friend.
“Those are two questions everyone will ask. Better to save yourself answering it twenty times over and put out the information up front that you want people to see.” Jasmine gave Sofia’s forearm an affectionate squeeze. “But I will let you two discuss that since I need to run to another appointment.”
Secretly pleased to have Sofia all to himself, Quinn rose as Jasmine took her leave. Sofia neatly folded the papers and tucked them into the black leather satchel she carried.
“Maybe we could talk through the rest of this while we walk? The park is close by. I know I suggested this place, but I wasn’t thinking about how noisy it would be.”
“Good idea.” He left the waitress a tip even though they hadn’t ordered, then escorted Sofia out onto the street. With a hand on her hip, he could feel the tension vibrating through her. Stress? Nervousness? He had a tough time reading her. “I live on the other side of the park. We could at least head in that direction.”
The traffic would be gridlocked soon anyhow and he knew the paths well enough on the southern end of Central Park.
“Sounds good.” She seemed slightly more relaxed outdoors. “And I’m sorry if this situation is cutting into your time. I probably wasn’t in the best frame of mind to make decisions yesterday.”
“Attending these events will only benefit my business.” He turned down West Sixty-Ninth Street toward the park, plucking her bag off her shoulder to carry it for her. Fake fiancé or not, she would be his top priority for the upcoming weeks. She didn’t seem like the type of woman who allowed other people to take care of her. But from where Quinn stood, she was in need of some spoiling—something this media ruse might let him do for her. “I haven’t done much networking in the last year and it always lifts the company profile.”
He wanted her at ease. Enjoying herself. Hell, he wanted to get to know her better and this would be the perfect time. So the less she worried about inconveniencing him, the better.
“That’s a generous way to look at the situation. Thank you.”
“I wouldn’t call it generous.” He tipped his head up to the skies as a few snowflakes began to fall. “Are you going to be warm enough for this?”
Her blazer was heavy but now that the sun was almost down, the temperature was hovering just below freezing.
“My cape is in my bag,” she said, pointing to the satchel on his shoulder. He lifted his arm so she could rifle through it and pull out the same mohair garment she’d worn the day before.
“Let me.” Drawing her to the quieter side of the street near the buildings, he took the cape and draped it over her shoulders, then turned her so he could fasten the two big buttons close to her neck. His eyes met hers and, for half a heartbeat, that same awareness from their kiss danced in the air between them.
“I can get them,” she protested, trying to sidle away politely.
He held fast, hands lingering on the placket as the snowfall picked up speed, coating her shoulders.
“But the more comfortable we get with each other now, the easier it’s going to be to fool everyone on Friday.” He looked forward to it.
Very much.
Part of it had something to do with the way her heartbeat quickened at his touch. He could feel the quick thrum beneath his knuckles right through her layers of clothing. He wanted to kiss her again, to taste her rosy lips where a snowflake quickly melted. But instead, he reached for the wide hood of her cape and drew it over her head to keep the snow off.
“Then I will try to think of this day as a dress rehearsal.” She sounded so damn serious.
That, combined with some of the things she’d shared with him the night before, reinforced his notion of her as highly driven. He admired her work ethic and her dedication to her career. He’d always been the type to pour himself into a work project, too. Duty and perseverance were the cornerstones of his approach to the world.
“In that case, we can’t go wrong.” Readjusting her bag on his shoulder, he pressed a light hand to the small of her back to guide her through a left on Central Park West and the quick right to get on the path that would take them toward his apartment. “From what I gleaned about you last night as I read up on your career, it sounds like you’ve succeeded at everything you’ve set out to accomplish.”
Even with the hood pulled up, he could see the way she smiled.
“Either that or I have an excellent publicist.”
That surprised a laugh out of him as they strode deeper into the park, which seemed a bit busier than usual, the fresh snow bringing out kids and kids-at-heart. They passed people walking dogs and packs of middle-school-aged children in uniforms, still wearing backpacks.
“Jasmine does seem determined to package your career—and you—in the best possible way.”
“She’s a good friend and an equally awesome public relations manager.”
“And this reception she wants us to attend. That’s for the choreographer you mentioned who’s putting together the new ballet.” He’d read about the guy a good bit last night. “The media can’t use enough superlatives about him gracing New York with his presence.” It had been a bit much in Quinn’s mind, but then, he was far from an expert.
“You have been doing your research.” She rewarded him with an approving smile that renewed the urge to kiss her.
But he also liked finding out more about her that would help him get closer to her. He would wait.
“This is a dress rehearsal for me, too, Sofia.” He watched a few kids try to shake a radio-controlled helicopter down from some tree limbs; they were attracting an audience. “I’m trying to get my part down.”
“You’re doing well. If you were one of my students, you’d be promoted to the next level.”
“You teach?” He paused on the outskirts of the crowd.
“A lot of the dancers do.” Sofia’s gaze went up to the helicopter and the kids shaking any branches of the old oak they could reach. “It’s a way to pick up some extra income and give back to the company. The School of American Ballet is like our farm system...it feeds the City Ballet.”
“Give me one second.” He hated to interrupt her, but he also couldn’t let the kids kill a tree that—for all he knew—could predate the damn park itself. He set down Sofia’s bag and grabbed a football at one of the boys’ feet as he strode into the group. “Guys, back up a minute.”
The group did as he asked, a few calling out taunts that he’d never be able to reach the branch where the helicopter teetered. Which he welcomed, of course, since the ribbing only ensured that he’d throw twice as hard. He’d grown up with brothers, after all. He spoke the language.
“I get three shots,” he insisted. “Only because I haven’t warmed up my arm.”
“I’ll give you six, old man,” shouted a wiry redhead who seemed to be the ringleader. “That thing is straight-up stuck.”
Old?
Quinn
