brisk nod and said, “I’ve got reservations for six-fifteen at a restaurant not too far from here. I brought the car since taxi service can be chancy at this time of night.”
Jessie glanced at the shiny black Mercedes parked at the curb. Its dark, impenetrable windows added to its air of aloofness. The car fit him perfectly. Both were elegant, solidly built and expensive, with an underlying power that could squash the unwary.
“You get points for being on time.” She hoped that focusing on the reason why they were together would dampen the excessive pleasure she felt in his company.
“Don’t tell me. Promptness really is a virtue?”
“It’s also becoming very rare,” she said.
“I refuse to waste my time waiting for people to show up, so I extend the same courtesy to others.”
“A commendable attitude,” she murmured, surprised at his words. Most of the high-powered businessmen she worked with saw nothing wrong with keeping small-business people like herself waiting indefinitely to see them.
“I’m glad you approve,” he said dryly.
Taking her arm, he headed toward the car and opened the rear door. Hurriedly she climbed into the car and scooted across the leather seat to make room for Max.
“Jessie, this is Fred. Fred, Ms. Martinelli,” Max said, introducing his driver.
“Evening, Ms. Martinelli.” Fred pulled into traffic with a deft turn of the powerful car’s steering wheel.
“Good evening, Fred,” Jessie said, wondering how long Fred had worked for Max and how well he knew him. This job had one interesting side benefit. She had the perfect excuse to ask all kinds of questions that normally would be considered none of her business.
Unfortunately, the most burning question she had was one Max couldn’t answer, and that was why she reacted to him like he was the embodiment of her every masculine fantasy when her mind knew perfectly well he wasn’t. Her fantasies had always been about lean, debonair, sophisticated men. Maybe it was a result of her passion for vintage black-and-white movies, but from the time she’d been old enough to understand what sexual attraction was all about, her physical ideal had been men like Cary Grant or Sir Laurence Olivier. Sometimes she had the feeling that she’d been born out of time. She would have been much happier back in the twenties.
“I have reservations at a restaurant called Saretts. Have you been there before?” Max asked, curious about where her dates normally took her. If this were a real date, he’d take her to a five-star restaurant for dinner. Followed by a Broadway show and afterward he’d…
“No, I’ve never heard of it,” Jessie said. “Which is hardly surprising. Sometimes I think New York is wall-to-wall restaurants.”
Did that mean that she ate at a lot of them? Max wondered. And if she did, did she go with someone? A male someone?
“I intend to monopolize your time over the next six weeks or so. I hope no one will be upset.”
“No.” To his annoyance Jessie deflected his question without telling him anything. No could mean anything. It could mean that she was involved with someone who was willing to put up with her heavy workload. Or it could mean that she wasn’t involved with anyone on a personal level at the moment. Max felt an intense surge of frustration engulf him at his lack of any real personal information about her. Sam had rhapsodized for twenty minutes about her competence, her trustworthiness, her ethics and her solid record for results, but at no time in the conversation had he said anything about her personal life other than the fact that she had never done anything that would leave her open to blackmail.
“Here we are, sir,” Fred announced as he pulled up in front of the restaurant.
He could slip in a few personal questions over dinner, Max decided. He’d never found it particularly hard to get a woman talking. In fact, usually he couldn’t get them to shut up.
“I’ll page you when I want to be picked up, Fred,” Max said as the driver opened his door. Outside, he waited while Jessie got out, then took her arm and began walking.
“Is Fred the modern-day equivalent of an old family retainer?” Jessie asked.
“No. There is nothing old-fashioned about Fred. He comes from a security firm that specializes in drivers who know how to kill in unarmed combat.”
Jessie stopped dead on the sidewalk and stared at him in shock. “He what?”
“There are a lot of dangerous people out there, and a wise man takes precautions.”
Jessie shivered at the reminder of just how perilous the world had become, and at Max’s casual attitude toward it. “I never thought of it before, but there are distinct advantages in not having much money. Have you been threatened?”
“No, but I started taking precautions after an Italian friend of mine was kidnapped last year. Kidnapping seems to be a way of life in Italy these days, and I do a lot of business over there.”
“What happened?” Jessie asked.
“His son and I rescued him. We couldn’t take the risk they’d let him go after the ransom was paid.”
Opening the door, he ushered her into the restaurant. Despite it being early, the place was almost full.
“I have reservations for two under the name of Sheridan.”
“Of course, Mr. Sheridan.” The hostess gave him a bright, professional smile. “If you’ll just follow me.”
The woman led them to a booth set along the wall opposite the front window, and Jessie slipped into the plush velvet seat.
“Your waitperson will be with you shortly.” The hostess handed them each a menu and then left.
Jessie opened the menu and then asked, “Do you normally open doors for women?”
Max looked at her in surprise. “Why? Is there something wrong with that?” he asked.
“Manners aren’t a question of right and wrong,” Jessie said. “Think of them as the grease that lubricates the friction of living in close proximity with other people. As far as I’m concerned, having a man open doors for me is a plus. However, some women feel that a man doing something for them that they can do for themselves is patronizing. It will turn them off. If you want to marry a woman who thinks like that, then you need to practice letting women open their own doors.”
Max stared off in the middle distance for a long moment and said, “Opening doors for women is just habit. I grew up in the South, and manners there tend to be a bit more traditional. But I have no real opinion either way.”
“Good,” Jessie said. “Once you focus in on a woman you intend to court, you can simply follow her lead.”
“Yes,” Max said as he tried to imagine what his final choice would look like. But the only image that formed in his mind was of Jessie. Proximity, he told himself.
“What would you like to eat?” Max asked.
“I’m still thinking about it,” she said.
