shoulder-bumped Mose as she reached the door. “Because our clients are all ninety-year-old farts.”
Lena smiled as they left. She’d tried to hide it but those blue eyes had about undone her. The long dark blond hair, the slightly too-long beard, neatly trimmed over his cheeks and longer at the chin was a look she was sure only he could make look so sexy. And when those luscious lips parted in that grin of his, she’d about lost her ability to count to ten much less evaluate his portfolio.
“Basta.”
She logged on to her computer and began going through her emails. Frat boy. Trust-fund brat. Probably a man whore. Bad boy. She repeated the litany over and over in her mind. In English. In Spanish. Still, the memory of those eyes looking directly into hers would not go away. Nor the feeling of breathless heat she’d experienced. The look on his face when he talked about helping kids. Melt.
Yeah, well, get over it. Ain’t gonna happen. Serious men only need apply. Like Eduardo. Serious. With a job. Ready for a commitment. A cold jab of fear in the gut made her press her lips together. What about you? Are you ready for a commitment?
Shaking the thought from her head, she turned back to the computer. Numbers. Numbers made sense. The give and take of the market place made sense. It was all just a shell game. Moving money here. Buying stock here. Selling it there. No messy emotion. No baffling personalities. Just numbers.
* * *
SATURDAY MORNING, SHE rolled out of bed with a groan and, not bothering with a shower, put on her running clothes and shoes. Sweeping her hair up into a high ponytail, she stepped out the rear entrance of her condominium. Perfect day for a run. Sixty-five and sunny. She stretched for a few minutes, and then headed out on her normal three-mile route. Along Waterfront Park to Adgers Wharf, East Bay to the Battery, Murray to South Battery back to East Bay, where she reversed her course. She started out and made it all the way to the High Battery before she needed to start her mental narrative of “Pizza and wine, pizza and wine, pizza and wine.” She’d inherited her mother’s and aunt’s tendency for a big butt and running was the only thing that kept it in check.
Mentally adding another two hundred calories burned from dodging tourists, she reached the stairs to the Low Battery and pressed on. The throngs of tourists thinned out dramatically once she’d passed White Point Garden and left her obligated only to lift a hand or grunt out a greeting to fellow runners as she passed. And she had a date. With Eduardo. Tonight. Just do it. Suck it up. One night. Then maybe la familia will leave you alone. The thought made her kick up her pace. Was there anything more excruciating than dating at her age?
The food. Just think of the food. She turned down South Battery with the menu of Halls Chophouse on her mind. An hour or so of awkward small talk is a fair price to pay for some of the best food in Charleston, right? You can do this. She huffed out a sigh. Flipped a middle finger at a dude who called out “Qué pasa, chica” as she ran past him. What to wear? You’re gonna have to shave if you want to wear a dress.
The “to shave or not to shave” debate got her back to Waterfront Park. She slowed to a walk as she approached the pineapple-shaped water fountain at the center of the park, cooling down and getting her breath back. Nope. If she was going to be forced on a date, she was going to pull out all her weapons. And her legs were killer.
“Hello, Ms. Reyes.”
She turned at the sound of the voice. And froze. Great. Here you are dripping sweat and probably smelling like a dead goat in the sun and there is Mr. Hot-Frat-Boy. She stopped and put her hands on her hips. Dear, sweet baby Jesus in the manger. He was splayed out on a blanket in the grass, propped up on his elbows. The paint-smeared T-shirt he wore rode up just enough for her to get a glimpse of hard abs and a little dark blond fuzz. There was an honest-to-God palette on the blanket beside him and an easel holding a canvas. Bad-boy grin was on full power.
She took a few steps in his direction. “Mr. Matthews.”
He pulled himself up to sit cross-legged on the blanket. “Matt, please. I beg of you. Mr. Matthews makes me feel like I should get a haircut and put on a suit or something. Beautiful day, don’t you think?”
She stopped at the edge of the blanket. She didn’t get him. Everything about him screamed entitled, rich white boy but he didn’t show it. At all. “Yes,” she said, sarcasm dripping from each word. “It is quite a lovely day, Mr. Matthews.”
He grinned and her stomach went quivery. A frown creased her face. Do that again, gut, and no dessert for you tonight.
“Come on, I’m sorry for the other night. Really, I am. Why won’t you accept my apology? I’d like to be friends.”
She looked at the painting. Unlike the large, minimalist paintings she’d seen at the Gallery, this was much more to her taste. A softer Jonathan Green–style of the fountain and the trees with their trails of Spanish moss swaying in the breeze.
“Whatcha think?” he asked.
“I like this better than the other stuff.”
“Why won’t you accept my apology?”
She looked back at him and crossed her arms. “Because you don’t get it.”
He held his hands out, palms up. “Then tell me what I don’t get.”
She pressed her lips together for a moment. Think, Magdalena, think. He is a client. “What you did was wrong. Not because I turned out to be who I am but because it’s wrong to pull that on anyone. Any woman would have been embarrassed. You are apologizing to me because you need me to handle your money. You need to be looking at why you wanted to embarrass a woman like that.”
She waited as he stared up at her. Here it comes. It was just a joke. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re overreacting. He got to his feet with one graceful motion.
“Crap. I never saw it like that. You’re right.” He ran a hand down his beard. “Now I feel like shit.”
She managed to hide how stunned she was. He was taking responsibility? He was being enlightened? Wow. Okay. Don’t gloat. Be nice. “Now,” she said, holding out a hand, “I’ll accept your apology, Matt.”
He took her hand and held it between both his. “Thank you for telling me that. I do try not to be an asshole most of the time.”
She slipped her hand away from his before she couldn’t hide the rush of heat she was feeling. “We’re all just humans, doing the best we can in the moment.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said with a vague gesture at her sweaty self. “I need to finish my cooldown.”
* * *
MATT WATCHED LENA walk away. The grin came back. He could think of a couple of things he’d like to do with her in the moment. He liked that she’d made him work for his apology. Liked that she’d surprised him with her blunt assessment of his behavior. Fawning sorority girls had never been his type. He’d always preferred brains over beauty. But Magdalena Reyes seemed to possess ample amounts of both. The bits of fire and steel he saw in her only intrigued him further.
He carefully cleaned his brush and bent to pick up his palette. He normally didn’t paint in public, preferring to paint from photographs when doing landscapes, but the day was so perfect. Much different from Chevy Chase where October meant winter
