currently in use with, among others, the FBI, the IRS and the DOD. Not too shabby.
She turned to see him stretching, arching his back so his shirt rode up, revealing a tiny little patch of skin by his belt. She closed her eyes, although she couldn’t have said why, and when she opened them again, he’d brought his arms down. “I still don’t get it,” she said. “I can’t imagine what questions you think I can answer for you.”
“That’s okay. I can. I have a lot of them written down in my little notebook.”
“For example?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not yet. Right now, I think the important thing is food. I’m starving and you must be, too.”
She looked at the bedroom with longing. That’s what she really wanted. Sleep. But he was right, she hadn’t eaten since her power bar this morning. “I could use some dinner.”
“Great. Why don’t we just go downstairs. They have great steaks and a good wine cellar at Gigot.”
“That sounds fine. I want to freshen up first, though.”
“You go ahead. I’ll call down.”
She went to the rest room, a little startled to see his things next to hers on the counter. It was only a leather shaving kit, but still. She tried to remember the last time she’d shared a bathroom with a guy. College. And not that often.
Her gaze went to her reflection. She didn’t look as frazzled as she felt. The important thing was not to let this arrangement get to her. He was just a hired hand. Someone doing a job. She’d done research in college, and she understood how it worked. He’d ask, she’d answer, and the rest of the time, she’d work. Simple, and yet…
She was so aware of him. Of his broad shoulders, his slim hips. The way his hair fell across his forehead. That nose of his that was too big, and yet exactly right. The way he kissed.
She sighed, slumping her shoulders and staring blindly at the sink. That kiss had knocked her for a loop. It had caught her completely off guard. Not just that he’d kissed her, but that she had reacted so fiercely. Her toes had curled. For God’s sake, that didn’t happen to her. Not ever. And it wasn’t going to happen again. This was her moment, and nothing and no one was going to get in the way. If she had to, she’d fire him.
HE ORDERED the 1999 E. Guigal Châteauneuf-du-Pape, which Jessica happened to know was the Wine of the Year for 2002 according to Wine Spectator. This to go with the filet mignon she’d ordered, and the T-bone he’d asked for.
Normally, she wasn’t big on steak, but tonight it felt right. As did the small salad with the unbelievably good balsamic vinaigrette, the roasted red potatoes and the sourdough bread that was way too good. Of course, the wine made everything sheer bliss. It was perfect. The meal, the atmosphere, which was dark but not too dark, cozy, quiet. The waiters didn’t hover, but were never out of reach. And she even liked the painting on the wall behind Dan. It was modern, no real subject, but nice.
They’d talked a lot about his mother, of all things, during the meal. Jessica had heard of Colleen Crawford, had even read articles by her. It seemed the two of them had a terrific relationship, and according to Dan, his parents’ marriage had been ideal. But it begged the question “Why don’t you ask her these questions that have you so confused?”
“She won’t answer me.”
“What?”
“She won’t. She tells me I have to learn some things through experience.”
“But you don’t believe her.”
“I don’t disbelieve her, but I think she’s been spoiled by her own relationship. I don’t think she sees the dilemma.”
“Frankly, I don’t think I do, either.”
“You will, the more we talk.”
“Don’t be so sure. I’m not terribly bright when it comes to men. I’ve never been in love or anything remotely close to it.”
His eyebrows came down for a moment, and he sipped some more of his wine. “I don’t think that’ll matter.”
“No?”
“My questions are about you. About what you want. What you need.”
“I can tell you that in about two sentences.”
“I’m sure. But I hope you won’t. I want you to answer my questions in the order I’m going to ask them. Not before.”
“Fair enough.”
He smiled.
She ate the last piece of bread on her plate. After she’d swallowed, she tapped the table. “Well?”
“What?”
“Ask.”
“Oh, no. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m having a really good time.”
She laughed. “And questions will spoil it?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Just how offensive are these questions?”
It was his turn to laugh. “Not at all. Although, they are personal.”
“So I’d assumed.”
“We’ll start later.”
“When, later? I’m exhausted. All I want now is bed. I have to be up at five.”
“Which means I have to be up at five, right?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Tomorrow morning is makeover day. I’ll be at Bloomingdale’s. Owen won’t be.”
“So when do I report for duty?”
“Tomorrow evening. It’s the big opening party. I’m afraid it’s black-tie.”
“No problem. I’m all set.”
“Okay, then. Just be available from about five on.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She knew he would handle the party well. He was every bit the sophisticate, although not in the least obnoxious about it. The conversation had flowed with surprising ease. But still. “No, it’s not going to work,” she said.
He immediately sat forward. “What?”
“I’m never going to get to sleep wondering what the hell you’re going to ask me. So you have to. Ask. At least one question. Dinner’s about done, so it can’t ruin much.”
He leaned back, not looking pleased. “All right. If you insist.”
“I do.”
He
