I dig my fingers into her perfect bun, and she fights to keep her eyes open. “We had a deal,” she murmurs. “One night.”
“And then we had a second night. Now we’ll have a third.”
“I don’t know, Andrew . . .”
I remove bobby pins and an elastic band from her hair. It falls around her shoulders in waves, a nice change from her normally pin-straight style. I touch the corner of her red mouth, smearing the tiniest bit of lipstick onto my thumb. “I like you put together,” I say gruffly. “So I can undo you.”
She bites into her bottom lip, drawing my eyes to her mouth. “Undo me?” she asks. “Or just do me?”
I nearly growl. “Right here in the stairwell?” I crook my finger into the waistband of her skirt and pull her even closer. “Because I should warn you. I’m a man on edge. I have been ever since the hotel.”
I watch her delicate throat as she swallows, as redness creeps up from under her collar. “Then you shouldn’t have left me there all alone.”
“No. I shouldn’t have.” I mean it even more now that I know what she’d been through earlier that night. “I don’t want him near you.”
“Who?” she asks breathlessly.
“Reggie.”
Her lips part as she pulls back a little. “Reggie?”
“How’d he take it when you said no to getting back together?”
She frowns and looks away. “I don’t want to talk about this. It’s personal.”
“Too bad. I want personal right now. What was his reaction?”
Her shoulders slouch a little, and I slip my hand under her hair, to her neck, to comfort her. “He didn’t like it,” she says. “He isn’t good with rejection. He promises this time will be different.”
Different? I open my mouth to tell her it won’t be, but she cuts me off.
“It won’t be. I know that. He just won’t hear me.”
“Maybe it’d clear out his ears if I kicked his ass.”
She laughs softly. “Where’d you come from? A mob movie?”
I grin. “That’s how we handle things in my part of Jersey.”
She looks hard at me a few seconds, absentmindedly rubbing her collarbone, turning her skin pink. “Maybe I should skip dinner.”
“It’s five on a Friday,” I say. “What could you possibly have to do that’s so important?”
“It’s . . . not about work.”
I know right away what she means, since it’s the first place my mind went when Sadie mentioned inviting Amelia. “Bell,” I say. I sigh up at the ceiling. “I admit, it’s weird. But you and I aren’t dating. So it wouldn’t be like I’m introducing you to her as a . . . it’s not like you’re—”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m not trying to be anyone’s mommy.”
I look down my nose at her, my interest piqued hearing that once-familiar word. I haven’t referred to anyone as mommy since Shana left. “Don’t underestimate mommies and daddies,” I say. “That stuff about the birds and the bees has to come from somewhere.”
She touches the hem of my t-shirt. I nearly shudder when her knuckles graze my stomach. “Speaking of roleplaying, I thought you were kidding about dressing up as a garbage man.”
I check my clothing again. “This is what I work in.”
“Oh.” She looks me up and down, her eyes twinkling. She’s giving me shit and enjoying it. “Good thing I find it sexy.”
“Yeah?” I ask. “That was risky, sending me that photo in the bath. I almost came back to the hotel room for you.”
She purses her lips. “I wouldn’t have let you in.”
“No?”
She presses her body to mine, rises onto the balls of her feet, and kisses me on the mouth. The way her soft lips mush into mine makes my dick come alive. I’ve wanted this sweet taste, these red lips, since I stepped into this building. And before that. Since I left her and her sexy dress in that hotel room. I go to wrap my arms around her waist, but she pulls away. She gives me the cigarette before glancing at my crotch. “Better do something about that, handyman,” she says and walks around me to return to the office. “We have a whole meal to get through.”
EIGHTEEN
AMELIA
Andrew’s daughter holds his hand as we walk to the restaurant, but she won’t stop turning around and looking at me. It’s as if she suspects something. But how could she at her age? She wears a miniature pink backpack, which is funny because miniature backpacks are all the rage right now.
To my left, Sadie fills me in on the latest feature she secured some client on some website. Bell is a beautiful little girl, a spitting image of her dark, mysterious father. She seems well behaved, but in my experience, most kids are until they aren’t.
“Turn left at the corner,” Sadie tells Andrew. “It’s the place with the red-and-white checkered tables out front. They have a kid’s menu.” She turns back to me. “Anyway, what do you think? Is it time to make a play?”
“For who?” I ask.
“Jo Keller—of What Jo Wore? The breakout fashion blogger I’ve been watching for months?”
Hot, new, promising up-and-comers are my thing. It’s partly how I made a name for myself in the industry—carefully researching clients in order to create my dream roster and then ruthlessly going after them, no matter if they were looking for representation or not. But my gut reaction isn’t excitement. Taking on a new client means presentations, lunches, dinners and drinks, numbers, negotiation. It costs money. And time—which is another way of saying money. Considering my business is currently up in the air, I don’t know that I can afford to bring on anyone new. At least when I was starting out, I had enough energy to make up for lack of money. Since I missed winning the award last week and confessed my hesitations about avec to Andrew, my focus has been waning. And the more it wanes, the harder I have to work to keep up.
“Let’s hold off,” I say.
“Why?” Sadie asks. “She’s got staying power, Amelia. Someone’ll scoop her up if they aren’t wooing her already.”
I scratch my eyebrow, glancing at the back of Andrew’s head. Strangely, he knows more about my situation with Reggie than anyone in my office. “I trust your instinct,” I tell Sadie. “But just keep doing what you’re doing. We’ll revisit in a few weeks.”
“Okay . . .”
Andrew opens the door to the restaurant. Bell and Sadie walk through, and as I follow, he taps my ass. I haven’t forgotten that it only took one kiss earlier to make him twitch against me. Or that he came all this way to see me. I might’ve been able to say no if I’d forgotten about him this week like I’d planned. When he suddenly left the hotel after I’d worked up the nerve to spend a second night with him, I remembered why we had an arrangement in the first place. But seeing him unexpectedly in the office just now made me realize how gray my week had been until that moment. And I didn’t want to forget. Time with Andrew—our baths, conversations, sex—has been the most at peace I’ve felt in months. Maybe even since Reggie left.
The hostess greets us. It’s early for dinner, so the restaurant is nearly empty. She leads us to a four-top table with two chairs on each side.
“Do you want to sit by me or Aunt Sadie?” Andrew’s deep voice carries over all our heads, like something I could reach up and touch.
“Aunt Sadie,” Bell says. She and Sadie claim one side of the table, which leaves Andrew and me standing. I look back at him for direction. I’m not used to being around children, and I’ve never dated a man with one. Does he need to be across from her? Will he need to cut her food or distract her when she gets bored and starts acting up?
He grins, almost as if he finds my discomfort amusing, then gestures to the chair facing Bell. He sits next to me.
Almost immediately, a waiter drops off a basket of bread and a paper menu with crayons for Bell. “Evening, folks. Something to drink?”
I open my mouth to order a white wine, but Sadie interrupts me. “Just water for us.”
; I shut my mouth and frown. Does one child at the table seriously mean all three adults need to remain sober? Directly across from me, Bell tilts her head, studying me as if she’s reading my thoughts. For a split second, I’m worried she can. “You work with Aunt Sadie?”
I glance over at Sadie, who answers for me. “Yes.”
“Actually, that’s not true,” I say, lacing my hands in front of me and leaning in. “I’m your aunt’s boss. I get to tell her what to do.”
Bell smiles. “Like my dad. He’s the boss of Randy and Pico and all the guys at the shop. Except Burt.”
“Who’s Burt?” Sadie asks.
Andrew clears his throat. “Burt is Bell’s imaginary friend.”
“No he isn’t,” Bell says, nearly giggling. “He’s the man who fixes Daddy’s motorcycle when Daddy doesn’t know how.”
He rolls his eyes. “Daddy doesn’t need help. Maybe in your imaginary world.”
Sadie and I narrow our eyes on Andrew at the same moment, but he focuses on his menu. “Even experts need help sometimes,” he mutters, then coughs into his fist. I swear he says “traitor.”
“So do you get to wear a lot of makeup and expensive clothes too?” Bell asks me.
I turn back to her. “All the time.”
Her eyes light up. “Cool. I can’t wait until I get to wear makeup.”
“Which will be never,” Andrew says, turning a page of the menu.
“Aunt Sadie already let me.”
He jerks his head up. “Excuse me?”
“B-e-e-ll,” Sadie says. “Are you physically incapable of keeping secrets?”
Bell nods, smiling at me. “Families don’t keep secrets. That’s what my dad says.”
Andrew sighs. “Christ.”
I look from Bell to Andrew and Sadie, who seemed to be locked in some kind of stare down. “Did you hear that?” Sadie asks. “Family doesn’t keep secrets.”
“I heard. And you promised you’d keep that shit away from her.”
“Come on—she’s a girl,” Sadie says. “She’s curious about these things. We played dress up around the apartment.”
“She’s not even seven,” he argues.
Sadie butters a piece of bread, shrugging. “You keep it from her, and she’ll just want it more.”
Sensing Andrew’s irritation, I address Bell. “Your aunt and I try to get women to want makeup and clothing from our clients,” I say, “but you want to hear a secret?”
Bell leans her forearms onto the table, mirroring my posture. “Yes. I’m very good with secrets.”
“It’s mostly bullsh—” I stop and look at Andrew. “Not everyone needs makeup. In fact, most women look best with only very little.”
Bell looks at her dad. She picks up a crayon, taps it on the table, and squints, skeptical. “Really?”
I nod. “The secret to being beautiful is confidence.” As an afterthought, I add my mom’s advice to me. “Confidence—and great skin.”
She sits up straighter and smiles. “I’m confident. All my teachers say so.”
“Oh, so when someone else says it, you believe it?” Andrew asks. “I tell you you’re beautiful all the time.”
“I know, but you’re my dad.” She rolls her eyes to the back of her head and says to me, “He has to say that.”
“Well, he’s right.” I lean in a little and add quickly, “But just in case, make sure to hydrate, moisturize regularly, and always wear sunscreen.”
Sadie laughs, but Bell just pinches her eyebrows together and looks to her dad, apparently done with the conversation. “I’m hungry.”
“What do you want?” Andrew asks as he picks out a piece of bread and butters it for her. “Macaroni and cheese?”
She nods. “And Coke.”
“No soda this late, you know that.” He offers me the bread basket. “Roll?”
“Are you going to butter mine too?” I ask with a hint of a smirk.
“Amelia doesn’t eat bread,” Sadie says.
Andrew mocks me with a gasp. “Really?”
“Not even sandwiches?” Bell asks.
“No,” I say. “Not macaroni either.”
“Why not?”
“Because carbohydrates make you f—” I pause. Bell’s eyes are big with curiosity. The people I pay to listen to me aren’t even this attentive. Her young brain is soaking up my words like a sponge. My own mother comes to mind, a well-to-do, naturally thin Texan who couldn’t understand why her daughter was overweight when I had constant access to any type of food I wanted, any time of day. Even though I lost the weight as a teenager, whenever I talk to her, she asks about what I’m eating, a subtle way to find out if I’ve reverted to my eleven-year-old self.
I feel Andrew staring at me. Considering how concerned he is with my diet, and how protective he is of Bell, I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me if I finish my sentence. “Carbs, like bread and pasta, make some people . . . tired,” I say instead. “And in my line of work, it’s not good to be tired.”
“Oh.” She takes a bite of her roll. “Not me. I love sandwiches. I can eat them all day and not get tired.”
I sip my water. “What’s your favorite kind?”
“Pastrami with mustard.”
“That’s a lot of sandwich for a little girl,” I point out.
“I can finish it,” she says. “Most of the time. If not, Dad eats the leftovers. He’s a human garbage disposable.”
“Disposal,” I correct, but she doesn’t hear me over Andrew and Sadie’s laughter.
“Now you answer,” Bell says. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Hmm.”
“Glenlivet doesn’t count,” Andrew says.
I giggle, but stop when I notice Sadie’s stare. “Inside joke from the award ceremony,” I tell her, clearing my throat. “Remember?”
Sadie nods slowly. “I remember . . .”
“Anyway,” I say, returning to Bell, “I love Brussels sprouts.”
Everyone groans. Bell makes a face. “Ew.”
“You can’t be serious,” Andrew says.
“I’m not.” I laugh. “Cupcakes are my weakness. Especially those huge ones from Crumbs with all the frosting and toppings.”
Andrew and Sadie turn to me. “What?” they ask in unison.
“I don’t eat them often,” I say, reeling back from their glares, “but that doesn’t mean they can’t be my favorite.”
“I like cupcakes,” Bell says. “What’s your favorite movie that’s not for grownups?”
Andrew coughs again and turns his head to me. “Not Frozen,” he says through his teeth.
“What’s Frozen?”
“Are you kidding?” Sadie asks.
I look around the table at three open-mouthed stares and get the sudden sensation of being the old person at a table of teenagers who’s never heard of Snapchat. “Oh, right,” I say, forcing a smile. “Frozen. The one about penguins.”
Bell squeals and dissolves into peals of laughter. Her face reddens as she tries to catch her breath. “No,” she gasps. “Not even close.”
Andrew puts his hand on my knee, creeping it up the inside of my thigh. Instinctively, butterflies flurry inside me. My body only knows his touch as a precursor to sex, and I get instantly warm, my stomach tightening. But then he slips his hand into mine, squeezes it, and doesn’t let go.
“I-I don’t really know any of the new stuff,” I stammer, partly because of Andrew’s unexpected affection and partly, I realize, because I was enjoying Bell’s idolization of me, and now she probably thinks I’m just another clueless adult. “I prefer the older Disney movies from when I was growing up.”
Bell gasps and yells, “Me too.”
“Hush,” Andrew says, glancing at the other patrons. “We’re in public, Bell.”
She clasps her hands together, ignoring him. “What’s your favorite? Mine’s Beauty and the Beast.”
“That’s a good one,” I say. “Is that who you’re named after? Belle?”
>
“No. She has an ‘e’ on the end of her name, but I don’t. I just like how the beast was mean to her, but she was always nice to him anyway and then they’re in love. And she reads.”
“You like to read?” I ask.
“Yes. My dad reads to me every night.”
I look over at Andrew. He keeps his eyes on Bell but curls his lips just a hint, one dimple deepening in his cheek. A tattoo creeps out from under his sleeve, the dark shadow visible through the thin white fabric. He’s a man’s man, macho as I’ve ever known, but every single night, he puts his princess-loving daughter to bed with a fairytale. And that’s a problem for me—because I didn’t think I could find him any more irresistible than I already do.
Out front of the restaurant, I sling my purse over my shoulder and offer Andrew my hand, even though we made a fairly embarrassing scene arguing over the bill. “Thank you for dinner.”
He eyes me coolly, keeping his hands in his pockets. “No problem. You only had a side salad, after all.”
“Thanks for noticing,” I say dryly, lowering my hand back to my side. Apparently his fixation with my diet hasn’t subsided. “I should get back to work.”
Sadie gasps. “I just had the best idea.” She opens her mouth, pauses, and shakes her head. “No. Never mind. Your dad’ll never go for it.”
Andrew groans, but Bell bounces on the balls of her feet. “What, what, what?”
“Well . . .” Sadie hesitates. “Uncle Nathan and I have started decorating the nursery. I thought maybe Bell would like to come over and help—”
Bell whirls to Andrew. “Can I, Daddy? Please?”
He widens his eyes at her. “You want to?”
“Yes,” she says. “I have ideas. I want to so bad. Please?”
Andrew and I both look at Sadie, and she arches an eyebrow at him. “She wants to. Because you won’t let her. See how that works?”
He doesn’t look amused. “You’re giving me a lesson in parenting?”
“You can pick her up tomorrow,” Sadie says, casting me a glance. “Or Sunday, depending on how complicated things get. With the nursery, I mean. Come around lunch, and we’ll do a picnic in Prospect Park.”
The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue Book 2) Page 18
