Of course, she was curious about what had made him agree to an interview in the first place. But it didn’t matter. That possibility had gone the way of so many other plans.
“Good night, Mr. Hardison,” she muttered as she reached for the front door of the diner.
He opened the door and then entered behind her. She was suddenly grateful for the few customers lining the counter and the curious Madge.
“We haven’t had our talk,” Hardison said quietly.
She spun around to stare at him. “You never intended one, did you? After tonight’s events, I assume your only interest in me was comic relief.”
“I never expected...the situation deteriorated faster than I...I want to apologize for my mother’s rudeness.”
Kate stifled the gratitude she felt for his effort. “Very gracious, since you caused the problem.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not an idiot, Mr. Hardison. And I don’t appreciate being used.”
“I didn’t—”
“Have a good time, hon?” Madge called, reminding Kate that every person in the diner was staring at them.
With a brief smile, Kate turned. “A lovely time, Madge. Is Paula working in the morning?”
“Yep, as usual.”
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.” Without ever turning around to speak to her escort, Kate headed for the double doors that swung into the kitchen.
She’d only managed one step when a strong hand grabbed her arm.
“We haven’t had our discussion.”
“As I pointed out earlier,” she said coldly, turning to glare at him, “I’m not an idiot. Whatever this evening was about, it wasn’t business.”
Kate O’Connor was right about one thing. She wasn’t an idiot, Will decided as he admired her snapping hazel eyes and flushed cheeks. And she was a beauty.
And she’d more than proved his theory.
“I promise you I intend to discuss your, uh, business plans. I’ll give you my full attention for one hour and you can show me those figures you said you had prepared.” Not that he expected anything that would make a lick of business sense. Not if it had to do with the ramshackle diner.
She didn’t grab the opportunity he offered. Instead she planted her hands on those slender hips that had drawn his gaze more than once and stared at him.
“Why?”
Of course she would ask. “Because I keep my word. You fulfilled your end of the bargain. Now it’s my turn.”
He found it fascinating to watch the changes in her expressive eyes as she considered his statement. Then she looked over her shoulder at their audience.
“Go on. Give him a chance,” one customer, an older, unshaven man urged with a grin.
“Billy—” she began, then stopped. She turned back to stare at Will, her eyes narrowing.
He knew the instant she made up her mind and breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, the thought of ending their acquaintance tonight bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
“All right, Mr. Hardison. I’ll take your one hour. Come on.” She spun on her heel and headed toward a back booth in the diner.
Will frowned. He didn’t want to conduct business in the diner. With an audience. Hurrying after her, he said, “Don’t you think we could find a better place for our discussion?”
Like her bedroom.
He immediately shut down that errant thought. Business. He needed to think about business. But it was hard when he was following her trim figure encased in tight black, her red hair sparking as it moved with her.
“No.”
Brief and to the point. He’d already learned she was direct, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. “Okay,” he agreed with a resigned sigh and slid into the plastic and Formica booth opposite her.
From the small black purse she’d carried with her all evening, she withdrew several sheets of paper folded to fit inside.
Kate couldn’t believe she’d been given a second chance. Drawing a deep breath, she began to outline her plan to rescue her father’s diner.
“A catering firm?” the man opposite her asked in surprise. “I hate to mention such mundane things, but catering is a tough business, with a low profit margin. And even more important, it requires good cooking skills.”
Did he think she was an idiot? “Of course it does. But since I trained in Paris, I think my cooking will be adequate.”
“Paris, France?”
The surprise on his face was offensive. “No, Paris, Texas! Really, Mr. Hardison, must you insult my intelligence? Of course, Paris, France. I worked there as sous-chef of Maxim’s for the past three years.”
“Maxim’s?” he repeated. “But I ate there last November.”
“And you haven’t died from ptomaine poisoning yet? Amazing.” She had to remind herself not to be sarcastic. Pop always warned her about her sharp tongue, but the man was driving her crazy.
“I didn’t mean—the food was good. But you don’t look like you—I mean, your appearance—I’m surprised.” He finished with red cheeks, but his gaze had roved her face and body and it didn’t take much interpretation to understand his meaning.
“So you think only ugly women learn to cook?”
“No, of course not, but—let’s see those figures.”
Though his resorting to business to get him out of his difficulties was amusing, she didn’t bother to smile. Too much was at stake. But it didn’t keep her from appreciating that she had him at a disadvantage.
“All right, here’s what I’m hoping to do.”
She forgot the earlier events of the evening, her disgust with her companion, the despair that had filled her as they’d driven back to the diner. Inside, the flickering hope that had driven her to William Hardison in the first place flamed high as she described her plan to restore the diner to its former glory.
Or to more than its former glory since she wasn’t sure it had ever been a smart establishment. Her plans included a large expansion of the kitchen to enable her to mass produce hors d’oeuvres and meals for the catering. And, since the man had agreed to listen, she threw in the apartment she planned to add on for herself.
“You
