“So the accounting firm you work for is— “
“Waxman, Barnes, Wiffle, and Hodge,” Chris confirmed. “Guardian Savings and Loan is our client.”
“I see.” Perfect. Just when she needed all her wits about her, she was faced with the one man who made her forget her own name.
Melanie decided her only defense was to not look at him. If she didn’t see him, she wouldn’t think about him. If she didn’t think about him, she could concentrate on the task at hand. She therefore focused her attention on Bob Harris with the zeal of a scientist peering at brain cells through a microscope. “What do we do first?”
“Let’s start with a tour of the facilities,” Bob suggested with a friendly smile. He sniffed. “It sure smells great in here. Like apple pie.”
“We just took one out of the oven,” Melanie said, mentally blessing Nana as she led the way toward the kitchen. “Maybe you’d like a piece with some homemade vanilla ice cream before you leave?”
“Sounds great,” said Bob.
The instant they entered the kitchen, Nana descended on them. “Well, if it isn’t the hunk,” she said, her face wreathed in a huge smile. She enveloped Chris in a big hug, leaving floury hand prints on the back of his navy suit jacket.
“Nice to see you, Nana,” Chris said, grinning.
“You, too, handsome.” She jerked her head toward Bob. “You bring him along for me for a double date? He’s kinda young, but that’s okay. He’s real cute.” She turned to Bob. “Want some pie, honey?”
Bob’s expression reminded Melanie of a driver’s license photo— bewildered and dumbstruck. Choking back a laugh she said, “Nana, Chris and Bob are the accountants we’ve been expecting.”
Nana looked crestfallen. “You mean no double date?”
Melanie shook her head. “‘Fraid not.”
“Dang it.” Nana shrugged in a philosophical manner. “Oh, well, I’d best get back to work prepping the chicken. Let me know when you’re ready for that pie.”
Melanie led Chris and Bob on a complete tour of the spacious professional kitchen, explaining the daily operations.
“Each day starts off with our morning deliveries,” she said. “Fresh produce arrives daily; meat and fish usually twice a week. In addition to our regular menu, we offer two daily specials.”
Indicating the huge freezer, she continued, “Some items, such as tomato sauce and soup stocks, are prepared ahead of time and frozen, but the bulk of our fare is made fresh every day. The morning is spent preparing for the lunch rush, and during the late-afternoon lull we get ready for dinner. We do a decent walk-in business, but corporate lunches and dinners are our specialty.”
While she spoke, she noticed that Bob scribbled notes on a yellow legal pad, occasionally asking questions. Chris paid rapt attention but said nothing.
She dared a peek at him once, and her cheeks flamed when she discovered his gaze resting on her mouth. Although he stood a dozen feet away from her, it felt as if he’d caressed her. He glanced up and their gazes met. The long, intense, heated look he gave her stopped her in midsentence.
Her mind emptied and a tremor sizzled through her. She couldn’t have felt more scorched if she’d backed up into a 450-degree oven. Completely flustered, she turned away from him and focused her attention back on Bob.
Forty-five minutes later, Melanie said, “Well, that’s it, gentlemen. Do you have any other questions?”
Bob shook his head. “No, I think I have everything I need. If you’ll just give me your books and business records, I’ll be finished.”
Melanie pointed to a shopping bag bearing the Pampered Palate logo. “Everything’s in there. Books, bills, receipts, corporate records, bank statements, the works.”
Bob shot her a smile. “Great. You’ll hear from us in two to three weeks. Now how about that pie and ice cream?”
*
BY THE TIME Melanie arrived home that evening, she was exhausted. Her unexpected meeting with Chris had thrown her for a loop. She’d been nervous the entire time he was at the Pampered Palate, but at least Bob had done most of the talking. After barely surviving that sexy look Chris had thrown at her, she’d avoided looking at him.
He must have taken the hint because when they left, Chris had merely shaken her hand and given her a brief smile. Very businesslike, impersonal, and polite. Which was exactly what she wanted. So why did she feel this prickle of irrational irritation?
Nana ambled off to bed with a cup of tea and a steamy romance novel, but Melanie’s nerves were too frazzled for reading. She decided to indulge in a relaxing bubble bath.
Five minutes later, she sank up to her neck in a hot, gardenia-scented tub and heaved a blissful sigh as her tense muscles loosened. Ahhh. Just what the doctor ordered. Now if she could just banish the image of Chris from her mind, all would be right with the world.
Just then the house phone rang. Of course. It was one of the basic laws of physics: the moment a body is submerged in water, the telephone rings. Well, that’s what answering machines were for. The ringing stopped and she closed her eyes. Seconds later a knock sounded on the bathroom door.
“What is it, Nana?” Melanie asked.
Nana opened the door and walked in carrying the portable phone. Setting the instrument on the edge of the tub, she said, “It’s for you.” Before Melanie could utter a word, Nana left, closing the door behind her.
Great. Figures. Probably someone wanting to sell her insurance or a cemetery plot. She grabbed the receiver. “Hello?” she all but barked into the phone.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” said a low, sexy voice.
Uh-oh. If this was someone selling cemetery plots, she could be in trouble. It’s not good to have people looking for cadavers say they can’t stop thinking about you.
But she knew it wasn’t someone wanting to measure her for a crypt. It was him, and damn it, he was just as deadly.
The sudden heat engulfing her had nothing to do with her bathwater. Annoyed that he could affect her like this over the phone, she asked in a bored drawl, “Who is this?”
“It’s Chris. I can’t stop thinking about you,” he repeated in a husky whisper that caused a jillion and one goose bumps to pop out on her overheated flesh. After a pause he asked, “Who did you think this was?”
Melanie was tempted to make up a name, any name, but she couldn’t. “I knew it was you.”
“Good. I have several things to say to you.”
Melanie gripped the phone with her soapy fingers. Surely those butterflies flapping around in her stomach were from anxiety and not anticipation. “I’m listening.”
“First, I want you to know that the reason I didn’t say much to you today was because I was only there as a favor to Glenn Waxman. He’s the partner on your account. He’ll be signing off on your review. I was just observing, making sure Bob got everything he needed.”
“What difference does it make which partner does my review?” Melanie asked.
“Glenn can do it. I can’t. Conflict of interest”
“Conflict of interest? I don’t understand.”
“It would compromise my firm and your chances of getting your loan if I signed off on a review for someone I’m involved with. So you’ll be dealing with Bob and Glenn from now on.”
Melanie sat up so quickly, water sloshed over the side of the tub. “What do you mean involved? You and I are not involved.”
“Wanna bet? I am most definitely involved. And if you’re honest with yourself, you’ll admit you are, too.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too. I saw the way you looked at me today.”
“I wasn’t looking at you!”
“Like hell. I caught you staring at me like you wanted to stick me between two slices of rye bread and have me for lunch.”
Melanie’s temper kicked in. Conceited dope. And boy, was he wrong. In truth, she’d been staring at him like she wanted to stick him between two slices of sourdough bread and have him fo
r lunch. Shows what he knew.
“Well?” he asked when the silence stretched on. “What do you have to say?”
“That’s some ego you have.”
“It’s not ego. I’m just calling it like I saw it. Are you telling me I saw wrong?”
“I’m taking the fifth.”
“If you won’t talk to me over the phone, I’m coming over.”
“No!” Melanie gripped the receiver so tight her knuckles turned white. “Don’t come over.”
“Why not?”
“I’m in the bathtub.”
He groaned. “You’re killing me, Melanie. You really are. In the bathtub. Jesus. Now I’ve got that picture in my head. How the hell am I supposed to sleep tonight?”
Why the heck should he be able to sleep when she knew darn well she wouldn’t be able to?
“Listen,” he continued, “I called to tell you that my strictly businesslike behavior today was to avoid any conflict of interest. And if you think we’re not involved, you’re nuts. Maybe you don’t want it, and I certainly don’t want it, but it’s there, and it’s not going away.”
“It will if we ignore it”
“Not an option. I’ve been trying that since we met, and it doesn’t work.”
“This is ridiculous,” Melanie said, pushing her damp hair out of her eyes. “If you hadn’t taken Mr. Waxman’s place tonight, we never would have seen each other again.”
“Do you really believe that?” The soft, husky question raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Before she could even think of a reply, he went on, “We absolutely would have seen each other again, Melanie. I would have made sure of it.”
Good thing she was sitting down, because the sexy undertone in his deep voice melted her insides like wax to a flame. If she wasn’t careful she’d slip under the water and the next thing he’d hear would be glub, glub.
“You’re not saying much,” he said, “so I’ll take that as a good sign. At least you’re not arguing. So, on to the next thing. What are you doing Friday night?”
“Friday night? Why?” Good grief. Was that squeaky noise her voice? She coughed to clear her dust-dry throat.
“I’d like to have dinner with you.”
“Dinner? You mean like a date?”
“That note of horror I hear in your voice is pretty deflating to my ego.”
“We’ve been through this. I don’t date. And even if I did, I don’t want to date you.”
“I don’t want to date you either. Something we have in common. And since you don’t date, I guess that means you don’t have plans Friday night. I’ll swing by and pick you up at eight.”
“But— “
“I’ll be out of town for the rest of the week on a client visit. I’ll give you my cell number, but it’s only for friendly calls— not for backing out of our date.”
“I don’t want your cell number and there’s no date so there’s nothing to back out of. Listen, you can’t fool me. I know your type. Smooth. Good-looking. Good-looking guys are nothing but trouble, and that makes you trouble with a capital T.”
“So you don’t want to have dinner with me because— “
“You’re too handsome. That’s right.”
“I have to say, I’ve never been turned down for that reason before.”
A snort escaped her. “Ha. I bet you’ve never been turned down, period.”
“Have, too.”
“Really? When? Fourth grade?”
He chuckled. “No. Fifth.”
“Any turn downs prior to puberty are null and void. Besides, if— what was her name? The one in fifth grade?”
“Betty Waterhouse.”
“If Betty Waterhouse could see you now, she’d kick her own ass black and blue.”
“I had a blind date a few months back who didn’t like me at all.”
“Why not?”
“She doesn’t like accountants. Bad experience with the IRS. She practically broke out in hives when I told her I’m a CPA.”
Melanie’s eyes narrowed. “You planning to audit me?”
“Only if you want me to.”
His tone was so suggestive she almost dropped the phone into the bathwater.
Before she could find her voice he continued, “C’mon, Mel Gibson. Whaddaya say? You. Me. Dinner. I can do ugly. Really.”
“Oh, sure. You probably look good when you wake up in the morning.”
“I’m happy to put that theory to the test.”
“Forget it. Besides, I thought accountants were nerdy guys with leaky pens in their shirt pockets who wore high-water pants, white socks with black shoes, and held their glasses together with safety pins. You’re not an accountant. You’re a menace to female hormones.”
“No menace. No audit. Just dinner. Maybe a movie.”
“You’ll be ugly?”
“Totally gross. Promise.”
A sigh escaped her. “Are you always this persistent?”
He paused, then said, “No. Actually, I’m never this persistent. Friday night. Eight. Dress casual. ‘Bye, Melanie.”
The dial tone sounded in her ear. Melanie held the phone away from her and stared at it as if it were the Loch Ness monster come to life in her tub. Dazed and confused, she clicked the off button and carefully laid the instrument on the bathmat She had a date. With Chris. Friday night.
How the heck had that happened?
“Probably because I didn’t open my mouth and say no,” she muttered. But Melanie had a feeling that Chris wouldn’t have taken no for an answer anyway, a fact she should have found annoying but instead found annoyingly romantic. And irritatingly exciting.
Nana stuck her head in the door. “‘Bout time you got off the phone. I was getting a crick in my neck from pressing my ear against the crack in the door.”
Melanie leaned back and thunked her head against the tiles. “You heard?”
“Only your side. What’s the scoop?”
“We have a date Friday night.”
Nana stuck two fingers between her lips and let loose an ear-piercing whistle. “Praise the Lord! It’s about time you came out of mourning over that two-timing gigolo Todd. Hot damn! A date with the hunk. I might even get me some great-grandchildren to spoil.”
Melanie almost choked. “Nana! It’s only a date. One date. That’s it.”
Nana regarded her steadily through very wise eyes. “If that’s what you think, honey, then you’d better brace yourself, because one date is not what that young man has in mind.”
“I have no intention of getting involved,” Melanie said with a sniff.
“Intentions, inschmentions. Your heart doesn’t listen to intentions. His won’t either.” Leaning down, Nana patted Melanie’s waterlogged hand. “Sweetie, don’t close yourself off from someone who might bring you happiness just because your last beau was an idiot. Sometimes the least expected path is the one that leads to the treasure.” After uttering those sage words, Nana left the room, closing the door behind her.
Treasure. Phooey. Melanie opened the drain then stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in a thick pink towel. Chris Bishop wasn’t a treasure. He was a hazard. Granted he was sexy, yummy, and goosebump-inspiring— but he was a hazard just the same.
And she had a date with him Friday night.
God help her, she couldn’t wait.
CHAPTER SEVEN
*
THE WEEK PASSED by in a blur for Melanie. Each day at work was busier than the last, but in spite of the hectic demands on her time, she loved every minute of it.
And she hardly thought about Chris and their upcoming date at all.
Yup. Hardly at all.
Except every time she inhaled.
Thursday proved to be one of the busiest days Pampered Palate ever experienced. Three midtown offices had made large lunch orders based on recommendations from other clients, a group of Japanese tourists wandered in, and an outdoor arts-and-crafts festival drew dozens of walkins.
Melanie whipp
ed up another batch of her famous red potato and dill salad and kept one eye on the apple cobblers through the glass oven door. Nana was a veritable whirling dervish, flitting from the stove to the refrigerator to the oven without missing a beat.
If business kept up at this pace— and Melanie fervently hoped it would— she’d soon have to hire an assistant. Maybe two. Maybe she could even lure her parents down to Atlanta to help out. She knew her dad missed the daily hustle and bustle of the restaurant business. He’d sold his family-style eatery in New York several years ago, ready to enjoy his hard-earned retirement, and he had. For a while.
But when she’d spoken to him on the phone yesterday, she’d clearly detected boredom in his voice. “I’m tired of puttering around the house,” Dad had grumbled in her ear, “and your mother is grousing about me being constancy underfoot. By gum, I know all the names of those young and restless people on the soap operas. I don’t want to know about the trials and tribulations of those fictional characters and all their bold and beautiful children!”
Melanie smiled, recalling his disgruntled tone. She missed Mom and Dad and looked forward to their upcoming visit in September. Maybe when they came down, she’d be able to convince them to buy a retirement home in the area. She knew they weren’t happy about the prospect of facing another New York winter. And she suspected that once Dad saw her new catering truck, he’d be eager to be a part of the action.
Finished with the potato salad, Melanie turned her attention to sautéing tender filets for the daily special, veal marsala. Nana was busy packing up orders of southern fried chicken and barbecued ribs, and Mike the delivery man was alternately loading the orders into his van and helping Nana. Voices from customers in the front of the store drifted back to Melanie. Someone laughed, and she heard Wendy’s melodic Alabama drawl as she worked the cash register for the takeout orders.
If Melanie’s hands hadn’t been so occupied, she would have rewarded herself with a hearty pat on the back for hiring Wendy. Not only was the girl smart and a hard worker, but it seemed that half the male student population at Georgia Tech was in love with her and made it their business to drop by the Pampered Palate whenever she was working, which was most afternoons. Nothing like hungry college students to boost the sales.
Good Guy Heroes Boxed Set Page 107
