“Stop laughing at me, Will,” she all but snarled. “I’m counting.”
“Counting what?” he asked, amused, but trying not to show it.
“Sheep,” she shot back, irritated, then stopped, looked directly at him, and groaned. “Now you’ve messed me up,” she complained. “I was nearly there.”
“Why didn’t you just set a timer?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe and loosening his tie as he watched her pace. He wasn’t supposed to be working, but a client had insisted on speaking with him.
Elizabeth was wearing Mrs. Summers’s hideous purple apron with a ragged hem over a green sweater and chinos, slim black boots with sturdy square heels on her feet. He noted that they were an expensive brand and not yet broken in.
“When I set a timer, I feel free to get involved in something else,” she replied, running a forearm across her sweaty forehead. “And then I miss the alarm.” She placed the spatula on a clean plate. “When I have to concentrate on numbers, I remember.” She reached out and opened the oven, peering inside. “Yes!” she cried excitedly. “I think it’s done.”
She searched a few drawers before she found the oven mitts and moved to lift a casserole pan out of the oven. She set it down on the stovetop triumphantly.
“I did it!” she crowed, tossing her arms up in the air in an exaggerated victory dance. Will could see she was laughing at herself. “I actually made an incredibly easy dish and didn’t burn it. We can eat in tonight!” She spun around, stopped, and directed a smile his way.
She had a loaf of warm French bread from the bakery down the block already sitting on the island. When she moved her casserole dish to set it down beside everything else, he saw that it was salmon with some sort of mustard sauce. He smelled lemon and dill, too. It looked and smelled wonderful.
“Did you make a vegetable?” he asked, looking around. She made a noise that might have been a curse had it not been strangled in her throat, and a little laugh escaped him.
“I knew I forgot something,” she huffed. “I have salad stuff in the fridge. Go clean up and change while I make it.”
He returned in khakis and a dark v-neck sweater. He moved to the wine refrigerator and was in the process of opening a bottle when he said, casually, “Charles wanted me to apologize again to you on his behalf.”
“For what?” she asked absently, searching for plates. She removed two from the cabinet above the silverware and placed a piece of fish on each one.
“Do you not remember his asinine concerns about us?” he asked. “It’s been less than a week.”
She shrugged. “Honestly, I haven’t really given him much thought. Clearly, you are comfortable with me. As you trust me, I don’t much care about Mr. Charles Bingley.”
Will grimaced. Perfect time to talk about an investigation, Darcy, he thought. The cork came away from the bottle with a soft pop and he set it down while he drew out two wineglasses.
“Well, funny you should say that,” he began with some trepidation. “I should have spoken with you sooner, but I wanted to speak with the advisory board first. I did that today.”
“Why?” Elizabeth teased, turning to face him with her hands on her hips. “Do they think I’m engaged in some sort of corporate espionage?” She returned to tossing the salad with a bit too much abandon, though Will noted that, while it was a near thing, she did not lose any food to the floor.
“No, of course not,” he said, shaking his head. Elizabeth lifted her head and met his gaze. He tried not to look guilty.
She laughed, slapping one hand on the counter. “They do, don’t they? At least Charles does. That’s hilarious.”
Will shook his head again, stymied. “I can never predict your reactions to things, Elizabeth.”
She grinned and set the salad out on the table. “I love these salad tongs,” she said, turning them over in her hands. “What are they, teak?”
“I think so,” replied Will, confused at her sudden change of subject. “Can we talk about Charles?”
Elizabeth sighed. “You caught me in the glow of victory, Will, and now you’re ruining it.” She cocked her head at him. “What does Charles want, some sort of background check?”
Will thought he might actually blush. “Um, a little more thorough. It doesn’t usually happen this early, but Charles is nervous.”
She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “Do I scare him?”
Will chuckled. “No, I think my response to you scares him.”
She sidled over to him and put her hands on his hips. “Oh yeah?”
He groaned. “I’ve already taken one cold shower today, Elizabeth. Please, be kind.”
She laughed and released him. “Sooo,” she said, drawing out the word and giving him a peculiar look, “how many women have warranted a background investigation in the last, say, three years?”
“Well . . .” Will scratched the back of his head as he considered that. “One. I dated other women, but only one made it past the ‘arriving at a restaurant in separate cabs’ stage.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “So you’ve not used a background investigation on anyone in the past three years?”
“My lawyers . . .”
Elizabeth held up one hand, palm out. “Stop. I don’t care about your lawyers. When was that last report done?”
Will rolled his eyes up to the ceiling to think about it. “Maybe two years ago? Little less?”
She moved to the table and began dishing out the salmon. She pursed her lips. “How many of these investigations have you had to run for Charles?”
Will picked up the wine bottle and set it on the table. “Four.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose into her hairline. “Four?” she responded with some surprise. “Four serious girlfriends in three years? Do they have an expiration date?”
Will winced. It had been about two and a half years, in truth. “They worked at competing businesses.” I suppose that is a lot. But it’s Charles.
Elizabeth spooned rice onto the plates, filled two salad bowls, and gestured for him to sit down. He took out a bread knife and cut several pieces before he took a chair.
“Here’s the deal, Will,” Elizabeth said, clearly annoyed that her meal was taking second place to their discussion. “I was a Marine for six years. My work by the end was largely to protect American and allied installations from cyber-attacks by finding vulnerabilities before the bad guys did. I also did some tracking of said bad-guys via online channels. I had to have security clearances for those things, including a certification from the NSA. I had to file forms in triplicate if I so much as wanted to change my underwear. A background check instigated by little Charlie Bingley doesn’t worry me—I’ve got nothing to hide.” She then leveled an icily intense glare at him. “But at the same time, he is not entitled to any information about me. When it comes back, I don’t want Charles Bingley anywhere near that report. I don’t trust him. It goes to you, and you only—you can inform the advisory board when it comes back clean, which of course it will.” She dropped her gaze and her voice modulated. “When you have it, bring it to me and we can discuss anything you like. But this is for your eyes only.”
Will let out a huge breath. That was easier than I thought it would be. “Agreed.”
Her brows pinched together. “I should tell you now that there are things about my time in the service that I can never tell anyone. I’m sure Richard has the same problem, and I know Uncle Ed does. Nothing scary, no black ops.” She laughed at the very thought of it. “Just sensitive information.” She met his gaze steadily and he nodded his agreement. “Okay, then, investigate away.”
She plopped herself down across the table from Will and reached for a slice of bread before asking abruptly, “Are you really a billionaire?”
Will was caught off guard. “Uh. . .”
She laughed softly at his shock. “I read it in the Post article. Not exactly a bastion of journalistic excellence, but are you?”
He tilted his head. “
Well, it depends . . . it’s more like I manage assets in that amount. It wouldn’t be a billion if I actually tried to cash it all out—taxes would eat up at least half of it.”
She hooted, her hand, holding a piece of bread, suspended in mid-air. “It depends,” she said with a chuckle. “That’s a good one.” Then she took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed before saying, “No wonder you need to check everyone out.” She frowned and stared at him before adding, “I plan to be a millionaire in my own right before I hit thirty. Six years,” she said firmly, “I have plenty of time.”
“So you’re twenty-four?” he asked, glad to change topics.
“Almost,” she replied distractedly, “I turn twenty-four on November 22nd. Sagittarius, if you want to know. What about you?”
She was young, but he’d known that. “My sign is Aquarius,” he said with a grin, “and I feel like I’ve just been transported back to the 1970s.”
Elizabeth ignored him to pick apart her fish with her fork. “Look, it’s flaky just like it’s supposed to be!” she exclaimed, lifting a forkful to her mouth. She grinned as she chewed, and when she was finished, she held up her hand for a high-five. Will gave her a strange look but complied.
“This is good,” she gloated. “One major step away from eggs, and it only needs to cook for fifteen minutes. Bennet scores!” She looked at him. “Seriously, it was frozen foods and eggs at my house for nearly a year before Aunt Maddy arrived. That’s probably what stunted my sisters’ growth.”
“They aren’t that short,” Will said wryly.
“That’s because I also bought the cheap milk with the growth hormones,” she replied, eyes sparking with mirth.
Will gazed at her. She was truly finished with the conversation he had been dreading since Charles mentioned the report. He shook his head. “You never cease to amaze me, Elizabeth,” he said, a small laugh at last breaking through, his mood improving substantially as he tucked into his food. She’s right, he thought happily. This is good.
“I know,” she said playfully, lifting one shoulder and smirking. “You’re lucky to have me.” She took another bite as he grabbed her free hand and held it tight.
“I am,” Will said seriously, leaning over to place a kiss on her cheek.
“I cooked, you clean,” Elizabeth said airily as she cleared the table and left the dishes next to the sink. “I’d put the leftovers away, but we ate it all,” she continued with a self-satisfied smile.
Will shook his head, trying to hide his grin. It was difficult not to smile when Elizabeth was around. “You really are unreasonably smug about this.”
“Smug, yes,” she admitted, entirely unapologetic. “Unreasonably so? I think not.”
He stood at the sink with the dish soap in his hand, and she approached from the back to throw her arms around him. “Have you ever washed dishes before?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, and I did my own laundry, cleaned my own room . . .”
She squeezed him tight and then released him. “So you aren’t a poor little rich boy, waited on hand and foot?”
He snorted. “My father would never have allowed it. He didn’t want me to grow up soft.”
Elizabeth thought about that. “You’re more like your mom, aren’t you?”
Will turned his head so he could peer at her over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing, it’s just that your dad seemed to want you to be more like him, and the way you talk about your mom—you know, a quiet captain of the ship—seems more like you.” She jumped up on the counter as he washed and set the dishes in the stainless-steel dish rack. She hadn’t made much of a mess, so cleaning up was easy.
“I suppose,” Will replied. “I’m still like him. I’m competitive like he was, but Mom and I both liked building things up more than taking them apart and reassembling them.”
“My father wasn’t . . .” Her voice trailed off. Will waited patiently, hoping she’d pick up the thread of her thought. Eventually, she did. “My father was not the captain of the ship, and neither was my mother. We were. . .” She paused, seeming to search for the word. Then she tipped her head up to meet his gaze and finished her sentence. “Rudderless.”
She wandered into the living room after that, and Will hurried to dry the dishes and put everything away. Elizabeth had discovered his sound system and was examining his collection when he joined her.
“You have a lot of old vinyl here,” she said approvingly. “What’s your favorite?”
He pulled out a few albums. “We even have some 78s from way back. I can’t ever choose a favorite. Depends on my mood. Blues, jazz, rock.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “No opera?”
He grinned and reached over her head to the top shelf of records, plucking out a few and showing her. “I like opera, too, when I’m feeling melodramatic.”
She laughed, and her green eyes sparkled up at him. “That happen often, does it?”
“I raised my sister through her teen years,” he said, placing the records back in their place. The very reminder made him feel tired. “I’m very familiar with melodrama.”
She nodded, still smiling. “I have three teenage sisters, so thank goodness for Aunt Maddy.” She pulled an album out of the jazz section. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of this one,” she said.
“Oh, that’s Artie Shaw,” he said approvingly. “Clarinet.” He put it on the turntable and held out a hand to her. “Where or When” began to play. “Dance with me.”
She took his hand, but her expression was doubtful. “I don’t know how.”
“It’s not difficult,” he assured her. “Just let me lead.”
Letting Will lead was tougher than she’d thought it would be. She tried to wait a split second to figure out what he was doing and follow, but it took too long to direct her feet. He was laughing at her, but in a comfortable way.
“Here,” he said at last, “let’s try a waltz.” He demonstrated as he counted. “One, two, three, one, two, three.”
She stared at his feet and then up at him, dubious. “How did you learn to dance?”
“It was a required course in the Darcy household,” he said. “We attended lots of formal events for my father’s business and my mother’s charity work. Everyone always expected me to dance with their daughters.”
“Awww,” she replied, trying to picture it in her mind while her feet seemed to move on their own. “Did you dress in a suit?”
He flushed a little and tightened his hold. “A tux.”
“I bet a lot of those girls had a crush on you after.” She was just moving in step with Will now, not paying attention at all.
He shook his head, “Sadly, no. I think most of them were just trying to protect their toes.” He gave her a wink. “I had the same size feet then as I do now.”
“Should I be worried?” she asked playfully as she took his hands again. They successfully moved through two more box steps and an underarm turn before she remembered they were dancing and moved in the wrong direction.
“Not if you let me lead,” he said, his exasperated voice rumbling in his chest.
It was still gray outside when Will heard his bedroom door open and felt a tickling breath in his ear. He swatted at it and heard a chuckle as he turned on his side.
There was a gentle breeze in his ear again, and he swung harder this time. Another laugh finally made him open one eye a bit.
“Will, it’s time to get up,” he heard Elizabeth croon. “You want to go on our dirty date, right?”
“I thought we already had it,” he said, his voice still husky with sleep. Their dancing had improved the night before, leading to what he considered a reasonable make-out session. He had been dreaming of what might come next. He hoped she was ready for more soon. He had fond hopes of being able to take a hot shower again.
“Nope. Get dressed, something you can really move in,” she sang, then the sheets were tossed back.
“Nooo,” he said, tur
ning to reach for her. He reluctantly opened both eyes and pushed himself up, watching her make her way across the room.
“You know,” she said, stopping to open a dresser drawer, “we have to resurface sometime. We can’t just stay in your apartment for two weeks.”
“It was only one day,” he complained. “And why can’t we stay here for the whole two weeks?”
She shook her head and threw a pair of shorts and some sweats at him. They hit him in the face.
“As wonderful as this apartment is, Will, there’s a whole big world out there.” She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. She was in running clothes. They fit her well, especially around her . . . He groaned, flipped on this stomach, and buried his face in the pillow.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, perplexed, and then blushed. “Ah. I’ll just step outside.” He grabbed for her, but she was successful in dancing away. “You are very good for my ego, Will,” she said with a smile.
“I may be good for your ego, but you are very hard on mine,” he whined.
Elizabeth laughed at the unintentional pun. “I’ll drive,” she told him. “Put on your clothes.”
“Why?” He grabbed his blanket back and burrowed under it, curling into a fetal position.
She sighed as she pulled her hair back into a tight bun. “Because you can’t go outside in your boxers and a t-shirt?”
“Why do you need to drive?” he growled.
She grinned. “I’m driving your precious car because I know where we’re going, and it’s a surprise. Get up.”
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