one of my ancestors? Why, of course I’m interested. Actually I was hoping you’d be willing to part with the items.”
“Even if I were, Gretchen, I already have another interested party.”
“That’s easily solved. I’ll double any offer you’ve got on the table.”
He shook his head and from the corner of his eye saw Chrissie’s shoulders sag in relief. “If you wanted it so badly, you should have been at the auction and bid on it.”
“I would have, but I had a meeting I simply couldn’t miss. Okay. I’ll triple what you paid for it,” Gretchen said, pouncing on him in such a demanding voice, other diners turned to see what was going on.
“Sorry,” Jake said, puzzled by Gretchen’s almost desperate bid for the box. Even more puzzled about why she was so determined to have Jess Golden’s things—if they even were indeed the outlaw’s things. “It’s not about money.”
“Then what would I have to do to get you to part with it?”
He imagined that Gretchen perceived her smile as seductive. He perceived it as predatory. And when she leaned toward him, blatantly inviting him to a view of her cleavage and in effect putting the moves on him without any regard for the fact that his date was watching, he’d had enough. “Give it up, Gretchen. This conversation,” he cautioned when he sensed she was about to push a little harder, “is history.”
He sat, dismissing her. Gretchen’s gray eyes heated in anger, then cooled by slow degrees as she visibly got control of herself. She smiled. Calculated. Tight. And patted her perfectly coiffed hair. Clearly she was not happy that both of her offers had been rejected, but she was determined not to let her anger show.
“Speaking of history,” she said, attempting to save face by changing the subject, “I plan to make a little myself. I’ve officially announced that I’m running for mayor of Royal. Isn’t it exciting?”
“Very,” Jake said, then covered his obvious lack of excitement with a question. “Who are you running against?”
“At the moment? No one. The incumbent, Maynard Willis, isn’t going to run again. Isn’t that marvelous?”
Jake shrugged. “Depends on your platform.”
“Why, tax reform, of course.”
“Tax reform?”
“Specifically as it applies to the oil fields. We’ve been far too lax in that area—with other local businesses, as well. As a result, we’ve missed considerable revenue for the city.”
The woman was too much. “From where I stand, the local businesses—oil companies included—already are digging pretty deep into their pockets. You get too heavy-handed, they may just decide to relocate to a lower tax base.”
“Jacob,” she said, as if addressing a rowdy child, “you might want to leave politics to the politicians. All you need to be concerned about,” she added with a cheeky smile as she slipped him a business card, “is that a vote for Halifax is a vote for progress.”
“Progress my ass,” Jake muttered under his breath when she finally walked away.
Christine had listened to—and watched—the exchange between Jacob and Gretchen with interest. Not just because it was a welcome respite from the ridiculous conversation that Jacob—Jake—had insisted on pushing past the limit, but because Gretchen had been so interested in Jess Golden’s things. Christine supposed there would be some natural curiosity over items belonging to a woman who had allegedly killed one of her ancestors, but Gretchen had gone a little over the top with her insistence that Jake sell them to her.
Speaking of over the top, could Gretchen have been more obvious making a play for Jake?
The penetrating looks, the subtle brush against him when she’d handed him her card. Christine had seen enough women in action to recognize a come-on when she saw one, even if Gretchen’s had been veiled by talk of politics.
Even more amazing than Gretchen making a pass at a guy when he was on a date with another woman was that it hadn’t even fazed Jake. He hadn’t seemed to care that Gretchen, for all her brassy, fake sincerity and sharp features, was still a very attractive and powerful woman.
“I’m sorry about that,” Jake said.
Christine set her salad plate aside. And the words were out before she was aware she’d been thinking them. “Sorry that she was flirting with you?”
He grunted. “Ballsy, huh?”
Took the words right out of her mouth.
“In any event, don’t let it bother you. Gretchen flirts with everyone.” He scowled at the business card, then tossed it on the table. “As a matter of fact, it’s one of the things she does best. Too bad she’s not as capable as a city leader.”
“So, you wouldn’t support her bid for mayor?”
“Hell no. If she gets in, there’s no telling what kind of chaos she’ll create.”
“Because she’s a woman?”
“Because she’s Gretchen. Whatever gave you the idea that I’m gender biased?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Could be the ridiculous conversation we were having earlier.”
“Darlin’, that wasn’t about gender bias. That was about gender equity. I want you to experience some of the fun I have.” He waggled his brows. “Show you what it’s like to take a little walk on the wild side.”
He was incorrigible. And, drat it, he had her smiling again with his silly words. And, yeah, part of the reason she was smiling was because he so clearly was not fazed by Gretchen Halifax’s cool sexuality.
Until Gretchen had arrived at the table, Christine had actually started to feel a little less…what? Tense? Self-conscious? Less defensive maybe, despite Jake’s questions about her history. She’d even enjoyed his silliness. That had come as a big surprise. Much of this evening had been a surprise—starting with his reaction to seeing her when she’d opened the door. The way he’d looked at her made her feel warm all over, aware, aroused even. And that was the biggest surprise of all.
Their entrées arrived and for a little while they ate in silence. Christine contemplated the way Gretchen had tried to put the moves on Jake. Witnessing Gretchen in action—smooth, sophisticated, worldly—had reminded Christine of one unalterable fact.
While she could enjoy tonight for what it was—one single night—the truth was she wasn’t only way out of her element but also was way out of her league. Fancy French restaurants were not on her usual flight path. Men like Jake Thorne moved in privileged circles; she moved in stagnant squares.
She felt let down suddenly. Evidently the power surge sparked by her outfit was officially over. But she decided she was going to make the most of the evening since she’d probably never enjoy the pleasure of Claire’s again. With a blissful sigh, she enjoyed a bite of her fish. The wine sauce smothering the whitefish was absolutely decadent.
“Now that’s a look you ought to have on your face more often.”
She
