“Yeah, hardly gave us any chance to get to know each other,” he said softly, looking her squarely in the face.
“We still have lots more work to go,” she said, spreading her hands across the ledgers before her. We may get to know each other yet, she thought. However, she knew that at the pace they were working, the job would take half the time it usually took with Pickens. It was hard for her to believe that cutting this job short could be disappointing, but it was.
Todd started to roll down his shirt-sleeves.
“I passed a little French restaurant across the street today when I was coming back from lunch. My friend said he had heard some good things about it. Are you familiar with it?”
He. So the friend was male, not female, as she and Trudy had so tortured themselves into believing.
“It’s excellent. The partners go there frequently for lunch. I was there once when they were celebrating one of the staff’s promotion to partner.”
“Good. I stopped in and made reservations for tonight. I just hope my prospective dinner date can join me.”
“The person would be a fool not to join you.”
“You don’t look like a fool, Amy.”
She stopped shuffling papers around and turned toward Todd.
“How about it? Join me for dinner.”
Amy looked straight at Todd. The exhaustion of the day’s work seemed to fall away as her body lifted up to its full height.
“You’re right. I’m no fool,” she whispered in a sultry tone.
When she and Todd reached the reception area Amy was surprised to see that Trudy was still seated at her desk, flipping through the appointment book.
“It’s almost seven o’clock, Trudy. What are you still doing here?”
“Have to wrap up a few things. I should be out of here within another fifteen minutes or so.”
Amy could see the question in Trudy’s eyes as her glance shifted between Amy and Todd. While he opened the door, Amy surreptitiously gave Trudy a thumbs up sign.
A brilliant smile caused a twinkle to form in Trudy’s eyes. It was as if she were going to dinner with Todd instead of Amy.
Chapter 2
Not a Bad Job
Todd opened the door to the French restaurant, allowing Amy to enter first. The room was mainly lit by candlelight reflected off the three mirrored walls. Ceiling lights dimly gave off additional illumination, enabling patrons and staff to see their way in between the closely crowded tables.
The maitre d’ hurried over to them and, with a feigned French accent, asked how many would be in their party.
“Only the two of us,” Todd answered, thinking that there certainly wouldn’t be room for many more than that. Practically every table was full.
“The firm rented out the entire restaurant for our celebration,” Amy whispered.
“I hope so.”
He watched Amy easily slip in and out of the maze of diners. She was certainly an attractive woman, although that had not been his main reason for asking her out. Todd wished that he could ease his bulk as lithely as she. Instead, he managed to bump into several tables, leaving pairs of faces scowling after him.
When the maitre d’ asked whether the table closest to the kitchen would be satisfactory, Todd shook his head.
He felt Amy slip her arm around his.
“We could wait for a better table or go someplace else. I don’t mind.”
Todd pulled out several bills from his trouser pocket and handed them to the maitre d’. The cost could be included on his expense account.
Suddenly, they were shown to a table toward the front of the restaurant, and a reserved sign was quickly swiped off the tablecloth. Todd pulled out a chair for Amy, since the maitre d’ had hurried off to welcome two more suckers. Her shoulder blades swept across the knuckles of his hand, bringing a slight static electric charge. She moved forward and away from him instantly, and Todd found himself a bit disappointed.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“Oh, no, my fault.”
“I think it’s really the fault of the carpeting,” he said, taking the seat across from her.
Even in the dim light, Todd could see Amy’s face color as she nodded. God, he didn’t expect that she would be this pretty, actually more like beautiful, he thought, as he took in the high cheekbones and sea-green eyes. Her nose was classically perfect and the lips full and moist, glistening passion under the flickering light of the candle. He reminded himself that this was a job. Not a bad one, he conceded.
Finally, a waiter brought them two menus, and Todd was able to bury his head behind two pieces of cardboard.
“Do you like escargot?” Amy asked.
Snails. All he could think about were those slimy shelled creatures that crawled across the back porch of his parents’ house when he was a child.
“If you do, the garlic and butter sauce is delicious.”
Todd swallowed hard.
“I think I’m just going to have a salad and skip the appetizer, but if you care for something, please order whatever you want.”
Todd was hoping she’d give up on the idea of snails; sitting across from someone picking around in one of those shells could ruin his good appetite.
“Since I’ve already had the escargot, I think I’ll try something different. The sweetbreads look interesting.”
Why did Joey suggest taking her to this restaurant when he would have been much happier at a steak house? Todd ran his finger down the list of items. There must be beef here somewhere. Ah! Tournedos of beef. He wondered how cow meat was turned into tournedos. As long as they kept the sauce simple, he’d be all right. He glanced at the table. Salt and pepper. No ketchup. He supposed there wouldn’t be any fries on the plate when his entree was served.
“Has your friend eaten here?”
“My friend?”
“The one who recommended this place.”
“I doubt it.” Joey was more a McDonald’s kind of guy.
“How did he hear about it?”
“Excuse me?”
“How did he know to send you here?”
“We were just walking by, and he mentioned that the place had been rated highly somewhere.”
“Gourmet?”
“No, he’s not.”
“I mean, did he read about the restaurant in Gourmet magazine?”
“Doesn’t sound like his kind of reading material; probably in the local paper.”
Amy nodded and ran through some of the entrees that her fellow workers had tried.
“Trudy said the beef was a little tough here, so you may want to skip that, but I had the fresh poached salmon and it was wonderful.”
“She didn’t like the beef?”
Amy shook her head. Todd closed his menu, resigning himself to stringy meat. Immediately the waiter rushed over to take their order.
“I can’t decide.” Todd couldn’t believe it when Amy asked the waiter what he’d recommend. He was definitely lean and didn’t look like he ate much. As he listed several dishes, Todd realized there was an epidemic of phony accents in the place.
She ordered the sweetbreads appetizer, but decided to play it safe and stick to her poached salmon. Todd watched her gawk as he ordered the beef with a small salad. The waiter cleared his throat and suggested one of the fish dishes instead. Todd felt like suggesting meat tenderizer but thought it better to placate both staring faces.
“I’ll have the tuna steak.”
The waiter judged his choice to be perfect and slid the leather-bound wine list in front of Todd.
“Let’s see, we’re both having fish, so it’ll have to be white.” A red meat man, Todd was an expert on reds. “Do you like anything in particular, Amy?”
“They probably don’t have the discount wines I buy.” She laughed self-consciously.
He wanted to share his lack of knowledge. If he did, it would be opening up to a personal relationship in the midst of this case. Damn, if he wasn’t lucky. Each wine had a pictu
re next to it. One a chicken, another a cow, hey, and there was a fish. When the waiter returned he ordered that wine and was again commended upon his choice. Not too difficult, he thought.
“I didn’t know that Mr. Pickens was old enough to retire,” Amy said.
“He took early retirement so that he could spend more time on his hobbies. He has quite a collection of model trains, you know.”
Joey was the one with the model trains, but he was sure that Pickens and this woman had nothing in common and had probably kept most of their conversation to the work they were doing.
“I wanted a set of trains when I was a child, but my parents wouldn’t buy it for me. They said it wasn’t feminine; instead they bought me a new wardrobe for my Barbie Doll every time I complained.”
“What a shame. You’d be cute in an engineer’s cap.” Todd reached over and mussed her copper curls. Soft, he thought, running his fingers down through a curl that fell against her jawline. He pulled his hand back when the waiter brought the first course.
Amy’s sparkling eyes looked up at the waiter, and Todd heard a quiet giggle before she went on to talk of her family. She was fifteen years younger than her sister. A mid-life baby, as she described herself.
He enjoyed listening to her speak: the precision of her words and the breathy hint of laughter as she described her early years. Again, the conversation was halted by the changing of the plates.
The tuna looked fine. A steamy mist rose from Amy’s salmon.
“Careful, looks hot,” he said.
Amy grinned and took a small forkful, allowing a few seconds for the fish to cool before placing it in her mouth.
“Mmmm. Scrumptious.”
Maybe the food wouldn’t be half bad, he contemplated before cutting into the tuna. After taking a bite, Todd noted a silkiness about the fish. The center was cool and squishy. He checked his plate and found that the fish wasn’t cooked in the middle. Before he could call the waiter, Amy commented on how good the tuna looked.
“It’s rare in the center.” He turned the plate to show her the red center.
“That’s perfect. That’s just the way seared tuna should be.”
Perhaps, but he wasn’t above calling the waiter back to have the fish cooked well-done. Of course, when it was returned, the entree was tasteless.
Todd was relieved when Amy was too full for dessert. Once, when he had been in New Orleans at Antoine’s, he had felt ridiculous when he had ordered a flaming desert for which they turned off all the lights. Not able to see their own food in the dark, the other diners sat and watched his dish being prepared at his table. Never again.
Todd took Amy home in his rental car. He had to park a few blocks away from her house and they both had to climb a steep hill.
“I’m sorry about this.”
“Are you kidding? I do this everyday. It’s good exercise and a lot easier than using the Stairmaster at my health club.”
Todd laughed and said, “I know what you mean. I’ve built up some strong thigh muscles with that machine.”
He watched Amy’s eyes instinctively gaze down and drift over his lower body. A smile lifted the corners of his lips. Her head suddenly turned frontward and switched the topic to the cool breeze of the night. Unable to resist, Todd’s arm reached across her shoulders and pulled her into the heat of his body.
“Would you like my jacket?” he asked.
“No, this is much more comfortable,” she whispered.
At the door to her apartment, Todd kissed her full on the mouth, tasting the sweetness of her lips until they opened to him, allowing his tongue to test the wetness of her velvety palate.
This is a job, and you’re getting paid well for it, he reminded himself. Todd pulled away. “Good-night,” he whispered, running an index finger against her smooth cheek.
On the front steps of her apartment building Todd took several deep breaths. If he had allowed the kiss to last any longer, he would have been tempted to guide her into her apartment, and that might have been too fast for Ms Amy Simpson. He didn’t want to run the risk of alienating her before he had obtained her assistance. He decided he would have to keep his healthy male lust in check. But it was going to be difficult, he knew.
Wanting to walk off some of his amorous agitation, Todd headed down the hill, bypassing his car for a walk down by the pier a few blocks away. Hell, she was far more attractive than he had expected an office manager to be. And young, too. She couldn’t be more than twenty-eight, twenty-nine tops. These thoughts were doing nothing to alleviate his body’s tension. Todd quickened his step. A game of basketball might help right now, he thought. However, at this hour he wasn’t going to find any of that kind of action.
The fog had set in, and visibility was zero once he reached the beach. He slipped off his shoes and walked across the sand until a light spray of water touched his face. When he stopped, his heels buried deeper in the sand. Todd closed his eyes and listened to the waves hitting the rocks in front of him. He’d stay here a while and let the damp salty air settle into him while he cleared his head with meditation. Joey would have to wait for his late-night briefing.
Chapter 3
Who?
Amy Simpson was in love. The jostle on the commute to work couldn’t spoil her buoyant mood. Todd Coleman would be waiting at her final destination with bulging pecs and Stairmaster thighs. It was the best tax season ever.
It had taken her fifteen minutes longer than usual to dress that morning, since she couldn’t decide between a slim-fitting business tweed suit or a siren-red shirtwaist. She settled on a back-to-nature green dress with a silken canary scarf for accent.
The lobby of the building contained a few stragglers like herself, trying to run for the elevator doors that they knew would not stay open for them. A high-pitched ping moved the group to the next elevator with a green light.
She hoped Todd could overlook how late she was, but who could sleep last night? she thought. Hopefully, he couldn’t either. As the elevator neared her floor, she re-arranged her scarf and fluffed her hair. Amy had always thought that gave her a wild, sexy look. The man next to her stepped sideways, away from her and closer to the wall. She felt like telling him she didn’t have nits. Instead she smiled and said, “Good morning.”
Startled, the man reciprocated her greeting. He even smiled when she exited and held the door for her.
“Thank you.”
The man nodded and looked as though he were tempted to follow, but the elevator started to beep its demand to move on. The doors whooshed closed behind her, and Amy strode across the hall to open the glass-paneled doors before her.
Trudy was at her desk speaking on the telephone. When she saw Amy she began to wave one arm. Amy waved back, but from the corner of her eye she could see Trudy shaking her head. She’d have to come back later and see what was troubling the receptionist; right now she had better go to the conference room and let Todd know she had arrived. Besides, she couldn’t wait to slip into the reflection of his shimmery blue orbs.
Amy opened the door and thrust her head in first.
“Hi, I’m sorry to be late, but you’re partly to blame, you know.”
“Me!”
Pickle Pickens’ head shot up from the ledgers he had been buried in for the past hour.
“Pick... Mr. Pickens!”
“I get here early this morning, and there’s no one to help me. That half-brained receptionist shows up carrying yogurt and a cheap romance, looking at me as if I were a dead man.”
“Retired.”
“What?”
“We thought you had retired to engage in some of your hobbies, such as collecting model trains.”
“What are you talking about? The only hobby I have is my job. Model trains. Do I look like a five-year-old?”
“Many adults enjoy playing with model trains, Mr. Pickens. It’s not an insult, honestly. It keeps some people young.”
“And brain-dead.”
“Do you need a
ny coffee, Mr. Pickens? Because I do.”
Pickens chased her away to collect more material. He passed on the coffee and suggested she do the same, because at this hour the long lines would keep her away from her work longer than he would want.
“I see it now,” said Trudy. “The start of battle fatigue. Your lips start to droop; next, your eyes will look dull and your skin will tighten into worry lines.”
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“Tried. I couldn’t very well drop the phone and block your path.”
“I’m getting coffee.”
“There will be long lines at this hour.”
Amy threw a not-another-word glare at Trudy and proceeded to the elevator bank.
Waiting in line for fifteen minutes for a sour cup of coffee did not improve her mood. Amy sailed into Stu’s office, demanding the additional material that Pickens needed.
“It would be better if you asked my secretary first,” Stu said, while shutting an open folder.
Flustered, Amy apologized.
“Sorry. I guess I still think of you as one of us.”
“Most of the time I am, but not when you may be intruding on business.”
“I didn’t think you had a client. Sara wasn’t at her desk, and she usually guards you like a pit bull when you’re closeted with a client.”
“Still, I prefer you knock.”
He was right. Yet Amy knew he had always made it a point to be readily available. Not long ago he had chafed at her sense of propriety. However, recently there had been talk of his being made a junior partner.
“Should I go back outside and knock?’
“Go back outside and stay there,” he drawled precisely.
Amy backed out of the office and caught Sara returning to her desk.
“What’s with Stu today?”
“I hadn’t noticed anything,” the secretary said, returning her bag to the bottom drawer of her desk.
“It must be me. I was out of line.”
“What did you do?”
“Barged into Stu’s office.”
Sara shook her head.
“Bet he came near to chopping your head off. I suppose mine will be next for not guarding the door.”
The Taxman Killeth Page 2
