where she handed Natalie and Michael a folder each. “I need to take this phone call. But these are my initial plans, which the two of you can peruse. Have a gander, brainstorm together and we’ll talk at a future date.”
“Oh, sure.” Natalie stood and accepted Penelope’s proffered hand. But she was suddenly out of sorts. She wasn’t thrilled about the idea of her and Michael having to spend time together alone. She would prefer to do the planning with Penelope involved.
Michael shook Penelope’s hand, and then turned to Natalie when Penelope went back to the phone.
“Why don’t we talk outside?” he suggested in a low voice, careful not to speak too loudly and disturb Penelope.
“Sure,” Natalie agreed.
Michael gestured for her to walk in front of him, so she left the office first. Getting to the double front doors moments later, Natalie reached for the right handle. But her hand collided with Michael’s as he reached to do the same thing.
“Allow me,” Michael said.
Natalie drew in a deep breath. The touch of Michael’s hand against her skin, the deep timbre of his voice…he was doing this on purpose. Trying to see if he could get to her.
But she said nothing, just stepped onto the porch, where the heat of the late-June day enveloped her. But that was nothing compared to the heat she saw smoldering in Michael’s eyes when she turned around and looked up at him.
“So,” he said.
Natalie’s pulse picked up speed—and then she felt disgusted with herself. Good Lord, what was wrong with her? Why was this man getting to her on any level? So what if he was seriously fine, with a body chiseled to perfection?
Obviously Natalie needed a distraction from the reality of Vance and his betrayal—but seriously, Michael Jones? There couldn’t be a worse man to feel even a remote attraction to.
Natalie cleared her throat and averted her gaze. “I’ll take a look at Penelope’s plans, you do the same and let’s talk in a couple of days. Give me your card, and I’ll call you.”
“Actually, I was thinking more like dinner. Tonight.”
“Dinner?” She narrowed her eyes at him. A beat passed. Then another. Then Michael’s lips curved in a smile.
Natalie couldn’t believe his gall. “Are you seriously asking me out on a date?”
Michael’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Actually, I was suggesting we have dinner in order to discuss some ideas for this fundraiser. But if you want to make it a romantic date…”
Natalie swallowed, feeling foolish. “Oh.”
“How about seven o’clock? Right where we met on the street yesterday. I have a restaurant there, A Taste of Soul. We can meet there. Have a relaxing meal. Enjoy some Dixieland jazz.”
Though it shouldn’t have, Natalie’s heart began to beat a little faster. Michael had said this wasn’t a romantic date, but what he was describing certainly sounded like it. Natalie could only imagine his plan of attack: feed her a delicious meal, give her a few drinks, allow the music to set the mood, then suggest that they head back to his place.
She had fallen for that game once before. She wouldn’t again.
“We can speak over the phone,” she told him. “I think we should at least look over Penelope’s plans separately before we come together to discuss ideas.”
“Trying to run away from me again?”
Natalie’s right eyebrow shot up. “Excuse me? I just presented you with a practical plan. How on earth did you deduce—”
“All that matters is that I know your name,” Michael said, and it took Natalie a moment to realize that he was quoting her words from yesterday. “I have to say, I don’t think I’ve ever been rejected quite like that before.”
So that’s what this was about. “I see I bruised your ego—”
“Ouch—”
“Which wasn’t my intent,” she continued. “So for that, I apologize.” She began to dig through her purse. Staying here and engaging Michael in more chitchat was getting them nowhere. “But like I said, I’d like time to peruse Penelope’s plans before we get together. Here’s my card—”
“Tonight. Dinner. You’ll love the soul food. Southern fried chicken, collard greens…”
“On second thought, it’s probably best that the next meeting be with both of us and Penelope,” Natalie said, not liking where this was going. She put the card back into her purse. “Let’s both touch base with her in a couple of days and then schedule the next meeting.”
And then, before Michael could say a word, Natalie started down the front steps of the house. She needed to get away from him. Natalie knew his type, and wasn’t going to entertain his “I’m not flirting” flirtation any longer.
She hurried around the side of the building, not looking backward. She knew she was doing the same thing she had done yesterday—running from Michael, as he had said. Natalie wasn’t naïve, and she certainly wasn’t born yesterday. No matter what Michael said, it was clear that he had designs on her, and the last thing she wanted to do was lead him on in any way. So going out to dinner with him to discuss the charity even was a definite no-no.
At least not tonight. Let her go over Penelope’s initial plans on her own, then she and Michael would talk. That way, their next interaction would truly feel like a business meeting as opposed to a date.
But as Natalie rounded her car to the driver’s-side door, she stopped in her tracks. Silently, she cursed.
Because her grand plan of escape had totally been destroyed.
She had a flat tire.
Chapter 5
“What the heck?” Natalie asked as her eyes took in the sight of the front driver’s-side tire. “How in God’s name?”
“Need some help?”
Natalie spun around and stared at Michael. Her first thought was that he must have somehow been behind this. But she knew he couldn’t have been. He had been in Penelope’s
office with her for their entire meeting. Had been in that office even before Natalie had arrived.
“What?” Michael asked, his eyes narrowing with speculation. “You can’t seriously think I had anything to do with this?”
Natalie didn’t answer the question. She wanted to blame him for this inconvenience, because it meant having to spend even more time with the man when she wanted nothing more than to get away from him. She wasn’t certain why she was so desperate to escape him, only that she was.
“Looks like I have a flat tire.” Vance had always told her that she wasn’t good at assessing a car’s needs, only at driving one. She hadn’t needed to be, not when her high-end Mercedes had indicated to her whenever the car needed something.
