or not, he didn’t like the idea of a woman riding the elevated train alone at night. It just wasn’t safe. Before she could protest, he quickly led her to his black Jaguar and opened the passenger door. “Do you like Italian food?”
She practically collapsed into the bucket seat before she answered. “Yes, I normally love Italian food, but I don’t think it would be—”
“Good. Then Italian it is,” he said, closing the door. When she glanced up at him, he thought her complexion looked a little green. But he dismissed the notion. The fluorescent lights, combined with the shadows of the underground garage, cast an unnatural glow on everything. Walking around to the driver’s side, he opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “I know a great little place not far from here.”
She looked as if she intended to protest again, but when he started the car and backed from his parking spot, she clamped her mouth into a tight line, closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat.
Brett felt a twinge of guilt that he’d insisted they have dinner, when it was plain to see she was dead on her feet. But reason won out. She had to eat. This way she wouldn’t have to worry about cooking something for herself when she went home. Satisfied that he’d be doing her a favor by taking her to dinner, he steered the car out of the garage and into the flow of traffic on Michigan Avenue.
Ten minutes later he helped her out of her coat and held the chair while she settled herself at his usual table for two in a corner of the restaurant. Removing his overcoat, Brett hung both wraps on a nearby hook, then seated himself and stared at her over the flicker of a candle stuck in a Chianti bottle. She looked thoroughly exhausted.
“Why don’t we save this discussion until Monday morning?” he asked. “You look like you’re ready to drop.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. She extracted a notepad from her shoulder bag. “I’d like to get the preliminaries out of the way so I can get started with the interviews Monday morning. Have you been filled in on what I’ll need from you, Mr. Connelly?”
Brett leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest as he tried to get his mind back down to business and off of the erotic scenario her innocent question evoked. He could think of several very exciting things he’d like for Elena Delgado to “need” from him, but scheduling meetings with his family wasn’t among them.
Clearing his throat, he focused on the job his father had assigned him, which Brett had been eager to accept. He wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of who had tried to kill his brother Daniel. “When Dad called, he said you wanted to interview the rest of the family to help with your investigation.”
She nodded. “That’s right. Your father told me you’d take care of setting up the times and place.”
He grinned. Being efficient and anticipating others’ needs were the very reasons he was considered one of the best PR men in the textile industry. “I’ve already got the jump on it. I’ve arranged for you to speak privately with each of them in a conference room at Connelly Tower, starting Monday.”
“Good.”
“But it may take several days to get all of them rounded up,” he warned her.
He propped his elbow on the table and cupped his chin in his hand as he watched her brush a strand of silky brown hair from her flawless cheek. He’d have liked nothing more than to touch her soft skin, to run his hands through her hair. The dancing candlelight cast a soft glow on her lovely face, and Brett wondered what it would be like to hold Elena close, to kiss her.
“I understand that it will take several days to speak with everyone,” she said, bringing him out of his delightful musings. She glanced up from making notations on the notepad. “I’d also like to interview some of the employees at Connelly corporate headquarters. They may have information that will aid my investigation.”
“That can be arranged. Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of.” She glanced at her notes. “Of course, I’ll need to interview you, too.” She gave him a half smile. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t take care of that this evening.”
Heartened by the small gesture, he decided he might not be losing his touch after all. Although it hadn’t been the warmest of expressions, it was a start and gave him something to build on.
“Not tonight,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m tired and so are you. Besides, I’m your first interview Monday.” He grinned. “You wouldn’t want to throw off my schedule before we even get started, would you?”
She frowned. “I doubt that my taking your statement now will make a difference.”
“Oh, but it would,” he said, trying not to smile. “We wouldn’t be able to enjoy our dinner and I might get indigestion. If I did, it would probably keep me awake tonight and I wouldn’t get anything done tomorrow because of being tired. Then on Sunday I’d have to catch up on all the things I missed doing on Saturday, and…” He tried to affect a pitiful expression. “Well, I think you see how it would throw off my schedule.”
She stared at him for several long seconds before she slowly placed her pen on the table. “Let’s get something straight right now, Mr. Connelly. This isn’t a social—”
Their waiter chose that moment to place a basket of bread sticks on the table. “Good evening, Mr. Connelly. Would you like a wine list?”
When Brett gave her a questioning look, Elena shook her head and smiled up at the man. “No wine for me.”
“A glass of wine will help you relax and take the edge off the day,” Brett said. Turning to the waiter, he added, “Bring two goblets and a bottle of your best wine, Vinnie.”
Elena did a slow burn. Brett obviously had the idea that because he was extraordinarily handsome, very successful and a member of the influential Connelly family, he could control any situation he pleased. Boy, oh boy, was he in for a rude awakening.
Any other woman would probably be down on her hands and knees, thanking the moon and stars that she was dining with the very eligible Brett Connelly. But Elena wasn’t just any woman. Fortunately for her, she was immune to his movie star good looks, his bluer-than-blue eyes and his engaging smile. She’d been down that path before and learned her lesson well. The last thing she wanted to have to deal with was a playboy like her ex-husband.
She started to tell their waiter not to bother bringing a glass for her, but Brett chose that moment to speak to the young man hovering beside him. “And I think we’ll both have a salad with the house dressing and the calamari, Vinnie.”
“Very good choice, sir,” Vinnie said, treating Elena to a grin that said he’d watched Brett in action before.
As soon as the waiter walked away, Elena glared at Brett. “Don’t you think that was a bit presumptuous of you?”
“You don’t like calamari?” he asked, looking shocked. “I thought everyone liked it. If you’d prefer I order something else—”
When he raised his hand to hail Vinnie, she shook her head. “That’s not the point, Mr. Connelly.”
With a recalcitrant lock of wavy black hair hanging low on his forehead and confusion written all over his handsome face, he looked like a little boy who had no
