The Man Upstairs (You, Me & The Kids)

by Pamela Bauer

  Then, to Dena’s horror, she pulled Quinn by the arm and urged him to take a seat at the table. “Here. Have some pizza. It’s great for black eyes,” she said with another grin. “And you can talk to Dena.” Then she excused herself, saying, “I have to make a call. I’ll see you later.” Before Dena or Quinn could utter a word, she had flitted out of the room.

  Dena looked at the man sitting across from her and wanted to get up and run after Krystal. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a dark blue sweater that clung to his broad, muscular chest.

  Suddenly all the adjectives Krystal had used to describe him glared back at Dena. Wide, thick, strong, rough, tough. Her heartbeat quickened and she wished it wouldn’t.

  Quinn reached over to take a slice of the pizza. “Hi, Dena.”

  The smile that accompanied his greeting kept her reply simple. “Hi.” He smelled good. Another reason for her pulse to behave erratically. “Your eye still does look pretty bad.”

  “It’ll take a few days for the color to disappear,” he said, his gaze never flinching from her face. “Leonie gave me some cream to put on it. Something with aloe in it, I think.” He took a bite of the pizza, and said, “This is good.”

  She agreed.

  Then he said, “I wasn’t really looking for Leonie.” He pulled her pink stationery from his pocket and waved it in the air.

  To her chagrin, she could feel her face warm. “You were supposed to call me at work,” she said primly.

  “I’d rather talk to you here in person.”

  That sent another rush of heat through her.

  “What is it you need to talk to me about? Do you want another stick?” He held her gaze.

  “Actually, it’s a little bit bigger favor than that,” she confessed.

  “Bigger, huh. A jersey?” The same teasing glint that had been in his eyes last night was there this evening, too. “Or do you need tickets?”

  “No, no tickets. What I need is…” she began, wanting to steer the conversation from a flirtatious tone to a more businesslike one, but he wasn’t about to let her.

  He held up his hand. “No, don’t tell me now. Have lunch with me tomorrow and we’ll discuss it.”

  Lunch with him? Not a good idea, a little voice inside her head warned. “It would be easier if we could just discuss this now. I work downtown and—”

  “That’s all right. So do I.”

  The last thing she wanted was to be seen in a public place with a well-known hockey player. She could only imagine the attention he’d draw. He was so big…and so good-looking. “It’s really hard for me to get away for more than a quick bite during the lunch hour.”

  “I have a reputation for being quick.” Again his tone was provocative, and to her dismay, it sent a tiny shiver through her.

  He was one good-looking man and he knew it. It annoyed her that she wasn’t immune to his charm. She didn’t want to be attracted to any man at this time in her life, and especially not a celebrity.

  Then he said, “I prefer to discuss business over food, Ms. Bailey. This is about business, isn’t it?”

  She almost blushed. Almost. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Then should we meet tomorrow for lunch?” Those baby-blue eyes demanded an answer.

  “All right. Lunch it is.” When a gleam of satisfaction lit his eyes, she added, “My treat.”

  “It’s a date,” he said, rising to his feet.

  Which was exactly what Dena didn’t want it to be.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DENA DRESSED FOR WORK the next morning as she did most days—in comfortable jeans, a T-shirt and a jacket. As usual, she chose to make her fashion statement with her socks, selecting a pair that had the Paris skyline on them. She added her artist palette pin on the lapel of the blazer and felt ready to tackle the day…and Quinn Sterling.

  They had agreed to meet at a coffee shop just around the corner from Delaney Design. It was also close to the Excel Center and a good place to have a professional lunch—for that was what it was going to be. It didn’t matter what she’d seen in his eyes last night. Today was business.

  It was a typical winter day in Minnesota, with a strong wind making the air feel a lot colder than the temperature indicated. Dena expected Quinn to be waiting inside the lobby of the building where the coffee shop was located. He wasn’t. He stood outside in the cold, wearing a leather jacket, but no gloves and no hat—as if there wasn’t a subzero windchill factor. He was tough. It seemed that adjective popped in her mind frequently when she was around him.

  When he saw her he smiled and said, “Hi, neighbor.” It was a sexy kind of grin that said he was happy to see her—and not because she lived downstairs from him.

  “Hello.” She tried to make her smile one of a business nature. Under her arm she carried a portfolio, which she switched to the other arm in order to shake his hand.

  He held the door for her so she could enter first the office building, then the coffee shop. She felt his hand at her back as he ushered her toward the small sign that read: Please wait to be seated.

  “It’s cold out there.” She felt the need to make small talk as they waited for the hostess to seat them.

  “It’s not bad for the middle of February,” he commented, then turned his attention to the young woman who greeted him by name.

  “Two?” the hostess asked, eyeing Dena curiously.

  “You got it,” he said with a broad smile, his hand still at Dena’s back.

  “Right this way.” The young woman picked up two menus and motioned for them to follow her. Dena could feel eyes glancing in their direction as they walked the length of the coffee shop. When Quinn nodded and said hello to a couple of men seated at the counter, she knew it was because they’d recognized him as a hockey player.

  He removed his jacket and she saw again just how massive he was. He looked too wide to be sitting on a bench seat made for one, and she thought he should have asked for a regular booth that seated four.

  She looked around and wondered how many of the curious glances had come their way because he’d been recognized.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, he said, “If heads turned when we came in, it’s because I’m usually in here with a couple of banged-up hockey players, not a beautiful woman.”

  As much as she didn’t want the compliment to affect her, she couldn’t prevent the tiny rush of pleasure his words created. She gave him a look she’d perfected years ago—the one that said, Give me a break. That line’s as old as the hills, and dismissed the comment with a question.

  “Do you get recognized often?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “It depends on where I am. If I’m at an ice arena, yes. If I’m at an art museum, no. Be honest. Until we met, would you have recognized me if you’d been sitting here in this coffee shop having lunch?”

  “No. I’ve never seen a Minnesota Cougars game.” As soon as she’d said the words, she wished she could retract them. It wasn’t what she should have said, considering the favor she needed to ask. “But then I just moved here from Rhode Island,” she explained.

  Again that wonderful smile of his made an appearance as he said, “It’s all right. You’re not a hockey fan. You don’t need to pretend that you are. Actually, I like the fact that you aren’t.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “It makes it easier.”

  She wanted to ask, Easier for what? but decided to let it go.

  If she’d hoped that discussion of menu selections and the appearance of their server would put the tone of their conversation back on a less personal track, she was wrong. The first thing he asked her when they resumed talking was, “Why did you leave Maddie and Dylan’s wedding early?”

  “What makes you think I left early?”

  “Because I searched the entire ballroom for you. If you had been there, I would have found you.”

  If she’d had any doubt as to his interest in her, it was certainly put to rest by the way he was looking at her. His words cau
ght her by surprise and at the same time sent another tremor of excitement through her.

  “I left early because I had to catch a plane the next morning. I was still living in Rhode Island at the time,” she told him.

  “That’s a shame. That was one terrific wedding celebration. I’m only sorry that I came late to the party.” She could hear the sincerity in his voice and see the regret in his eyes.

  “It was a nice day for them,” she said simply.

  “Tell me what you were doing in Rhode Island,” he urged, leaning forward so that he was closer to her.

  “Working, which is what I’m supposed to be doing now.” She reached for the portfolio that contained the legal documents he needed to sign.

  “Oh, that’s right. You want something from me.”

  She thought she detected a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Not for myself. For Aaron Jorgenson.”

  “There’s another charity event?”

  “Not an event exactly, but it is a fund-raiser to help with his medical bills.” She told him about the plans for the calendar featuring celebrity graduates of Minnesota high schools, ending with, “Each month will have a different celebrity in front of their alma maters.”

  He leaned back. “Ah, I get it. You want me to be one of the so-called Minnesota stars, right?”

  She nodded. “Mr. January. You’re perfect for the spot. Hockey is a winter sport, and you did go to the same high school as Aaron Jorgenson.”

  “What kind of a photo would this be?”

  “Probably one of you in your uniform on the ice rink behind your old school but you can work out the details when you meet with the art director. And as for scheduling the photo shoot—it would be at your convenience, of course. Here.” She pulled out the letter of introduction she’d been given and passed it to him. “This should answer any questions you have.”

  He gave it a quick glance, then set it down. “I’d have to have my agent look this over to make sure there’s not a problem with my contract.”

  She nodded in understanding. “Of course. And if he says there are no problems?”

  He shrugged. “Then I’ll do it.”

  Relief washed over her. She couldn’t believe it was so easy to get him to agree.

  Then he said, “On one condition.”

  Apprehension crept through her. “And that is?”

  “That you return the favor.”

  “And do what?” She chuckled. “I’m not a celebrity.”

  “You don’t need to be a celebrity to do charity work,” he reminded her.

  “No, you’re right.” She took a drink of water to wet her dry mouth. “What is it you want me to do?”

  “Help out one of the nonprofit organizations the Cougars sponsor,” he told her.

  She knew the local professional sports teams took active roles in the community because she’d seen them on the nightly news. “If you get me a list, I’d be happy to make a donation to one of them,” she suggested.

  “I’m not talking about giving cash, Dena. These programs need volunteers who will give their time.” His eyes didn’t waver from hers.

  “All right. I’ll volunteer my time. As I said, send me a list and I’ll be happy to help out.”

  “I trust you’re a woman of your word?” he asked with a lift of his water glass.

  “Of course. You have a deal, Mr. Sterling.” She stretched out her hand and he took it in a grip that said he didn’t want to let it go again.

  Fortunately their food arrived and he was forced to drop her hand. Dena ate her soup and sandwich as fast as possible, wanting to get back to her office. She made the appropriate small talk but was grateful when the waitress dropped the check on the table.

  She snatched it up and glanced pointedly at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I’m on a really tight schedule.”

  “No problem,” he said, getting to his feet so he could help her with her coat but she slipped it on before he had a chance.

  “If you’ll just look at the information that’s in that envelope…” She trailed off, buttoning the front. “I think it’s all pretty self-explanatory.”

  “If I have any questions, I suppose I could always tap three times on the floor,” he said with a crooked smile.

  “It would probably be better for you to call Greg Watkins. He’s the person in charge of the project.”

  “I’d rather call you.”

  The look he gave her said it wasn’t because he’d have questions about the calendar. He was definitely interested in her. She could see it in his eyes.

  “I’ve got to get back to work,” she said, tugging on her gloves.

  He escorted her out of the coffee shop, his hand at her back. When she walked beside him she felt small and fragile, a rare experience for someone as tall as she was. She discovered she rather liked the feeling and wished that it had been other circumstances that had brought them together. She imagined a guy like Quinn Sterling could make a woman feel special in a lot of ways.

  As she said goodbye to him outside, she realized there was no place for those kind of thoughts in her mind. He was an assignment and one she’d completed. There would be no reason for her to have any contact with him again other than the occasional hello that neighbors give one another. She’d experienced the power of celebrity charisma and had come through without any scars. Now she could go back to the real world. Her work.

  DENA THOUGHT that once she delivered the news that Quinn Sterling had agreed to be Mr. January, her part in the calendar project would be finished. She never expected Greg Watkins would ask her to go with him to the photo shoot.

  “I hope this guy shows up,” the art director said as they sat in the Delaney van with the engine running, waiting for Quinn to arrive. The camera crew had already set up their equipment on the skating rink. “If we have to reschedule, this snow and ice could be gone.”

  “He’ll show up,” Dena said as she stared out the window, hoping that she was right. The outdoor conditions were ideal, especially for the first week in March. She knew that an early spring could turn the solid ice into slush and force them indoors for the shoot. Besides, if Quinn didn’t show up, she was going to feel responsible, which was ridiculous. All she’d done was get him to agree to do the calendar. She hadn’t even recommended him for the job.

  “Well, I hope he’s on time. The professional athletes I’ve worked with have acted like the world should wait for them,” Greg said with disdain.

  Dena didn’t comment but pushed back her cuff to see her watch. “He has seven more minutes to get here before you can call him late.”

  “This Sterling character must have had his picture taken often enough that this should be a piece of cake. I hope it goes bing-bing and we’re done,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I don’t fancy having to stand out in the cold for hours on end.”

  “I thought that was why you brought me. So I could stand out in the cold,” she quipped.

  “I brought you because you were a part of the deal.” He tapped his gloved fingers on the steering wheel. “Besides, if you want to be an art director someday, this is good practice.”

  She could have pointed out that she’d done her part of the deal—getting Quinn Sterling to agree to be in the calendar. Instead she focused on the fact that he’d brought her along because he wanted her to get experience. That meant he thought she had the potential to serve as one of the eight art directors at the agency, that she was talented enough to work at the same level as he.

  “Yes, it is, and I thank you for such an opportunity,” she said sincerely. She knew that he could have chosen any one of the graphic designers working under him to accompany him on the shoot, yet he’d chosen her.

  “Don’t thank me. I would have left you behind except Quinn Sterling said the only way he’d do the shoot was if you were there.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Oh my gosh, you’re not.” Disappointment replaced the thrill of pleasure his earlie
r words had produced.

  “Do you have something going with this guy?” he asked, giving her a slanted glance.

  “No!” she denied vigorously. “Good grief, he’s my neighbor. That’s all.”

  “I don’t care what he is as long as he’s on time.” His attention was captured by the silver SUV approaching. “And it looks like he is.”

  Dena recognized the vehicle and knew it was Quinn.

  “Okay, let’s get this over with,” Greg said when the SUV had parked on the other side of the photographer’s van.

  Dena pulled on her gloves and went out into the cold. They walked over to Quinn’s SUV, where he stood with the back open.

  Other than shaking his hand and saying hello, Dena remained quiet, content to let Greg do the talking. Determined to keep everything on a professional level, she followed the art director’s instructions and paid close attention to the technical aspects as the photographer did his job.

  To her surprise, Quinn treated her as impersonally as he did the others at the shoot. He said little, cooperating in a manner with which Dena knew Greg could find no fault. There were no flirtatious glances, no sexy smiles tossed her way. By the time it was over, she was wondering why he had even insisted that she be there and decided she’d misread his interest in her earlier.

  When the last of the shots had been taken, he skated over to the wooden bench from where Dena had watched the shoot. He sat down beside her so he could slip a pair of skate guards over his blades.

  “So how do you think it went?” he asked.

  “Good. Richard Davis does beautiful work. I think you’re going to be pleased with the results,” she said, nodding toward the photographer. “Greg has already shown me the proofs for several of the calendar models, and they’re incredible.” It had started to snow, and huge white flakes fell around them. She caught some in her gloved hand and said, “Looks like we finished just in time.”

  When she glanced at him, he was staring at her. The look of interest was back on his face. There was no mistaking it and his words confirmed it. “I’m glad you came today.”

  “Greg told me you requested I be here.”