. “How about what you do for a living?”
“Really? That’s what you want to know first?” Ali caressed the stem of her glass with an index finger. She’d hoped to avoid this question for as long as possible. “It’s the twenty-first century. Is the way we earn our living really an appropriate way to define a person?”
“Of course not. But if you do happen to have an unconventional occupation, like, let’s say, a stripper—excuse me, exotic dancer—don’t worry.” He winked. “I can live with that.”
The ease with which he shifted between levity and seriousness was both endearing and unnerving. Figuring out Hank Mathis was going to be harder than she’d thought. Needing the drink’s strength after all, Ali took another sip. “No, I’m not a stripper, but I appreciate your open-mindedness. Truly.”
He continued to look at her, unflinching and obviously still waiting for an answer.
Ali adjusted the bracelet on her good wrist. She’d hoped the new acquisition would distract from the pink monstrosity on the other, but the two in concert made her feel like she was bound in shackles. “I work in an investment firm.”
“Investments? Like stocks and stuff?” He drew his dark brows up in surprise.
She nodded, recalling the watered-down explanation she’d rehearsed countless times with distant relatives and casual acquaintances. “Yes, we deal with stocks, mutual funds, bonds, and various other long-term assets.”
Faint laugh lines appeared at the corners of his lips. “So you’re a broker like Dave?”
She scoffed at hearing the name. “First of all, the infamous Dave deals exclusively in commodities and betting against their future worth. It’s basic supply and demand for things like grain, livestock, gold, and a variety of other tangible assets. The investment field is based on partial ownership and current profit sharing.”
“Now you’ve completely lost me.” He grabbed his glass and took a restrained sip.
“Okay.” Ali sighed, reaching for her napkin. “So when you think of stocks, you think of Wall Street and the trading floor, right? Quick turnaround. Buy low, sell high. That sort of thing.”
He nodded.
“Companies like Foxhall deal more long-term on our clients’ behalf to maximize their profits. We reinvest . . .” She trailed off, noticing Hank’s gaze had shifted from her eyes to her lips. “You’re really not interested in any of this.”
“No, I totally am. It’s just I’m also quite amazed by how you keep getting more and more fascinating.” He grinned, displaying a mouthful of perfectly straight teeth. “Just when I think I have you figured out, you reveal another unexpected aspect of yourself.”
Ali self-consciously touched the back of her head, smoothing out any loose strands in her casual updo. “There’s not much else, so please don’t set me up for failure.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. But please, go on.” He leaned back and motioned with his long fingers. Although his knee was no longer touching hers, he’d shifted his foot to keep contact. “What exactly do you do in this investment firm?”
“I court nonnatives.” She used Foxhall’s in-house slang, but as soon as the words left her lips, Ali threw her hands up defensively. “No, that’s not what it sounds like. I scout new business opportunities to bring money from abroad into the US investment market.”
“That’s exactly what courting nonnatives sounded like,” Hank teased, obviously enjoying her flummoxed state. “And may I ask how you got into this line of work?”
“I studied economics at Yale—”
“Impressive.” He crossed his arms and gave an approving nod.
“Well, yes. I suppose.” Ali shrugged. “I wanted a useful degree, and philosophy never interested me.”
He chuckled at her joke. “Good one.” His shoe tapped hers—whether accidentally or on purpose—making Ali’s pulse accelerate.
Their waiter returned. “Are you ready to order?”
Her cheeks flushed as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have been. “Oh. I haven’t even looked at the menu,” Ali admitted.
“Do you like steak?” Hank leaned forward, pointing halfway down the card stock. “They have an amazing filet mignon I’d recommend.”
“That sounds great. Medium, please.” She handed the menu to the waiter.
“I’ll have the same,” Hank said, and waited until they were alone again. “You were telling me about Yale.”
“Yes.” Ali smoothed out the tablecloth in front of her to regain her train of thought. “So I was almost done with my freshman year in New Haven when my mother happened to be chatting with the father of one of her patients. She’s an orthodontist, by the way,” she added, seeing his puzzled expression. “Anyway, this parent was complaining about how lazy and unskilled my generation is and how hard it was to recruit good staff at the Manhattan investment firm he managed.”
Hank scoffed but didn’t comment, so Ali took a big breath and continued.
“Mom, being ever vigilant for a good opportunity, mentioned how I was looking for an internship in that exact field—which of course I wasn’t—and he gave her his contact info.” She picked up her glass again, swirling its remaining contents around. “Long story short, I spent the next three summers at Foxhall. They even got me a practicum at a bank in Athens when I was on study abroad.”
“Oh?” He placed his hand on the table, dangerously close to hers. “How was that?”
“Seeing the Greek financial system implode from within?” She scratched her nose. “Eye-opening.”
“Touché.” He pulled away again and adjusted his tie. “That got you your foot in the door, but it sounds like what you do now is fairly important. How did you get from intern to . . . what’s your current position, exactly?”
Ali winced. “Assistant vice president for international initiatives,” she flatly stated.
“Wow.” He blinked rapidly, obviously taken by surprise. “Oh, wow. That’s quite impressive. So, intern to AVP in just a few years? Let me know if I’m prying, but I’m curious as to how that’s possible.”
“Apart from me being good at my job?” She squared her shoulders.
Hank tugged at his collar, his discomfort evident as he avoided her eyes. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Forgive me if I sounded like I did.”
She instinctively reached across the table, momentarily touching her fingers to his. They were warm, and the sensation—as well as Hank’s not just relieved but even inviting gaze—made the act feel taboo. Pulling away, Ali tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m teasing. And you’re right; my career path has been quite unusual. All I had to do for it was kill my boss.”
Hank had made the mistake of reaching for his wine and almost choked on his sip. “Excuse me?” he asked between coughs.
“Are you all right?” She scooted closer in an attempt to help, but when he waved her off, Ali continued. “Well, I was working my ass off as a junior portfolio manager, still in the office like
an idiot at seven before a holiday weekend. I don’t even know which it was—Memorial Day or Fourth of July—it doesn’t really matter. Everyone else in my division had gone home when the proverbial shit hit the fan.”
Under the table, Hank’s knee gently collided with hers as he moved closer again. “What happened?”
Ali could feel the heat from his breath on her cheek, and she struggled to recall the story. “I’ll spare you the boring details, but the important part is that one of our most stable portfolios was brought under investigation in the Asian market. If we didn’t act on it immediately, we’d have a whole lot of investors with worthless papers by the start of the next week.”
“And you were the only one around on a holiday weekend to save the day?” he quietly guessed while unflinchingly staring into her eyes.
“Something like that.” She glanced down to pace her breath, noticing for the first time a faint dimple in his chin. “Um, the division’s VP was the only other person who made it into the office, and we worked together to get things straightened out. Afterward, he took me under his wing, so to speak, and groomed me to be his eventual replacement.”
“So where does murder fit into all of this?” His eyes sparkled mischievously.
“That?” She giggled. “Well, officially Jack had a heart attack, and unless anyone can prove otherwise, I’m sticking to it.” She owed a lot to her former mentor, but Ali knew he would have appreciated her lighthearted banter in remembering him.
Hank laughed too, but his expression turned serious when he began to slowly lean closer. Ali drew in her breath, noticing his gaze shifting downward again. She looked at his lips and could already feel their soft touch against her own.
“Your steaks, sir,” a disinterested voice cut in, making the pair jump.
“Thank you,” Hank snapped, his jawline taut from holding back a firmer response as the waiter placed the plates in front of them.
Ali picked up her knife, fiddling with the utensil as she quietly dug into the meal and wondered what would have happened without the untimely interruption. She was undeniably attracted to Hank and was fairly certain he felt the same way. It also sure looked like he had been going in for a kiss, but now she’d never know. A twinge of disappointment ran through her as she struggled to cut the tender beef, belatedly wishing she’d ordered something more cast-friendly.
“So, show jumping, huh? How did you get into that?” Hank asked, popping a bite into his mouth.
Ali put down the knife and skewered a piece of broccoli onto her fork, gladly returning to being the center of his attention, even if it meant revealing more about a topic she’d earlier tried to avoid. “I asked Santa for a pony one Christmas, and he actually got me one. There was also a letter that came along with the horse, and it said she was for riding, so if I wanted to keep her, I would need to start taking lessons.”
He swallowed before responding. “That was pretty clever of your parents.”
“I know, right?” She bit into the broccoli.
“You must have been pretty good to get a chance at the national championships. I’m sorry you have to miss out on it.” He wiped his mouth on the linen napkin.
“Well, it was a lot of work, so maybe a little break is for the best.” She looked down at her wrist and frowned. “No pun intended.”
He took a sip of wine. “How did you manage everything? High-powered career and elite-level sportsmanship along with juggling a normal social life?”
She cleared her throat. “I didn’t. Not that last part, anyway.”
“I don’t believe that.” He picked up the cutlery and resumed eating.
“It’s true.” She scooped up a bite of the baked potato. “The only time I wasn’t in the office or the arena was when I was on a plane flying to one or the other.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like fun.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She frowned. “But as crazy as it was, I actually enjoyed it.”
He paused. “How about now?”
“What do you mean?” She drained the remaining contents of her glass.
Hank put down his utensils and reached for the wine bottle. “Do you want to go back after you’re done at Pebble Creek and live your life the same way?”
While he refilled her glass, she adjusted her skirt. That got serious real quick. “I haven’t considered otherwise. Why do you ask? Does my life sound so awful to you?”
He leaned back in the seat, the leather creaking under the movement. “That’s not for me to say either way.”
She’d been both successful and content, and his implied judgment was irritating. But it wasn’t worth an argument.
Not knowing how to steer the conversation back on track without getting into the intricate details of her private life, Ali tackled her steak instead. Stabbing the tender beef with her fork, she—perhaps a little too aggressively—attempted to slice it with the serrated knife. When her cast got in the way of the otherwise oft-practiced maneuver, the utensil slipped out of her hand and tumbled to the floor with a clank.
They both reached for it at once, nearly bumping heads.
“Here. I’ve got it,” Hank said before ducking to grab the knife. “May I?” he said, asking for the fork still in her hand.
Was he really offering to cut her meat for her as if she were a child? Her first instinct was to flat-out refuse, but he appeared sincere. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, she pushed her plate closer and nodded. She watched Hank use his own knife to cut the steak first into slices and then into bite-sized pieces. When she caught a woman at a nearby table smiling at her situation, her cheeks flushed.
“That’s great. Thanks.” Ali abruptly pulled her plate back and held her hand out for the fork. “But what about you? Does working on your sister’s ranch give you a sense of achievement?”
The question was intended to resume their previous conversation, but as soon as it left her lips, she realized it sounded extremely condescending.
“I wouldn’t say achievement, but I’m where I need to be at the moment.” Hank shrugged and began eating again.
Ali sighed in relief that he didn’t appear insulted, but the next few minutes of silent eating belied Hank’s immediate reaction. Eventually, she was able to somewhat revive the conversation by sticking to safer topics like music and movies. But even a shared interest in nineties popcorn cinema didn’t quite do the trick, and she could feel that Hank’s continued reserved attitude meant the damage had been done.
Recognizing there was no hope of turning the evening around, Ali declined dessert and indicated she was ready to head home. The couple walked out of the hotel without touching, and she drew her arms around herself as they stepped onto the sidewalk.
“Are you sure I can’t drive you back?” Hank offered, seeing the general lack of traffic on the dark street.
She really wanted to make things work, but his company wasn’t worth extending the weird tension between them for longer than absolutely necessary. “Thank you for dinner, but I don’t know if I really should have come at all.” Ali walked to the curb to get a better view of the oncoming lanes.
“You mean if you should have gone out with the help?” He stopped next to her and stuck his hands in his pants pockets.
“What?” She was momentarily taken aback by the accusation before the pieces began to fall into place. In her discomfort at not being able to eat dinner without assistance, she had insinuated Hank wasn’t worth her time because he was only an employee at Pebble Creek. The realization mortified her, and Ali wanted to slink into the cracks of the sidewalk and disappear. But the sullen man in front of her deserved clarification. “Is that what you thought?”
Hank shrugged. “What else could I have thought? Things were going great and then you said—”
“Oh, no, no. I know I said something earlier I shouldn’t have and you have every right to
be angry with me, but that’s not what I meant.”
“I don’t get it. What, then? Did I say something to upset you?”
She studied the streetlight’s reflection in the patent leather of her strappy shoes. “Not at all. There are just some other things I have to deal with that are unrelated to you.”
Her internal monologue went into overdrive. God, that sounded cliché. “It’s not you, it’s me”? Jesus, Ali. The man cut your steak and now you’re flipping out. Just admit you’re clearly not ready for this and stop playing games.
Hank walked closer and touched her arm. “I know, but something is still bothering you. If it makes you feel better, technically I’m not an employee.”
She looked up at him. “What, then? A volunteer? Or silent partner?”
With a smile, he shrugged and the dark suit stretched over his broad shoulders. “Something like that.”
Ali sighed. It was so tempting to give in and go with her heart, but her brain was still spewing irrefutable arguments. “Still, you are the owner’s brother. And I wouldn’t want any trouble for Liz with even the perception of a conflict of interest.” If they were going to end things before they really began, it was as good an excuse as any.
“Fair enough.” He stepped back. “Then what do you want, Ali? Say it, and let’s avoid any misunderstandings.”
She wanted to rewind time to before her accident. She wanted to meet Hank Mathis on her terms. She wanted to have him get to know the real Ali Barros. The woman who made the rules, not the one who had to sit by and abide by them. But of course that was impossible, and the soft touch of his fingers against her skin had definitely been appealing. Why was she making this so hard for herself? Her time in Colorado was finite, and if Hank could make those weeks more pleasant, then what did she have to lose? Maybe if the musky smell of his aftershave wasn’t lingering in her nostrils, she could think more clearly. Ali stared into his hypnotic eyes, looking for the answer, but an approaching headlight caught her gaze.
