“Mr. Tomlin’s office.”
“Mr. Callaghan?”
“He won’t be joining us.”
His lips thinned, but he didn’t say anything. The drive was silent, as I read my paper undisturbed. When we arrived, I stepped out. “I’ll call you when I’m ready. It will be about an hour.”
He drove off, and I crossed the street. I tugged down my shirtsleeves, feeling edgy. I didn’t know if she’d be there. Perhaps she wouldn’t want to speak with me again. I had been rather short with her. I thought how much I liked the soft press of her lips on my cheek, and the way her voice sounded in my ear. I straightened my shoulders. I was being ridiculous. Chances were, I would get a coffee and a scone, and head to Greg’s office.
But if I was being truthful, I hoped she would be at her table.
I pulled open the door and joined the line. It was as busy as yesterday. This time, I got a larger coffee, and was pleased to see a pile of scones. Cinnamon raisin today. After adding one to my order and paying, I went directly to the back, making sure there was no rucksack waiting to trip me. She was at her table, head bent over as she scribbled away. Her hair was in a thick braid hanging down her back, and today, I could clearly see the tattoo behind her ear. A bass and treble clef twisted to form a heart, the black and red ink vivid against the creamy white of her skin. Glinting in the light was a row of earrings that went right from the lobe to the top.
She tilted her head, her voice dry. “Did you want a picture?”
“Good morning, Emmy. Or should I call you Freddy?”
She chuckled. “Whichever you prefer.”
I slid into the empty chair across from her. “Not much into selfies, I confess.”
She snorted. “That’s when you take your own picture, Rigid.”
“Ah. Then taking yours would be?”
“Stalking,” she deadpanned, making me chuckle. “You need to learn the lingo if you’re gonna hang with the cool kids.”
I broke the scone in half, taking a bite and savoring it. She certainly could make delicious scones.
“Is that what you are, Emmy? One of the cool kids?”
A pained look passed over her face, and for a moment, she looked sad. Her smile reappeared, and she shook her head. “Nope. Never have been.”
“How long ago, exactly, were you a kid?” I asked, trying to appear nonchalant.
“I’m twenty-five. How old are you?” Her eyes widened mischievously, and she leaned forward, her voice almost a whisper. “Are you like, ancient? Thirty?”
“Thirty-two, actually.”
She laid a hand on her heart. “My God, one foot in the grave. No wonder you act so oddly.”
Oddly? My lips curled in amusement as I repeated her word in my head.
“If you mean polite and respectful, then yes. Ancient is a good word.”
“I mean you need to loosen up a little. Act your age.”
I scowled as I sipped my coffee. I thought I was acting my age. I didn’t know anything different.
I studied her. It was warmer today, but she was dressed in a man’s pale blue shirt that was miles too big on her and wrapped in a cropped navy sweater with loose sleeves. I had noticed her leggings when I sat down, and the old sneakers on her feet. The sleeves of her shirt hung down past her wrists, leaving the ends of her fingers showing. She was almost huddled in her chair; her shoulders bowed in as if warding off the cool air. Without thinking, I stood, pulled off my jacket, crossed to her side of the table, and slid it around her shoulders. When I retook my seat, she was staring at me, her hands clutching the lapels of my jacket.
“Why did you do that?”
“You looked cold. I thought it might help.”
“Thank you.”
I inclined my head with a teasing grin. “Men of an older generation know how to treat a lady.”
I noticed the way she burrowed into my jacket. The odd thought of wanting to wrap her in my arms and help her get warm drifted through my head. It bothered me to see her chilly.
“You’re only seven years older than I am. Hardly a different generation. It’s nothing really.”
I ignored her remark. I had a feeling the vast differences between us were more than simply age. “May I buy you another coffee?”
“No, thank you. I’ve had two.”
I held up my bag. “Scone? I assure you, they are delectable.”
“Such a charmer, but no.”
“Where did you learn to bake scones?”
“My grandmother. She was Scottish and loved her scones. She made them all the time when I was young. I had her recipe book, and I practiced until I got it right. I started adding different ingredients to them to make them interesting. One day, I needed help to persuade Al about an idea, so I made them. They were a hit, and Al and I came to an agreement.”
I wondered what sort of help she required as I wiped my fingers on my napkin. “Smart man.”
She chuckled, the sound low and soft. “I’m glad you like them.”
I sipped my coffee. “They are the only sweet thing I have allowed myself in a long time.”
She made a face. “Oh. One of those.”
“I’m sorry?”
She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Rigid is a good name for you, isn’t it? I bet you live your life planned to the letter. Your diet is perfect, you have a workout regime, you get your suits made by the same tailor, and your hair cut the exact same way by the same barber. You know what suit you’ll wear with what specific tie. Everything organized and in line.”
“Nothing wrong with being organized.”
“Nope. If it works for you, then great.”
“Not your style?” I asked, curious.
She fiddled with the edge of her dog-eared notebook. “No. I’m lucky to be on time for my classes. I’m sometimes grateful to find clean clothes because I forget to go to the laundromat. I rarely plan my day, because I like to see what happens during the course of it and go with the flow. I tend to get caught up in the moment, and it leads to me being late for things. I get into a lot of trouble at times, but I handle it.” She grinned. “I bet you’re punctual, aren’t you? For everything.”
She had me there. “Yes, I like being on time. What about school?”
She smiled, tracing the edge of one of her books. “I make school a priority. I love learning and my courses, so I do show up for those on time.”
“So you can be structured, you simply don’t choose to be.”
“I suppose.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “Can you be spontaneous?”
“Of course I can.”
“Name the last spontaneous thing you did.”
I sat back with a smirk. “I dumped my bodyguard and came here, hoping to have coffee with you.”
“So, he doesn’t know you’re here?”
“Nope.”
She indicated to the right with a jerk of her head. “I wouldn’t be certain of that statement.”
I turned and looked in the direction she had glanced. Aiden sat at a table near the front, glaring at me. I twisted back, slouching.
“Shit.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“It would appear that way.”
She lowered her voice, becoming almost breathy. “And you did it to come see me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I shrugged, unable to explain my strange behavior. “I have no idea. I liked talking to you yesterday.”
“I wasn’t very nice.”
“I liked your directness. You made me laugh. Very little makes me laugh.”
Her breath hitched. “That’s so sad.”
Before I could respond, her eyes grew large. “Uh-oh. He’s coming over.”
Aiden appeared at the table, crossing his arms. It always seemed to double his size, making his already tremendous bulk seem enormous.
Emmy looked up at him with a bright expression. “Hey, Mr. Bodyguard!”
He glared at her, then at me. However, she re
fused to be ignored and tugged on his sleeve.
“Hey, Tree Trunk. We’re talking, and frankly, you’re interrupting. Maybe you could, I don’t know, go back to your table?” She smiled at him, broad and mischievous. “I could give you my driver’s license, and you could run a background check on me. Make sure I’m not a danger to your boss or anything. It would help pass the time for you.”
I tried to hide my amusement at her brashness. Aiden narrowed his eyes and looked shocked when she thrust out her hand. “I can’t believe I have to do this, two days in a row. Hi, I’m Emmy.”
For an instant, I was certain he would refuse to react. Then he loosened his shoulders and accepted her gesture, engulfing her small hand within his. “Hey, Emmy. Sorry to interrupt. I need one moment with Bentley, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
She gazed up at him. “Wow. You have incredible eyes.”
He was taken back. “Ah, thanks.”
“Are you going to give him shit?”
“Um . . . yeah.”
“Okay, then.” She waved her hand. “Have at.”
He winked at her. “For a little thing, you got balls.”
“Big cojones,” she informed him.
He chuckled. “Good to know.”
He turned to me, his humor disappearing. He leaned forward, his hand resting on the table, and his voice low. “We are going to talk about this later. But for now, I’ve sent Frank back to the office, and I will be over there”—he pointed to the table at the front—“and will go with you to Greg’s. Next, we’ll do whatever else you need to do and head to the office. Then we are going to have a chat, am I clear?”
I knew when to push Aiden and when not to. I nodded. “Clear.”
He straightened. “Good. Nice to meet you, Emmy. Your scones are wicked, too. Bent raved about them yesterday.”
“Thanks.”
He held out his hand. “I’ll take your driver’s license, though.”
“No!” I snarled. “Leave her alone, Aiden.”
“She offered.”
“She was teasing you. Leave.”
Emmy scribbled something on a piece of paper, handing it to Aiden. “Will that suffice?”
He shoved it into his pocket and nodded. “For now.”
He sauntered away, sitting back at his table.
“What did you give him?”
“My name, address, and date of birth. He can work for the rest.”
“You didn’t have to do that, Emmy,” I assured her, pushing aside the memories of his remarks yesterday about vetting her.
“It’s fine. He takes his job seriously.”
I cleared my throat. “Sorry about that.”
“He cares about you.”
“Yeah, he is a good friend, and I’d be lost without him.”
“Yet, you came here alone?”
“I wanted to see you, and I thought he might make you uncomfortable.”
I wasn’t sure how to tell her the actual truth. I wanted to spend a little time with her, alone, as me. Bentley, the man. Not the person who needed protection. Just me.
“It’s fine, Rigid. I’m good with it.”
I met her gaze, her eyes bright in the light. They were warm, intelligent, gentle, and so dark they looked like the richest espresso you would sip in the early morning hours; the kind that brought you to life.
Strangely, that was how I felt when I sat across from her. I made yet another spontaneous decision.
“I’m going to take you out.”
“I’m sorry?”
“On a date. Friday evening.”
“And, what may I ask would this date consist of?”
“Well, the usual, I suppose. Dinner. Drinks. That sort of thing.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head, the light catching the blonde glints of her hair woven into the thick braid. “I see. Like a date, date.”
“Yes. Eight o’clock.”
“No.”
“Pardon me?”
“I said no.”
“Why?” I scowled. “I thought you said the age difference was fine.”
“It has nothing to do with the age difference,” she stated patiently.
“Aiden won’t intrude.”
“That doesn’t bother me either.”
“What then?”
“If you want to ask me out on a date, I suggest you do so.”
“I thought I had?”
“No, actually, you informed me you were going to take me out. You never, in fact, asked me.”
I blinked at her, unsure how to respond, and cleared my throat. “I beg your pardon.” I leaned across the table, all teasing gone. “Would you accompany me to dinner on Friday?”
She pursed her lips. “I’m not sure I can.”
“Do you have plans?”
“No.”
“Are you married? Seeing someone?”
“No.”
“You don’t like me? You find me repugnant?”
Her lips twitched. “Far from it.”
I ran my hand through my hair in frustration. I was certain I’d never worked as hard for a date. “Then what could possibly stop you from going out with me?”
Her bravado fell away, and for the first time, I saw a glimpse of her vulnerability. She looked uncertain, her fingers clutching at the lapels of my jacket, twisting the material nervously. She crouched forward, her voice soft.
“I don’t think I have anything I could wear that would be appropriate.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Look at you, Bentley. Your suit probably cost more than my rent for an entire year. I don’t have a dress suitable to go out with you.” She hesitated, casting her gaze downward. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
An emotion I had never experienced swept through my chest. Tenderness dripped into my heart at her pained confession. I liked hearing her say my name, though.
“Emmy.”
Her eyes remained locked on the table, her color high.
“Look at me, please.”
She met my gaze, and I hated the look of uncertainty I could see there.
“Understand something. I don’t care what you wear. You can wear exactly what you have on now, and I would be proud to be seen with you. That being said, I am open to going somewhere less fancy than I’m used to. I know a couple of small places I like because the food is good, and the atmosphere friendly. I won’t even wear one of my suits. How about that? A casual dinner out.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Would you have dinner with me Friday, Emmy?”
She beamed, her eyes glowing. “Yes, I would love to.”
“Excellent.” I handed her my phone. “Perhaps I could have your number to call and arrange it with you?”
“No more morning visits?”
I shook my head as she added herself to my contacts, then took my information, so she had my number. “I wish, but no. I have early morning meetings scheduled the rest of the week. I will have to survive without your company or scones for the next couple mornings.”
She stood, handing me back my phone, and slipped my jacket from her shoulders. I slid it on, trying not to notice the fact it now smelled like her. Soft, summery, light. I smiled at her and moved closer. “Just so we are clear? You look lovely—although, I’m wondering who the shirt belongs to.”
She glanced down, fingering the worn cotton. “I have no idea,” she quipped. “They come and go at my place, leaving their clothes all the time.”
My eyebrows shot up, and she giggled. “Relax, Rigid. I got it at Goodwill. I have a tie I usually wear with it, but I couldn’t find it. I wore it anyway, even though it doesn’t feel complete.”
“Laundry day?” I guessed.
She nodded. “Tonight, I hope.”
She allowed me to carry her rucksacks to the front. Again, I wondered why she carried two of them. She disappeared behind the counter for a minute, and I waited patiently for her to join me outside. Aiden was leaning on his car, watching us intently, and I turned, blocking
his view. I handed her the heavy bags. “May I offer you a lift to school?”
“No, I like to walk.” She held up a small bag. “I got you a couple of extra scones to see you through the mornings before your meetings. If you warm them in the microwave, they’ll be good.”
I took the bag, touched. “Thank you. I will enjoy them.”
We stood regarding each other. Unable to help myself, I ran the back of my hand down her cheek. “I hope the rest of your week goes well.”
“I’m sure it will. I have something to look forward to now.”
She stepped back and began to turn away.
“Wait!”
She spun around. “Yes?”
I shoved the small bag containing the scones into her hands, and loosened my tie, yanking it over my head. Before she could react, I tugged it down her neck, lifted her heavy braid, and slipped it under the collar. I slid the knot up loosely. I wanted to give her something, and my tie was the only thing I could think of at the moment.
“Because, you know, the outfit isn’t complete without a tie,” I offered with a grin. I felt an odd thrill at the sight of my tie resting on her neck, the brilliant blue blazing against her shirt.
She glanced down, her grin bright. “It does. Especially this tie.” She leaned up on her toes, kissing my cheek. “Thank you,” she breathed out, and pushed the bag back into my hands. She stepped back, her face aglow.
“Have a good day, Rigid.”
I had no idea what that girl was doing to me, or how she made me feel lighter, happier than I had in a long time.
Still, she did.
I raised my hand in a wave.
“You too, Freddy.”
Bentley
Aiden didn’t say a word as we crossed the street. I knew he was behind me, but I didn’t acknowledge him. He was silent in the elevator, and aside from a nod to Greg, remained that way as I went through the documents, making sure the wording was what I wanted. I signed and handed them back to Greg.
“I want to meet next week about my bid.”
“I assumed as much. Wednesday?”
I glanced through my schedule, and before I replied, added Emmy to Friday. Simply seeing the words on my phone made me happy.
Vested Interest Box Set: Books 1-3 Page 3
