Ah, yes. There was the fountain. The speedboats. The docks. A perfect depiction of the view from the windows. Man, the man had talent.
She was about to knock when she heard voices. Aha! She was right. He was here. But obviously not finished so she decided to park her butt on the ottoman by the door and wait.
She pulled out Mr. Griff’s book—it didn’t feel right to call him Jonathan—and read the back blurb.
Hmmm, the heroine refused proposal after proposal, determined that no man would be in charge of her life.
Substitute “no one” for “no man” and Jolie was right there with her.
Yep, this story looked promising. Mr. Griff had picked a good one. She flipped to the inside cover and read the excerpt.
“Destiny is mine,” proclaimed Rebecca Featherington.
You go, girl. Time for Chapter One.
“You’re taking her to The Midnight Maiden?”
Jolie’s ears perked up at the question coming from the office. They had to be talking about her since she was the only one she knew who was going to The Midnight Maiden with Todd—and qualified as a “her.”
This was better than any book. She put Miss Featherington down on her leg and shamelessly listened in. Self-preservation was a hard-learned battle and those lessons never left a person.
Someone cleared his throat. Todd, maybe.
“Uh, well, yeah.” Another throat clearing.
Bingo. Todd. The men’s voices were similar, but Todd’s seemed just a bit lower in pitch. Maybe that was because he still had something caught in his throat. She scooched a little closer to the door.
“Really? The Midnight Maiden?” asked his brother.
What was with the disbelief? It was just an old boat someone turned into a restaurant. Sheesh. He was making it sound like the Taj Mahal or something.
’Course, the Taj Mahal was a monument to some guy’s wife. Like the biggest declaration of love in the world.
“Yeah,” Todd answered and whatever it was that was stuck in his throat was obviously gone. And yep, she was right, his voice was deeper. It resonated up her spine in a way his brother’s didn’t.
“I asked her where she wanted to go and she picked that place. So we’re going,” said Todd.
“Are you ready for that?”
“For God’s sake, Mike. It’s just a restaurant. I think I can handle it.”
“Well, after Trista—”
“Look, Mike, Trista is gone and I’m not. I realize that. I didn’t put any stipulations on Jolie’s restaurant choice, so I’ll have to live with it. I’ve had to live with a lot of things since my wife died. I’ll get over it.”
Why was she not liking where this conversation was headed? What did Trista and The Midnight Maiden have to do with each other?
“Well, if you’re sure—”
“Let it go, Mike, I’m thirty-four years old. I can handle a restaurant. I’m not an invalid.”
True. Those legs and other body parts had been in absolutely perfect working order this morning.
“Okay,” his brother continued, “but why are you taking the new chef out? You’ve never done that before. Is she cute?”
Oooh... Jolie wanted to hear the answer to that one.
“I guess,” was the much-awaited, tummy-twiddling response.
Gee, thanks for the vote.
“But what does that matter?” Todd continued. “She works for me.”
And has seen you in the buff, buddy.
“That’s what concerns me,” Mike answered. “She’s the first woman you’ve taken to dinner since Trista. What’s going on?”
Something hit a desktop. Sounded like a fist.
“Dammit, Mike. Leave it alone. I told her I’d take her to dinner to get to know her, so she wouldn’t have to cook on her first day. That’s it.”
Yeah? And what about apologizing for the whole naked thing? Where did that fit in, buddy boy? And the whole “I need to get out tonight,” hmmm?
Mike’s “Are you sure?” was followed by a piece of furniture slamming against something.
“Look, Mike. You might be older, but your claim to bullying went out when we were teenagers. Knock it off. Stop reading things into this. It’s dinner. Plain and simple. The fact that I’m taking her to our favorite restaurant has nothing to do with it. She asked, I said fine. End of story. Got it?”
“But on your anniversary?”
His anniversary. Their favorite restaurant. That explained the aspirin and OJ and today.
No wonder he weirded out in the car. Why didn’t he say something? She would have understood.
“Yeah, well, I… celebrated… last night. Toasted Trista, us, and happily-never-afters. Woke up with one hell of a hangover.”
And naked, with a strange woman witness to his binge.
“And what about reporters? They’ve been calling the office all day.”
“Yeah, I know. My house, too. Lizette even showed up on my doorstep, cameraman in tow.”
“So what do you think is going to happen if you’re seen out and about with a pretty woman, Todd? People are going to talk.” Finger-strumming on the desk. “Though it could stir up interest in your paintings again. Hell, maybe we should tip off the local papers.”
“Bad idea, Mike. That part of my life is over. And it’s just a dinner. Let it go, will you?”
Maybe Mike couldn’t let it go, but she sure could. Jolie grabbed her purse and her book and tiptoed back to the elevator to wait for Todd in the lobby. Whoever said no one ever heard anything good about themselves while eavesdropping hadn’t listened in on that conversation. She now knew she was “I guess” cute and that she had the power to stop Todd’s pain.
She’d just cancel dinner tonight. No big deal. That way he wouldn’t have to resurrect the memories and she wouldn’t have to watch him pine. Winners all around.
She made herself all comfy in the rounded burgundy chair in the lobby with the good wishes of Mr. Sour-Puss-Turned-Pussycat-Security-Guard, and had barely read two pages before Todd stepped from the elevator, looking surprised to find her there.
Or was that embarrassment? Had he heard her upstairs?
Well, she wasn’t going to open old wounds. If he wanted to talk about it, he could start the conversation.
“So where’s the food?” he asked.
Or not. Self-deception being the word of the day and all.
“Hiya,” She jumped up out of the chair with a little ballooning of her gauzy top. “Have a nice meeting? I finished the shopping early and thought I’d save you the stop. I sent the food home with the delivery service. There was quite a bit and I really don’t think it would all fit in the trunk of your car.”
“So can I still pay my mortgage this month?” A slim smile accompanied the sarcasm.
Gee, what a kidder. But at least he wasn’t stressing about his dinner options.
“Probably,” she answered. “But don’t count on next month. That’s when I break out the Lobster Newburg and shallots with escargot.”
“I guess I’ll just have to cut back on electricity then. But it’ll be worth it if your omelet’s anything to go by.”
“You got that right, mister.”
“So, shall we?” He gestured toward those big glass doors.
“Whatever you say, boss.” She jammed her book inside her purse and headed out.
“Oh, really? Whatever?” That slim smile opened just a tad for a glimmer of teeth, and an eyebrow arched.
Oh, so they had some innuendo going, did they? Normally she could double-entendre with the best of them, but somehow, seeing the guy in the buff—and a very buff buff it was—getting all squidgy around him, and the whole cute/dinner-at-the-wife’s-favorite-restaurant/hot-guy thing kinda put a damper on her banter. But at least he had his good mood back.
But still, she couldn’t let him have the last word. “Yes, whatever—as long as it’s got whipped cream attached to it.”
Oh Lord. What did she just say?
Chapter Six
Back in the Dream Machine, AKA her favorite car ever—his black 560 SL convertible, tan interior, complete with all the bells and whistles and the closest thing to a new car smell on a vintage—Jolie gnawed on the inside of her cheek trying to figure out how to disappear after that little comment back in the lobby. God. Whipped cream. Freud would have a field day with that.
Plus she had to come up with some way to change the venue for the evening’s meal. If she cancelled, it could open up a can of worms that would be better off staying closed. After that little episode with Mike, Todd would probably want to prove something, if just to himself. Maybe she should change where they were eating.
“So, what do you have planned for lunch?” he asked into the silence.
She kept waiting for some comeback to her one-upmanship in the lobby, but… nothing. He went right to lunch.
Lunch. Ohmigosh. Lunch. Of course there’d be lunch. She just happened to forget about it between the car and the food shopping, hitting Mr. Griff, then her shoe and the book. And, of course, that conversation. How was a girl supposed to think about food with that conversation roaming around inside her head?
Mind on the job, Jols.
She grabbed her hair, bunching it at the base of her neck, and rested her elbow on the door. “How about ham and cheese on an English muffin with honey mustard? Or I can throw a quick mandarin chicken salad together. Or do you want something on the grill? I bought salmon and tuna steaks. Though, they’re best if marinated and that’ll take too long. I guess a burger would be quick. Whatever you want, just—”
“Jolie.”
Then he started with the touching again, which stopped her from rattling on. Words, that is. Her nerves were a whole other story. She almost wished he wouldn’t touch her. Which was a big change from wishing he flat-out wouldn’t touch her, à la the earlier car ride.
She slid a peek at him. He was grinning.
“Jolie,” he said again.
Honest to God, no one ever said her name quite that way, a French slide to the “J” and a bit drawn out on the “ie.” She could listen to that sound for the rest of her—
“Yes?” She wasn’t dwelling on his voice. Or anything having to do with the rest of her life unless it included the words, “Jolie Gardener, Proprietor.”
“Relax. You don’t have to impress me with five-star meals. I’m just an average guy and an average sandwich sounds fine.” He nodded to the vehicle ahead of them. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s the delivery truck. I’ll help you unload and then we’ll just grab whatever’s closest.”
Oh, boy. He really shouldn’t have said that. Naughty Girl sprang to life, ready to grab what was closest all right.
That would so not be good for their collective paycheck.
“Okay. Sure. Fine. Sounds like a plan.” Brilliant conversation, Jols.
Todd zipped in front of the truck and signed for all the stuff from the delivery guy. Amid the cacophony of something like fifteen phone calls, the three of them wrangled the bags to the kitchen in no time flat. Jolie started emptying the bags while Todd, a couple of grocery items in hand, saw the guy out.
“Sure do appreciate the help, sir,” Mr. Delivery said.
Sound reverberated in the house, probably due to all the empty wall space as Todd had yet to hang a picture, his or otherwise, and the front door was directly opposite the kitchen so she could see the man touch the rim of his baseball cap like a salute.
“You and the missus have fun putting all that away, ya hear?” There was a little tongue click at the end of his sentence.
The missus. That was probably a common enough mistake, but how would Todd react?
To her surprise, he chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she asked as he entered the kitchen.
“This.” He held up two round white containers.
Whipped topping.
Oh.
The guy thought Todd and she— Mister and missus— Whipped topping—
Just crack open the limestone tiles and bury her beneath them. That’s what she got for trying to be a smart aleck.
“God only knows what he thought we’d need two of them for.” Todd arched his eyebrow. “So what was it you said earlier about whipped—”
“Okay, okay.” She threw a roll of paper towels at him. “It’s not nice to tease people.”
Todd caught the towels and, in a heartbeat, got all serious. “I’m not teasing you, Jolie. Well, okay, maybe I am, but in a good way. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings or embarrass you. You have to admit, it’s a funny coincidence.”
He was right, but the kicker was, she would actually like to see what the two of them could do with whipped cream. How was that for embarrassing? But no way, no how, would she admit to it. He was finding it funny while she was finding it a turn-on.
“Yes,” she said in the most devil-may-care voice she could muster, “it is pretty funny. And pretty messy.”
The ironic thing was, if that brand hadn’t been listed in his personal dossier the employment agency compiled on its clients, she would have bought real cream—unwhipped cream—and this debacle would never have happened. But no. He had to like the commercial stuff enough to mention it on his Favorites list.
The phone rang again, for which she was thankful. Todd? Not so much. He cursed and headed toward the den while she went back to emptying the bags.
“I unplugged the phone.” He was back in two seconds flat. “That ought to end the calls.”
Ah yes. She still had to address the dinner location tangent. “Uh, Todd?”
“Yes, Jolie?”
She had to bite back a sigh. He really did say her name completely differently than anyone else ever had. And before she analyzed if that was a good thing or not, she dumped a bag of peppers in the vegetable bin and stuck her head around the fridge door. “Um, about tonight—” She poked her head back into the fridge. She couldn’t look at him when she said it. She wasn’t a good enough liar.
“What about it?”
“Um, well.” Bam, clang, went the drawers and shelves. “I was thinking that I’m not really dressed for The Midnight Maiden. Maybe we should go someplace else. Fast food or something. It really doesn’t matter. It’s the gesture that counts. So I’m totally fine with someplace other than The Midnight Maiden. Or I could cook. Whatever.” For the fifth time she moved the butter between the dairy drawer and the little flip compartment on the door.
Silence.
Could be good, could be bad.
“Oh.”
Or utter dejection—which was not one of her options.
She peered around the door, ready to duck back in if he was staring at her. She could pretend all right, but flat out lying to him was sort of hard.
Does lying by omission count? Naughty Girl asked. You know. The love story thing?
Not now! Jolie shoved Naughty Girl to the depths of Whose-Side-Are-You-On-Anyway while Todd mangled one of the twisty-ties on a produce bag, his shoulders hunched. She banged the drawer a little more so he’d think she was still inside the fridge and not staring at him.
He took a big breath, then threw his shoulders back and raised his chin, dropping the bag on the table. Okay, they’d be eating bruised tomatoes.
He turned and—darn it!—she wasn’t quick enough to bury her face back in the fridge. Which was sort of a good thing since her nose was getting cold.
About the only part of her that was.
“I’ve made the reservations. We have to go,” he said as if declaring World War III. “I’ll unpack the rest of the things,” came out like orders in a military campaign. “You go ahead home and get ready. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“But... but... but... ”
Really, Jolie, just ’cause the guy has a magnificent one, you don’t need to harp on it. Get your mind out of the boxers and into this conversation.
Naughty Girl was lecturing her?
“Lunch,” Jolie managed to spit out. Finally
.
“I’m perfectly capable of throwing a sandwich together.”
“Well, um, okay. Of course you are. But the dishes. I can do the dishes.”
His shoved his hands into his pockets. “I said I’d get to them. And I will.”
First the dinner location, then the whipped cream fiasco. It was probably in her best interests to just agree with him and get the heck out of there.
She side-stepped toward the patio door with an ungraceful lunge to grab her purse off the tabletop where it had fallen over. “Well, if you’re sure, then. I mean, if you really want to go to The Midnight Maiden, I guess I can’t stop you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem with The Midnight Maiden? It’s where you said you want to go, right?”
“Problem?” Did she just squeak? That was so not attractive. He nodded. “No. No problem. Seven is fine. I’ll be ready.”
Of course she couldn’t exit gracefully. The darn purse got caught on the French door handle as she closed it and she had to make another exit. How mortifying.
God, she was only trying to do a good deed. She yanked open her car door and sat, banging her knee on the steering wheel of her Bug. The guy didn’t have to take her there. There were a zillion restaurants in the city; any one of them would do.
She turned on the ignition, the sputtering rumble rumble sounding as agitated as she felt. Why did he have to have his heart set on that one?
She backed out of his driveway and headed out of the cul-de-sac. Well, it wasn’t as if she had a say in the matter anymore. She’d tried. Now all she had to do was kill time until dinner. Thank goodness for Mr. Griff’s book. That ought to keep her occupied.
At the stop sign, she reached for her purse and opened it.
The book wasn’t there.
Oh crud. It was sitting on Todd’s kitchen table, right next to the bag of capers and spices.
Great. She was batting a thousand today. First she asked him to take her to his wife’s favorite restaurant, then she innuendo-ed all over the place with whipped cream, and then she left a love story sitting out in plain view.
Why didn’t she just rip the guy’s heart out and be done with it?
Beauty and The Best (Once-Upon-A-Time Romance) Page 5
