by Tawna Fenske
She took her time getting there and reminded herself this was a business function and not a date.
The instant she opened the door, her brain short-circuited a little. Good thing it’s not a date. If it were, you’d be climbing this guy like a jungle gym right now.
He wore a well-tailored suit and a cheerful smile that gave Miriam the urge to shimmy out of her panties right there on the doorstep.
The panties got one step closer to the ground as Jason thrust out a bouquet of irises. “For you,” he said. “I was going to bring this or wine, but I don’t know a whole lot about wine, so this seemed like the safer bet.”
“You can never go wrong with flowers.” She accepted the bouquet as she stepped aside and waved him in. “Thank you. Come on inside. You look very nice.”
“Thanks. Ellie made me buy a couple suits before we moved out here, but I kinda hope I don’t have to wear them very often. I feel like I’m going to a funeral.”
The word “funeral” made Miriam’s heart turn over in her chest, but she forced herself to keep smiling, not to think about her dad now. Jason must’ve noticed a shift in her expression, because his trademark grin dropped away. “God, I’m sorry. Faux pas number one. I know you lost your dad a year ago. I didn’t think before saying that.”
“It’s okay,” she said, grateful she didn’t have to pretend the thought hadn’t crept through her mind. “The suit fits you well. Your sister has good taste.”
“Thanks. You look amazing.”
She started to demur, This old thing? But she was wearing a green-and-blue Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress she knew flattered her curves and made her look both professional and sexy, so she settled for a simple, “Thank you.”
Jason tugged at his tie a little and gave her a grin that made her lady bits do a happy squeeze. “If I’m being honest, you look downright hot.”
Miriam laughed and pushed the door closed, conscious of his gaze traveling her body. “Thanks. And thank you for not being annoyed by my suggestion that we dress up a little.”
“No problem. I figured bike shorts weren’t the best dinner attire anyway.”
The visual sent Miriam’s libido surging again, but she held it together. “I think it’s important to replicate the feel of your Saturday-night dinner party as much as possible.”
“In that case, do you have two dozen scowling men in suits waiting for us in the coat closet?”
She grinned and led him through the living room and into the dining area. “Will you settle for a framed photo of my great-grandparents scowling over the dinner table with German disdain?”
“Close enough.”
She stopped in the dining room, where she’d set the table with a black linen tablecloth and a set of stylish art deco plates. “I’m going to put the flowers in water,” she said as she headed toward the kitchen. “Feel free to dive in to the charcuterie.”
“I’m trying to figure out from context if charcuterie is something you’re supposed to swim in, discuss, or do to a person you’d like to see naked.”
Miriam laughed, and her lady bits clenched again. Ignoring the heat rising up her throat, she gestured to the hors d’oeuvres laid out on her midcentury modern sideboard. “Charcuterie is an array of cured meats, usually served with breads and jam for contrast to the salt. There’s crostini right there. Can I get you some wine?”
“Sounds great.”
“Red or white?”
“I don’t know.” Jason picked up a crostini and popped it in his mouth. “What would a proper CEO with professional-caliber social skills choose at a fancy business dinner?”
“He’d probably match it to what’s being served, but that can be tricky if you don’t know wine very well,” she said. “You can never go wrong with a pinot noir. Or you could also try something like a Mourvédre or a Grenache or even a Carménère.”
Jason frowned. “Are you planning to give me a pronunciation guide I can pull out of my pocket at dinner?”
“Let’s stick with the pinot.”
“Sounds good. To be honest, I usually avoid ordering wine at all.”
“You don’t like wine?”
“No, I actually love it. But I don’t know much about the different kinds or how the hell to pronounce anything, so it seems safer to stick with water or beer and not sound like a dumbass.”
Miriam laughed and grabbed a bottle of her favorite Sunridge Vineyards pinot noir off the wine rack. “Sometimes looking like a dumbass is the best way to learn.”
“Maybe so,” he said, but didn’t sound convinced.
Miriam set the bouquet of irises on the counter and made a mental note to take a subtle approach to coaching Jason on professional dining etiquette. Clearly the guy wasn’t a fan of looking dumb, which seemed reasonable enough.
She uncorked the pinot, then turned and pulled two wineglasses out of the cabinet beside the table. After setting them on the counter, she bent to retrieve a cut crystal vase on the lower shelf. When she stood up, Jason was staring at her backside. Desire coursed through her, but she ordered herself to keep this professional.
“Here’s your first lesson on dinner etiquette,” she said. “If you’re going to stare at women’s asses, try being a little discreet about it.”
He grinned, not looking terribly ashamed. “I wasn’t planning to stare at women’s asses,” he pointed out. “Just yours. That’s a singular ass, not plural.”
Miriam set the vase on the counter and tried to look stern, but who was she kidding? She loved having his gaze on her. She’d love having a lot of other things on her, too, starting with his hands, then moving to his mouth, then—
“Flattering though that may be,” she said, interrupting her own dangerous train of thought, “we’re practicing proper business etiquette here. No ogling.”
“You steal all my fun.”
She smiled. “Eat your charcuterie.”
“That still sounds dirty.”
“You mean like when you told me you wanted to take me spelunking?” She poured two servings of pinot, then handed him one, her fingers tingling as they grazed his on the stem of the glass.
“Spelunking.” He shook his head. “Can’t say I ever thought of it that way until you came along.”
“You’re welcome.”
Jason took a careful sip of wine. “Hey, this is really good.”’
“Thanks. Oregon pinot is always a good bet, so that’s a smart thing to look for on the menu.”
He grabbed another hunk of crostini and shoved it in his mouth, and Miriam ordered herself not to scold him for it. The guy was the CEO of an international corporation. He might eat like a caveman, but helping him get over that would require a subtler touch than jumping on his case every time he showed subpar table manners.
“There’s a bread plate right there,” she said as she pointed at the edge of the side table. “Feel free to grab that so you can pile on whatever you want from the charcuterie.”
“Thanks.” He picked up the small plate as Miriam turned and filled her vase with water. She took a moment to arrange the flowers, trying to get her libido in check before turning back to face him.
As she set the vase on the table, she saw Jason using his fingers to grab a hunk of prosciutto off the charcuterie board. He glanced at her, then gave a sheepish look. “Let me guess—you’re going to tell me to use the tongs, not my fingers.”
“I didn’t say a word, but that’s a good idea.” She smiled. “The tongs would definitely be a better choice with the prosciutto.”
“And the little knifey thing is probably for the smeary stuff?”
“The knifey thing is called a spreader and the smeary stuff is chicken liver pâté, but yes. See? You’ve got it all figured out.”
“Yeah, but I’m likely to forget when you distract me with sexy words like charcuterie and prosciutto and spreaders.”
She laughed. “If that’s your idea of sexy talk, I’m not sure how I feel about the prospect of having dinner with you
.”
Jason grinned and picked up the tongs. She watched him pile meat on his plate, impressed that he managed to work the small utensil with those massive hands of his.
Stop staring.
“Do you know how they’ll be handling appetizers at your dinner event?” she asked. “Passed apps, buffet style, or a sit-down dinner with everyone ordering separately?”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“Different rules of etiquette. If it’s passed apps or a buffet situation like this, you’ll want to keep your portions fairly small to make sure there’s plenty for everyone else.”
He set the tongs down and frowned. “Maybe I should play it safe and skip the apps.”
“No, definitely don’t do that. That will make other people feel awkward about eating if you’re not. Besides, it gives you something to do with your hands.”
He gave her a funny smile, and Miriam half expected him to come up with a risqué suggestion for what he might do with his hands. She was almost disappointed when he didn’t.
Instead, he looked at his plate. “So with all these meats and little bready things, I assume I’m okay to eat with my hands instead of asking for a fork or something?”
“Use the crostini—the little bready things—for the chutney or the pâté. You can use your hands for everything else, but be discreet about it. No sucking your fingers or licking crumbs off the plate.”
“No licking, no sucking.” He grinned. “Got it.”
That grin was enough to disarm her again, so Miriam took another sip of wine and ordered herself to keep breathing. “Any idea how many people will be attending the event?”
“Let’s see…we have thirteen board members, eight people on the executive team, plus me. I guess that’s twenty-two?”
“Who’s hosting?”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s usually a host when it comes to business dinners—the person who arranged the whole thing. Usually the person who’s paying.”
He took a careful bite of prosciutto, then chewed and swallowed before answering her question, which was a plus. Somewhere along the line, he must’ve learned not to talk with his mouth full. The guy might be rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a total lost cause.
“That’s probably the board president, Jack Wainswright,” he said. “I guess he’d be the host.”
“Okay, so you’ll want to watch him closely. Take your cues from him when it comes to knowing how many courses you order, when you start eating, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds a little stalker-ish,” he said. “Please tell me I don’t have to watch him for a cue to use the restroom.”
“You’re on your own for that one.”
Miriam set her wine down on the sideboard and picked up a plate. Handling the tongs with dainty precision, she selected a few charcuterie items for herself, adding a few bites of mortadella and a smear of pâté on her crostini. She stepped back from the table, lifted her plate a few inches above her cleavage, and took a careful bite of crostini. A few crumbs landed on the plate, and she saw Jason grin.
“Are you teaching by example?” He raised his own plate to the same level and bit into a cracker, laughing a little when it split in two and half of it hit the plate. “You’re right, holding the plate up here is probably better than dribbling crumbs down the front of my shirt.”
“Happy to help,” she said after she’d swallowed the bite. “So while you obviously don’t want to talk with your mouth full, you do want to keep the small talk flowing, especially over appetizers.”
“I’ve never been one for small talk.”
“Just ask questions. People love to talk about themselves, their hobbies, their families.” She took another bite of crostini, then set down her plate and dabbed at her mouth with a cocktail napkin. “So how old is Henry, anyway?”
At the mention of the little boy’s name, Jason’s face seemed to brighten. “He’s five, going on twenty-one.”
“What do you mean?”
“You may have noticed his obsession with genitals?”
She laughed and took a bite of prosciutto. “I take it he greets everyone with commentary on penises and fa-chynas?”
“Pretty much. His Sunday school teacher was not amused.”
“That’s a pity.”
“It actually makes a good icebreaker,” he said. “Maybe I’ll consider it for business dinner small talk.”
“Absolutely. I’m sure the board of directors would be delighted to hear about your penis.”
Jason laughed, and Miriam felt her cheeks flush ever so slightly. She hadn’t meant to turn the conversation toward the sexy CEO’s anatomy once again. But now that she’d said the words, she couldn’t stop remembering the sight of him standing naked in her bathroom, his torso lean and muscular, the dark trail of fine hair leading down toward—
“This is good sausage,” he said.
Miriam choked on her wine.
He set his plate down and started to reach for her, but she waved him off. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she sputtered. “I don’t need the Heimlich.”
“Okay, but I do have first aid training if you need it.”
The thought of having him give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation was enough to make her want to choke on her wine again, but she settled for eating a piece of mortadella.
“So you and your sister must be close,” she said, desperate to steer the conversation back to safer ground.
“Very close,” he said. “Our parents died in a car wreck when I was seventeen and Ellie was fifteen. There were no other relatives in the picture, so I took over raising Ellie.”
“Wow,” Miriam said, impressed. “How did you manage to do that and finish college?”
He shrugged and took a sip of his own wine. “It wasn’t always easy, but we got along okay. Just like we’re managing now with Henry.”
“And Henry’s dad is—”
“A grade A ass-hat,” Jason finished with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I promise I’ll keep the swearing to a minimum at the dinner event. But sometimes, there’s just no other word for it.”
“Very true. I take it he’s not in the picture?”
“Nope. The state seizes part of his paychecks for child support, but beyond that, he wants nothing to do with his son or with Ellie.”
“That’s so sad.”
He nodded, and Miriam caught a glint of something dark in his eyes. “It is, but we’re better off without him. For as long as I’m around, Ellie will never be alone as a parent, and Henry will always have a man in his life who adores him and enjoys spending time with him.”
The passion in his words surprised her a little. Her own feelings about kids tended to be a bit ambivalent, though she’d wondered what it might be like to feel that sort of love for a tiny human. Watching Jason now, she kind of got it. Something in his love of his nephew touched a soft, dormant part of her heart.
“They’re lucky to have you,” she said.
“Nuh-uh. I’m lucky to have them.”
Miriam was about to ask another question when something bumped her shin. She glanced down to see Phuzeei ramming his head against her leg.
“There’s the little pervert who gave you a glimpse of my junk,” Jason said as he bent down to scratch the cat behind the ears. “Hey, big guy.”
“Mrwow,” her cat said and nudged Jason’s hand with his head.
“Phuzeei,” Jason said, shaking his head as he stood back up. “I can’t say I ever imagined myself stroking a froofy white Persian named ‘Fuzzy.’”
“He may look froofy, but he’s kind of a badass.”
Jason quirked an eyebrow. “You mean beyond his skills at opening bathroom doors like some sort of furry ninja spy?”
“I taught him more skills than that one. Watch this.”
Miriam set her plate down and reached for a notepad she’d been using to doodle sketches for an ad campaign. She tore off a sheet and crumpled it into a ball. Phuzeei whirled around and p
ricked his ears at attention.
“You ready, boy?” Miriam asked, grinning. “Fetch!”
She hurled the paper wad down the hall. In a blur of fur and paws, Phuzeei went tearing after it, his plumy tail streaking behind him. The cat skidded to a halt at the end of the hall, furry feet sliding across the polished wood floor. He picked up the paper in his teeth, turned around, and trotted back with his prize.
“I’ll be damned,” Jason said as he bent down to take the paper Phuzeei deposited at his feet. “You taught your cat to fetch?”
“I told you he’s got mad skills.”
“Color me impressed.”
“Color me starving,” she said. “You ready to move on to dinner?”
“Anytime you are.”
“I’ll take that,” she said, plucking the paper from his hand. “Feel free to wash up in the guest bath. I’ll put the finishing touches on dinner.”
“Need any help?”
“Nope, I’ve got it. I prepped most of it ahead of time, so we’re just about ready.”
She turned and hurried into the kitchen where she lost herself in the last-minute bustle of sautéing and garnishing and sneaking little tastes of everything to make sure the meal had turned out okay.
She’d almost forgotten about Jason until she heard his voice behind her.
“Holy cow!” he said. “Are you some kind of gourmet cook?”
She grinned and dusted a sprinkling of fresh chives over a side of roasted potatoes she’d just plated. “Sort of,” she said. “I love good food, and cooking’s a hobby of mine.”
“This looks amazing. You weren’t kidding about replicating the restaurant experience. This looks better than any restaurant meal I’ve had.”
“Thanks. I’ll stop short of getting out my silver cloches.”
“Since I don’t know what a cloche is, that’s probably best. Unless it’s something sexy?”
Miriam laughed. “A cloche is a bell-shaped cover the chef puts over the plate to keep things warm until the waiter removes it with a flourish.”
“I think you’ve got plenty of flourish going on here. Can I help you carry something?”
“Can you grab those salads right there?”
She scooped up the dinner plates, admiring the presentation of dishes and the heady fragrance of herbs and caramelized onion. She led the way back out to the dining room and set the plates down. “You can put the salads right here,” she said and pointed to a spot at the top of her place mat.
