Reginald licked his shiny lips and smiled. He had the smug look of a man who was dead sure he was going to get laid tonight.
She was being slimed. Classy restaurant or skeevy dive, the effect was the same. The prices on the menu didn’t change a thing.
Reginald edged his chair closer and laid his clammy pink hand over hers. “I’m not afraid of your dark side, Abby,” he crooned, lifting her hand slowly toward his lips.
Oh, no. This was one frog she was not going to kiss. Screw politeness. She wasn’t even waiting for the dessert cart.
She yanked her hand away, dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, and sprang up. “Thanks for dinner, Reginald. I’ve gotta scoot.”
Reginald looked blank. “Huh?”
“Bye.” She gave him a brilliant smile and headed straight toward the headwaiter’s podium. “Could someone call me a cab, please?”
“Abby.” Reginald grabbed her arm. “What did I say? Did I offend you in some way?”
She wrenched her arm out of his grip and pushed out the door. “I need to go home,” she said. “I have a headache.”
Café Girasole was on the water. The boardwalk was right across the street. Fortunately, it was crowded with people on this clear June evening, so she was in no danger of repeating last night’s stupidity.
Reginald hurried out after her. “I’ll take you home, Abby.”
“Cab’s fine, thanks,” she said crisply.
“I’m so sorry you’re not well,” Reginald persisted. “You should have said something earlier. I’m expert in several different massage styles, you know. Ten minutes of my Black Serpent technique, and you’d be ready for anything.” He leered as he groped for his keys.
Unbelievably, the guy still had no clue. It boggled the mind.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” she said. “’Night, Reginald.”
“But I…wait a minute.” Reginald dug in his other pants pocket. He tried his jacket. He tried them both again. He peered into the BMW. The keys were still in the ignition. He tried the door. It was locked.
Abby tamped down the giggles. It seemed cruel to have so much fun at his expense. “It happened to me last night. Maybe I jinxed you.”
The laughter in her voice made his head whip around. “Every superstitious belief has its roots in psychological fact,” he said icily. “I conduct the activities of daily living with heightened mindfulness. Locking my keys in my car is a sign that other forces are at work.”
Abby’s mirth faded. “Meaning? What other forces?”
Reginald spoke slowly, as if to a dull child. “Certain people create chaos wherever they go. What an ignorant person might refer to as a jinx is, in fact, just contact with a nexus of chaos and negativity.”
Abby forced her mouth to close. “It was a joke,” she said slowly. “Do you know what a joke is, Reginald? Do I need to explain it to you?”
Reginald frowned. “Sarcasm is unbecoming.”
She could practically hear the clicking sounds as her vertebrae stacked themselves up. “Are you implying that I actually jinxed you?”
Reginald shrugged. “Ludovic led me to understand that your past was one chaotic, unpredictable disaster after another.”
“So it’s my fault you locked your keys in your stupid car?”
“You’re oversimplifying,” Reginald said loftily. “It’s very complex.”
“I have not even begun to oversimplify, you pompous butthead!”
“No need for hostility.” Reginald looked much more cheerful, now that he’d whipped her into a frenzy.
“You call me a nexus of chaos and negativity, and then say there’s no need to be hostile?” Her voice was getting shrill.
Reginald looked down his beaky nose. “You have a problem with anger management, which doesn’t really surprise me. Please control yourself long enough for me to find a professional to open my car.”
She was opening her mouth to tell him exactly where he should stick his anger management when the switch flicked inside her. Ping.
A professional to open my car. A shiver went through her.
Oh, no. She’d be better off going home, turning on the Classics Channel, getting out the Fudge Ripple and a nice big spoon. Being a nexus of chaos and negativity was way too stressful for a working girl.
She tapped Reginald’s shoulder. “I know a locksmith.”
He pushed a button on his phone and frowned. “How’s that?”
“I was locked out last night. Call this number.” She held up her thumb. “If you’re not afraid of getting sucked into my nexus, that is.”
Reginald rolled his eyes as he punched the number into his phone. She held her breath as he waited for it to ring.
“Hello?” he said. “I’m locked out of my car. In front of Café Girasole, on the boardwalk. Do you know it?” He listened. “How quickly can you arrive? Ten minutes? Very well.” He switched off the phone.
A wave of heat climbed into Abby’s face. Her cab was on its way, and with it, her last opportunity to cheat fate and act like a grown-up. The locksmith was trouble at best, heartbreak and ruin at worst.
But she just had to know if he was as mouthwatering as she remembered. Maybe it was just a flush of fluttery gratitude for being rescued that had beautified him to her.
Ten minutes felt like forever. She ignored Reginald and stared at oncoming headlights. She hoped Zan would get there before her cab. It would be awkward and embarrassing to justify not hopping right in.
A shiny black van pulled over next to them. Zan was at the wheel. He killed the engine and sat there for a long moment, staring at her.
“What the hell is he waiting for?” Reginald grumbled.
Zan got out. His gaze swept over her brief dress. Spaghetti straps, plunging neckline. She shivered, brushed hair out of her mouth, and turned her back to look out at the ocean, her face very hot.
It wasn’t a flush of gratitude. He was monumentally gorgeous.
“I take it a check will be acceptable?” she heard Reginald ask.
“I prefer cash.” Zan’s voice was bland.
“But that’s inconvenient for me. I promise, my checks are good.”
“The bank doesn’t care about promises,” Zan replied.
Reginald sputtered. “But I don’t have a hundred in cash on me at the moment! Be reasonable.”
“I’m
