slightly demoralizing to Lucy.
But it was the way things should be, she told herself. He was just her boss, she was just his secretary. They’d put in over fourteen hours of work and he was trying to reward her for it. That was all there was to it.
Still, though, she knew she should decline the offer. Despite the fact that Sadie was baby-sitting and had long since put Max to bed, Lucy knew she should go home.
But she was hungry.
And Max would be asleep and wouldn’t know the difference if she were gone another hour.
“What do you say?” Rand urged when she hadn’t answered immediately.
“Nothing fancy?” she heard herself ask right in the middle of giving herself reasons why it wasn’t a good idea to fraternize with the boss.
“It’s a diner. Definitely nothing fancy. And if you think I can protect you out on the mean streets of Washington, we can walk there, eat and then call for the car so we don’t interrupt whatever sporting event Frank’s watching while he waits for us to page him.”
Frank was Rand’s driver and was apparently on-call. Lucy thought it was yet another surprise to find Rand considerate of the other man. And as for trusting that Rand could protect her on a late-night walk anywhere, it only took one look at the size of him, at the confidence in his comportment, to judge the notion of not being safe with him a joke.
“A walk would be good,” she agreed. “I could use the fresh air.”
“Let’s do it, then.”
Within minutes they were down the elevator and out in the cold, crisp evening.
“This way,” Rand said with a nod to his right as he pulled on leather gloves the same charcoal color as the knee-length camel hair overcoat he wore.
Lucy had buttoned up her own black wool overcoat and also took gloves from her pockets as they headed off down the street that was still alive with people and traffic.
Neither Lucy nor Rand said much along the way. Lucy could only assume that he was doing the same thing she was doing—winding down.
The diner around the corner was just a hole-in-the-wall on the bottom floor of the office building abutting Rand’s. It had booths around the perimeter and counter-seating behind which was a cut-out in the wall that opened to the kitchen where orders and plates were exchanged.
The restaurant was about half-full and Rand led the way to a vacant booth.
“Workin’ late tonight are ya, counselor?” the waitress called to them from behind the cash register a split second after they sat down.
She was an older woman with her hair cut in a man’s crew cut and a large black mole below her left eye. Lucy noticed as she approached their table that she was dressed in the classic Liberty-green waitress dress, white apron and white nurse’s shoes that might have come right out of a diner from the 1950s.
Rand answered her greeting as if they were well-acquainted and ordered two Blue Plate Specials before so much as consulting Lucy.
When the waitress left he said, “The Blue Plate is pot roast, potatoes, salad and rolls. At this time of night you don’t want anything off the grill. It hasn’t been cleaned since dawn and the food that comes off it is pretty bad. I should have warned you before we got here but since I didn’t I couldn’t do it in front of Gail. She’s part-owner and would have been insulted.”
The offense Lucy had taken at not being asked what she wanted to eat abated with that explanation. She could hardly fault him for looking out for both her palate and the waitress’s feelings. So she decided to just go with the flow rather than make an issue of Rand Colton’s high-handedness.
Gail returned with water and asked if they wanted coffee.
This time Rand raised his eyebrows at Lucy, waiting for her to answer for herself.
“I’ll have herbal tea.”
“I’ll have iced tea,” Rand added.
They’d settled their coats and gloves on the booth seats beside them and so there they were, face-to-face, with nothing to distract them. And although the view was grand since Rand looked every bit as terrific as he had to start the day, it was unnerving to have those penetrating eyes of his studying her as if she were a painting on a museum wall.
“How did you get from California to Washington D.C.?” Lucy asked just to get the conversational ball rolling.
“I was here a couple of times as a kid. To visit my father. He was a Senator when I was pretty young and my mother brought us here to see him. It was so exciting it stuck with me. Then I spent the summer after my first year of law school here, interning at a think tank, which basically means I spent twelve hours a day, six days a week, researching arcane case law for one of the resident thinkers. I still found the city exciting, though, and since it seemed like a good place to make my mark, after I graduated I decided to put out my shingle here.”
“Is your family still in California?”
He raised the chiseled chin that had been freshly shaved during Lucy’s bathroom break to call home. “Hacienda del Alegria—that’s the old homestead in Prosperino. My folks and an assortment of siblings and almost-siblings are still there, yes.”
“Siblings and almost-siblings?”
“My family has a colorful history when it comes to kids. There were six biological kids and a slew of adopted and foster kids my parents took in over the years.”
“Really?” That was interesting, especially given Rand’s stand against his secretary having children. It had left Lucy with the impression that he might not like kids, that maybe he’d been an only child himself.
“Did you resent your parents taking in foster children?” she asked as their meals were served, thinking that maybe resentment had turned him sour on the subject.
“Did I resent it?” he repeated as he liberally salted his food. “No, why would you think that?”
Lucy tasted a small bite of the pot roast, judged it more than edible, and then said, “You’re so against single mothers as secretaries.”
“Just because it interferes with work. I like kids well enough and I certainly never resented my folks giving a home to foster kids.”
“How did your parents start that? Had they done it before having a family of their own and just kept it up afterward? Or had they already had all of you and still wanted more?” she asked then, as they both settled into eating.
“It didn’t start until after they had five of us. When I was thirteen one of my brothers, Michael, was killed by a drunk driver while he and the other twin, Drake, were out riding their bicycles. It was a rough time after that. My father in particular went into a deep depression. My mother got the idea of taking in kids without homes when my dad confided some things about his own growing-up years. The suggestion struck a chord in him. In fact, it was sort of a turning point for him. He realized that family was the most important thing to him and decided to give up politics and focus on his home life. Since then they’ve become pretty well-known for taking in stray kids. In ‘91 someone even
