Northwest Romantic Comedies: Boxed Set Books 1-6

by Lia London

“Do you like it here?” he asked.

  “I do. It’s very nice.”

  “Shall we dance one more?”

  Her eyes searched back to their table, where plates of steaming appetizers now waited. “I think we’d better stop and eat. If not, my sweat will outstink your cologne, and my grumbling gut will outblast the little orchestra.”

  “My cologne stinks?”

  “No, no. I didn’t mean that. I’m only teasing.”

  She held up a hand in an appeasing gesture, and he took it, bowing over it with a light kiss. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Jefferson.”

  Amaya watched the move closely, touched by the feeling of sincerity his old-fashioned gesture held. When they locked eyes again, she could not hold back a tiny shiver of pleasure at the intensity of his gaze.

  “Let’s eat, Mr. Judd.”

  Frank scarcely tasted the hors d’oeuvres, the soup, or the fish course, but he relished every sip as his eyes drank in Amaya’s face in the candlelight, the way her hands moved when she talked, and the engaging way she interacted with all the waiters. Keeping his demeanor professional would be harder than expected, and he casually slid the wineglass aside to assure he kept his mind clear. If he began acting like some infatuated fool on a first date, she would never see him as a sophisticate.

  She had called herself a working-class dancer, but everything about her screamed first-class. For the first time in his life, he doubted the fixed relationship between cultural interests, education, and social ranking. While he had tried to claw his way up and out of his economic origins, Amaya appeared at ease with her status.

  Was status even real?

  His stomach tightened. Would Amaya see through his charade? The Grumbleygut act prescribed by Becki had appealed to him at first, but as time wore on, he grew tired of having to try so hard. A woman like Amaya could surely detect his fraud.

  Even so, every now and then, when their eyes locked without words, he dared to hope she chose not to detest him after all.

  “Are you ready for the next course?” he asked.

  “You’re telling me there’s more?” Amaya’s hand rested on her trim waist. “But that’s twice as much as I usually eat for dinner already.”

  “Amaya, this is a six-course meal.”

  She pressed the tips of her long fingers to her temple. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’m about to split a seam.”

  He pursed his lips to smother a chuckle. “Next up is salad.”

  “Wonderful. I have room for about one cherry tomato, and then I’m going to explode.”

  “You don’t have to eat every bite, you know.” He wiped his mouth with the linen napkin to hide his smile and set it down beside the cutlery.

  “I don’t want to waste food. My Grammy taught me never to throw away what others would be grateful to have.”

  Frank considered this. “That’s a lovely sentiment, applicable to many things in life, I’m sure.”

  The slope of Amaya’s shoulder softened, and her smile widened. “Yes. She and Pappy taught me you never throw away food or things because others might need them, and you never throw away people because you might need them.”

  Frank’s mouth fell open, but he couldn’t decide if he should breathe in or exhale. Had Jenelle set him up with a dancing philosopher?

  “You’re a sage young lady, aren’t you?”

  “I cook a mean quiche, too.” Her eyes held a tantalizing glint of mischief.

  “Are you hungry for quiche right now?”

  “Not at all, and if I don’t burn off some more calories, I won’t have room for that cherry tomato.”

  Surprised at his own eagerness, Frank let out a light laugh and stood to hold out his hand. “Then by all means, let’s get in one more dance before the salad arrives.”

  Amaya arose with a glimmer of humor in her eyes. “You’re going to make me work, aren’t you?” she teased.

  A thrill rippled through his chest at her tone. Could she actually enjoy his company? He placed his hand on her back to guide her to an opening on the dance floor, but when a broad-shouldered man and his tiny date swept past them, cutting off their path, Amaya leaned back, accidentally pressing into his body. The unexpected contact sent a jolt of pleasure through him, and he sucked in a breath of surprise.

  “Ooh, sorry.” She turned her face with an apologetic nibble of her lip. “I didn’t spike your shiny shoes with my heel, did I?”

  Frank shook his head, more focused on the spike of exhilaration shooting through him at her touch. “Not at all. Why don’t you lead the way?”

  “All right.” She took his hand and worked her way around the swirling couples as he followed two steps behind, admiring her fluid movements. When she found a large enough space, she spun back, lifting the hand she held into perfect ballroom-dancing position in one smooth gesture.

  Frank couldn’t help but smile. “You’re making me look good.”

  “Isn’t that my job?”

  “Yes, but you do it so much better than … anyone.” His ears burned, and he tore his gaze away from her eyes with great difficulty. “When I’ve gone dancing with other women, I usually spend most of the time explaining how each pattern of steps goes, whispering the count.”

  “What dancers have you been hiring?”

  “Mutants from a colony of three-footed sloths, apparently,” he quipped.

  Amaya giggled into the back of her hand, but quickly regained composure.

  Had he really made her laugh, or was she being polite? “And what about you? Who have you been dancing with?”

  “In ballrooms? No one asks me. But onstage, a fair number of gorgeous, well-built, talented gay men.”

  “Oh dear. That’s not a stereotype?”

  “There’s a higher per capita ratio in the performing arts, but I don’t mind. Then I don’t have to deal with those messy cast romances.”

  “That isn’t a cliché, either?”

  “Oh, my heavens, no. The microcosm of a show, all that time together, saying pretty things and made-up extra fine. Yeah, it does a number on your head, and your heart and body tag along for the ride.” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head in a pitying gesture. “I’ve seen many performers fall hopelessly in love only to be broken-hearted come closing night.”

  He paused mid-step, curious. “And you? Did you ever fall into the trap?”

  Amaya averted her eyes and nudged him back into time with the music. “Not too bad. My Grammy MarLee warned me about that brand of entanglement, and I mostly listened.”

  “Entanglement,” he said, stretching the vowels. “Nice word choice.”

  “Thank you, Professor. I picked it out special, just for you.”

  Frank threw back his head in a silent laugh. Though she’d become increasingly more casual as the night wore on, his respect for her kept climbing. He couldn’t exactly identify why, but he hoped the next four dates would go as well.

  “So now you go home and write a story about how much you loved this place?” asked Amaya.

  “I don’t dare tell them that. They’ll never believe me.”

  “What do you mean?” She pouted and waited for him to open the door. “You didn’t have a good time?”

  His jaw loosened for a second. “Did you?”

  The intensity of his eyes flustered her, and she stepped quickly out into the night. “Well, yes, I suppose. I mean, for a job, this was pretty fun. I’m too stuffed to walk, and my feet ache from taking too many turns around the floor, but yes. I should think you’d give this place wonderful reviews. They fawned all over you. The poor wine concierge looked sick when you left the bottle mostly untouched. He probably thought the wine tasted terrible.”

  “No, no. I… didn’t need more of it.” He grew even more still. “And you didn’t have a single drop, yet listen to you ramble like a tipsy teen.”

  Amaya covered her mouth with her fingertips and began walking towards the parking garage. “I am rambling a little, aren’t I? Sorry. I�
�m usually very articulate.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  She hesitated, suddenly embarrassed. “What do you mean they wouldn’t believe you if you praised this place?”

  Frank visibly tensed, pausing his steps. “My editor created the whole persona of Frank Grumbleygut, and I’m afraid she expects him to be rather severe.”

  “Surely you’re allowed to say something nice?”

  “Yes, but my greatest praise would not be relevant to the normal patrons.”

  “Why not?”

  He bowed his head slightly, clicking his heels. “It would be directed at the quality of my companion, not the food or ambience.”

  Amaya hiccupped at the compliment. “Aw, shucks. I tried.”

  “You exceeded all expectations.”

  “You’ll hire me again, then?” She couldn’t keep a flirty lilt from her voice.

  “I already did, remember?”

  Amaya stood transfixed for a moment by the way he pressed his lips together. Was he holding in words? Holding back a smile, a laugh? She glanced up and saw that he had caught the direction of her lingering gaze.

  “Miss Jefferson, I wonder if you’d allow me…”

  Did he think she had wanted to kiss him? Had he taken the flirtation too seriously?

  “Could I escort you to your car?”

  Amaya’s mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding me?”

  “I want to make sure you’re safe. It’s late, and you are a beautiful woman … alone.”

  She wondered if he would make an advance on her, or if he was being chivalrous. “You sure you aren’t tired of me by now?”

  “Not at all. You were the perfect companion for the evening, and I’m sure it will be a delight to continue working with you.” His head dipped in an almost humble plea. “Will you let me do that for you?”

  Amaya licked her lips, shuddering at the chilly wind. “It would be nice of you.”

  “It’s what a snob like Frank Grumbleygut would do.”

  “Touché.”

  He chuckled. “The lady speaks French, too.”

  “I’ve done ballet since I was three. I can speak in French for hours about kicking and leaping and spinning around.”

  “Marvelous. We can talk about that next time.”

  Had he moved closer? He didn’t feel predatory, just… closer. The spicy scent of his cologne breezed by her, and she shivered again at the cold. “Are you parked in there?” He pointed at the garage a block away.

  She took a deep breath and reminded herself this was a job, not a date. “Yes. Thank you, Frank.”

  They walked for a few moments in silence, and Amaya considered how the evening had turned out better than it had started. Maybe things would continue to get a little more comfortable each time.

  As they turned in to the ground floor of the parking garage, Frank paused. “How many floors up?”

  “Three.”

  “May I assume you’d rather not hike in those heels.”

  Amaya chuckled. “You may assume that, yes.” She hooked her thumb to the left. “Elevator’s over here.”

  “I shall accompany you to make sure no ogres or psychopaths are lurking.”

  This time, she snickered. “You’re so weird.”

  “And yet you’re smiling,” he said, humor shining in his eyes. He reached past her to press the up arrow, and Amaya again caught the scent of his cologne.

  “I’m pretty sure you’re a harmless weirdo.”

  “Jenelle would not trust her prized new dancer with anyone dangerous, I’m sure.”

  Amaya jolted to a stop. “What did you say?”

  With a ding, the elevator door opened, and Frank gestured for her to enter first. “Prize dancer? She thinks very highly of you.”

  Despite the praise, the back of Amaya’s neck tingled a warning. “You guys talked about me?”

  “At length.” Frank pressed the button for the third floor.

  Amaya narrowed her eyes at him. “When?”

  “Last night.”

  Amaya took a step back. “Last night? She was at rehearsal last night. What are you talking about?”

  “After.” Frank tilted his head, as if perceiving her confusion for the first time. “Jenelle’s my cousin. Our mothers are sisters. Didn’t you know that?”

  A lump formed in Amaya’s throat. Had this dinner-and-dance date thing just become an audition? Was he going to run home and tell Jenelle everything she’d said and done? “I … didn’t realize you two were related.”

  “We’re not particularly close,” he said, avoiding her eyes. “But I needed help.”

  The elevator stopped, and the doors took an eternity to open, while Amaya studied his face. What help did he need? He was the man who had it all together. She swallowed. “I see.”

  “This is your floor.”

  “Right.” She pointed. “That’s my car, right there. The little green civic.”

  Frank held the doors open, a faint smile playing on his lips. “None the worse for wear after its incarceration, I hope.”

  Amaya shook her head. Was this something about the money? Had Jenelle put him up to this? Or was she being tested somehow? A painful distrust wriggled into her chest. She didn’t understand why Frank’s connection to Jenelle unnerved her, but she’d sort it out later. For now, she knew she should be on her very best behavior. No point in offending the boss’s cousin.

  She extended her hand to shake his. “Thank you again for your generosity, Mr. Judd. You were most kind, and I had a nice time tonight. I hope I performed adequately.” The word performed took on layers of meanings as Amaya’s mind raced.

  Turning over their clasped hands, he raised hers to his lips. The kiss felt warm, and Amaya could almost imagine he’d brushed her cheek. His gaze met hers and lingered, and for a moment, Amaya saw a distant hope in his eyes. Then he blinked, and the connection was gone.

  His voice was tainted with sadness. “I had a most enjoyable evening. Thank you, Miss Jefferson.”

  Amaya noticed that he waited until she’d buckled into the car and started the engine before he let the doors of the elevator slide shut.

  ***

  “So, how’d it go with Mr. Snottypants?” Charlene paused her movie on Netflix and turned to Amaya with a saucy grin. “Did he die when he saw how hot you looked?”

  “I was going for elegant,” said Amaya, closing the door and leaning back against it.

  “Okay, so …” Charlene tucked her feet up under her and patted the couch cushion beside her. “Spill!”

  Plopping down beside Charlene, Amaya rubbed her eyes. “It was all very … strange. Nice, but strange. Or maybe strange, but nice. I don’t know.”

  “Are you drunk?” Charlene nudged Amaya’s elbow.

  “You know I don’t get drunk. I didn’t even take a sip.”

  “Then what?”

  Amaya reached down to unstrap her heels as she talked, moving in slow motion as she tried to fathom it all. “The restaurant was super classy—linen table cloths and crystal and china and all that stuff. Candlelight. Live string quartet with a piano. Wine concierge and all the trappings.”

  “Wow. How romantic.”

  “Sort of.”

  “Only sort of? Was he rude to you?”

  Amaya frowned, wriggling her toes. “No, not to me. But he sure puts on a snobby show for the waiters. They were all terrified of him. I felt like I needed to be extra nice to everyone to make up for it. I didn’t want them thinking we were jerks.”

  Charlene gave her a knowing look. “Or that you’d date a jerk?”

  “Right. That too.”

  “Did it feel like a date?”

  Amaya shrugged. “I don’t know. I wasn’t going into it with that thought, but …”

  Charlene folded her arms. “Okay, lemme hear it.”

  “Charlene, I don’t know what to say. I was just trying to be a pleasant companion. We danced a few times—”

  “Was he any good?”

 
“He was passable.”

  With a snicker, Charlene rolled her fingers, signaling for Amaya to continue.

  “I tried to crack his shell a little, and I think I made some headway. He’s an Upper-Crust-Wannabe with working-class roots and a good brain. But … no social graces and messed up priorities. It’s as if all he cares about is coming across as elite. I’ve never seen anyone so uncomfortable in their own skin.”

  “But I thought you said he was good-looking. Does he act like he doesn’t know it?”

  “Yeah, doesn’t seem overly vain, an he’s really very fine when he smiles. Maybe twice all night.” Heat crept up the back of her neck at the memory of his gaze as they danced. He may not have smiled much, but she sensed his definite approval.

  “Did he make the moves on you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you make the moves on him?”

  Amaya slapped Charlene’s knee and stood up. “Oh my gosh, girl. Where’s your faith in me?”

  Not to be silenced, Charlene repositioned herself on her knees, leaning on the back of the couch as Amaya headed back to the bedroom. “What happened?”

  “He was complimentary of me.” She felt her cheeks warm. “He kissed my hand after each dance.”

  “So, he has a heart.”

  “Somewhere in that strutty ol’ chest of his, yes.” Amaya caught her reflection in the mirror and tried to imagine what he’d seen in her. Sexy? Sophisticated? Show-off?

  Charlene appeared over her shoulder in the mirror. “What was the best thing about him?”

  Amaya yawned. “Um. I liked his cologne.”

  “That’s not him. That’s just on him.”

  “I guess … he treated me like a lady the whole time.” She shrugged. “I mean, it was probably all part of his rich-guy act, but it was still nice.”

  Charlene nodded sagely.

  Amaya sucked in a deep breath. “There’s something else, Charlene.”

  “What?” Charlene stilled. “You look worried.”

  “He’s Jenelle’s cousin.”

  “What?” Charlene burst to her feet. “That’s …” She waved her arms in circles. “That’s … I don’t even know what that is.”

  “Terrifying. Why would Jenelle set us up like that?”