Northwest Romantic Comedies: Boxed Set Books 1-6

by Lia London

  Charlene’s bewildered face reflected Amaya’s own sentiments. “I don’t know, but you don’t think this is going to affect my chances in the company, do you? I mean, do you think I’m supposed to be extra nice to him to get ahead?”

  “No.” Charlene covered her mouth with one hand. “Jenelle’s not like that.” She added the other hand. “Is she?”

  “I don’t know.” Amaya shrugged. “I wouldn’t have guessed it, but don’t you think this is awkward?”

  Charlene nodded, her mouth still enveloped by her fingers.

  Amaya wilted back on the couch. “I feel as if I’m drowning in the soup course!”

  “Minestrone or clam chowder?” teased Charlene, sitting beside her again.

  “Neither. Something I’ve never tasted before, and I can’t tell if it’s boiling-hot dangerous or frozen-cold stupid.”

  “But you’re going to go out with him again?”

  “Tomorrow night.” She let out a tiny burp. “I think I’d better not eat until then.”

  Chapter 5 ~ The Ballo

  Frank stared at himself in the mirror, bewildered by his trembling fingers as he buttoned his collar. Since when did he experience nerves before a date?

  He shook his head angrily. This wasn’t even a date, just an eating assignment.

  But no. Not with Amaya Jefferson in the mix. The cosmic balance of power shifted beneath him, and he worried for the first time about creating an impression on a specific individual. What if she went back to Jenelle and said he’d treated her unkindly? What if Jenelle then decided to make things difficult for him?

  He needed to make things go very well with Amaya so as not to upset Jenelle. He couldn’t bear to lose his last familial ally in the world.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw Amaya’s warm smile. Maybe he would have wanted things to go well with her either way, but he had surely botched things already. Though he saw hints of the charming woman Jenelle promised, Amaya had remained emotionally detached during the date. Especially after.

  Examining his reflection in the mirror, he wondered how he could be so repulsive to so many women. Could Amaya sense he was a fraud? He shook his head, selecting his black tie. No bowtie. Overplaying his hand would just make things worse.

  Why had he given her the advance? She may have been a delightful companion, but she threw him completely off his stride. By the time he sat down to type up the review, all he could remember of the evening was the feel of her hands in his as they danced. He could have been eating old shoestrings and water from a swimming pool for all he knew. Fortunately, the receipt came itemized, and he fabricated reactions for each course with his usual wit and venom.

  Still, he couldn’t pull that off again. He needed to stay focused.

  Tightening the black silk around his neck, he frowned. “Frank, you fool. Keep your head clear tonight.”

  Frank’s mouth dropped open, and Amaya smirked in acknowledgement. The red velvet dress with the high neck and the gathered waist often had that effect on men, making them think she had curves where she didn’t, but still highlighting her long, lean limbs.

  “You sure you didn’t spend the advance on this dress instead of the car?” His eyes glanced up and down.

  “Oh, this old thing?” Amaya struck a coy pose. She was determined that he would bring rave reviews back to Jenelle, though her line of integrity remained firmly drawn on what she would and wouldn’t do to entertain him.

  “It’s very becoming.” He held out his arm. “Shall we go? It’s three blocks away.”

  Amaya hesitated, then reached back and grabbed the black, faux fur wrap to shield her shoulders from the breeze. As she flourished it over her shoulders, she drank in an appraising look at Frank. He had ditched the three-piece suit and wore a regular tie. His hair didn’t seem to have quite as much product in it, leaving it with a softer look. Amaya thought the lines of his body resembled an art deco design, a perfect blend of smooth and angular.

  “You look a little like a dapper gent from the 20’s tonight.”

  “Is that a good thing? I don’t know what to say.”

  “You?” Amaya raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one with all the words. Or do you mostly know critical ones?”

  He stiffened. “Excuse me?” He stiffened.

  “I read the review from last night. Did you hate it that much? I’d hoped I made a compensating effect for the slow service and the terrified wine concierge.”

  Frank covered his lips with his knuckle for a moment. “I certainly meant no criticism of your work, Miss Jefferson. I already told you that you were the bright spot in the evening.”

  She settled her no-nonsense-teacher eyes on him. “How about tonight you grade the overall experience instead of just the restaurant? I think that’s what most people do.”

  “But others won’t have the experience of going to the establishment with you.” The authenticity in his voice surprised her, and she blushed.

  “No,” she admitted. “They’ll be going with someone they care about. You need to review a place like that through the eyes of a lover, not a government health inspector.”

  The perpetual tension in Frank’s jaw dissipated a little. Patting her hand and gesturing for them to proceed, he said, “All right. I’ll try it just this once. We shall see what a frenzy it creates in the food critic circles.”

  “Are you writing for the other critics, or for the people who want to know where they should take their dates?”

  “Touché.” He smiled, and the humor reached all the way to his eyes. “I shall pretend I’m in love tonight.”

  Amaya’s heart and lungs nudged each other when his smile bloomed and lingered for a moment. If he played his part too well, she’d have to be careful. It was just an act. Not real.

  Frank decided to take Amaya’s suggestion as a literary challenge, as if she had issued an assignment in a creative writing class. As they strolled down the city blocks, he tried to get into character. Should he notice the rustling wind in the greening branches above, or should his eyes be fixed on Amaya and the way her curled tendrils framed her cheeks? The tendrils won, and the sweep of her hair into a French twist, and the subtle, light frost of her eyeshadow, and the shine of her lips.

  He quickly darted his gaze away, shocked by what the examination of her features did to his heartrate. Or was it the hilliness of the street giving him a light cardio workout?

  “Did you teach today?” he asked, scanning the detailed stone work on the older buildings they passed.

  “Yes, actually. We’re starting up a little kindergarten-aged group for kids with afternoon school.”

  “Afternoon school?”

  “Kindergarten is half days in this area, either morning or afternoon. We’re trying to grab the little ones who need to burn off some energy in the morning before going to school.”

  “Burn off energy.”

  “You know. Little wiggle worms or kids with ADHD. We give them something constructive to do with their energy, instead of tearing up their apartments.”

  He nodded with appreciation. “Why not? Didn’t Michael Phelps’ mom get him started in swimming for the very same reason?”

  “I bet so.” Her eyes widened at the grand entrance of the restaurant. “Oh. Is this where we’re going? The Ballo?”

  “It is.” He placed a reassuring hand on her back. “Come on. We’re right on time for our reservation, and you’ve surpassed stunning.”

  She nodded with a beguiling blush, clutching her purse with both hands. “Thank you.”

  “Try not to stare at the chandeliers.”

  Amaya dipped her gaze immediately. “How did you know—?”

  “I did the same thing the other day when I came in to make the reservation.”

  Her face softened to a smile. “You didn’t just call?”

  “I wanted to scan the venue for the best table before I requested my reservation.” He held the door open. “I hope you will approve of my selection.”

  Moment
s later, as he held her chair for her, his hands shook. He simply had to make a good impression on her. Cursing his fleeing confidence, he bent down to whisper. “Will this do for you?”

  “It’s a great spot, thanks. I can see everything. But what about you? Don’t you need to?”

  The host intervened. “Would you like me to move the place setting a quarter turn, sir? You can sit adjacent to the lady instead of facing her?”

  Frank stifled an expression of doubt. If he sat that close to her, would he be able to keep his head clear? She was so very lovely tonight. “Yes, that will be very good.”

  The host briskly shifted all the pieces and angled the chair so he could see the ballroom beyond their semi-private alcove. “Your waiter will be with you shortly, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Sliding into his seat, Frank felt his knee brush against hers, sending a shockwave of warmth up his leg. “I beg your pardon. Will this be too crowded for you?”

  Amaya crossed her legs elegantly and tilted her body slightly away from him. “No, no. We’ll have room.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you sure you didn’t come in here earlier to arrange that little maneuver?”

  Placing his hand over his heart, he shook his head. “I assure you, I did not. That was a happy accident.”

  “Happy accident?” Amaya’s hitched her shoulders, dropping her wrap in one smooth movement. She folded it and draped it over the back of her chair.

  “Oh, wait. I should have that checked.”

  “For what? Fleas?”

  “No, I mean at the coat check. Please, allow me.” Frank stood and removed the wrap from the chair, the back of his hand touching her shoulder for a split second. It sent an unexpected thrill through him, and he strode quickly to the small room beside the front foyer, hoping Amaya couldn’t sense his raw insecurity and growing attraction.

  Wasn’t he only pretending to be in love?

  Amaya watched Frank cross the room, weaving between the tables with her wrap in hand. So far, he’d been much nicer to the staff. In fact, the absence of a wine concierge hadn’t fazed him. She folded her hands together, resting her elbows on the very edge of the table and appreciating the view as he returned with a boyish, apologetic grin on his face. This was a new Frank Judd, and she liked him much better than Frank Grumbleygut. She decided to ask him about the name change.

  “Ah, yes.” His smile hinted at sadness. “It was my editor’s idea.”

  “Grumbleygut? Didn’t she want people to take you seriously?”

  His eyes reflected a distant pain, and she worried she’d offended him. “I think it was her idea of branding.”

  “Or she doesn’t like you,” said Amaya playfully. She took a sip of water and watched his reaction. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact, so she adjusted her angle, leaning into his line of sight with an exaggerated stretch. “I was kidding, Frank.”

  “I’m sure you were, but you’re probably not far from the truth.”

  Amaya examined him with concern. “Your editor really doesn’t like you?”

  He shrugged, his focus turning to the approaching waiter. “Like. Respect. Tolerate. No, not much.” His tone flipped into professional mode, and they discussed the featured house specialties before ordering wine and hors d’oeuvres.

  When they were alone again, Amaya searched his face, which had transformed to a sort of melancholy. “Hey, I’m sorry if I said something wrong. Can you forgive me?”

  His eyes widened with surprise. “You’ve done nothing, Amaya. It’s… Sometimes I become acutely aware of how ridiculous I must seem.”

  She chewed her lips shut for a moment, pondering how to respond. “Respect means a lot to you, doesn’t it? You want people to look up to you.”

  “Doesn’t everyone? Don’t you?”

  Resting her chin on her hand, she pursed her lips in thought. “Well, yes. But I prefer it best when people look me in the eye.” She cast him a sideways glance, and to her relief, he looked directly at her. “There, now isn’t that better? We can be equals. We don’t have to look up or down at each other, right? Respect should be mutual, not one-sided.”

  He gave a wry smirk. “If only it were that simple.”

  “It is,” she said, leaning on her elbow. “Like one, two, three.”

  Frank’s face brightened. “Speaking of one, two, three, there’s a waltz playing. Shall we dance?” He half rose in his seat, his face questioning hers.

  Dancing would take away the pressure to talk. “All right.” She took his outstretched hand. Was it warmer than last time?

  Though smaller than the last dance floor, this one was not as crowded. The lighting created pockets of gold and shadow, providing a feeling of sheltered intimacy or bold display depending on where you stepped.

  Amaya followed his heavy-handed lead through a series of broad steps and sweeping turns as they took their first circuit of the space, but on the second time around, he pulled her in and shortened the length of his stride, confining them to the most secluded quarter of the floor. As they slipped into the shadows between pools of light, his cheek rested against the side of her head and his grip tightened. She was about to pull back when he whispered, “Thank you for consenting to these review assignments. I know I didn’t make a very good first impression on you.”

  A vulnerability in his voice melted her closer to him, only by an inch or two, but her cheeks warmed at the feeling. “It’s all right. Thanks for helping me get my car back. I—”

  “Amaya.” He paused in the flow of steps. “Can we pretend, just while we’re out here, that this isn’t a business arrangement?”

  She turned her face to his and saw something tragic in his eyes. “Sure, Frank. We’ll pretend we came to dance.”

  Something in the way his hand guided the back of her waist changed, and they moved with an instinctive intimacy that alarmed her. Unsure of the reason for the change, Amaya decided to give herself up to the music. Their dance took on the ease and grace of birds in flight, shifting direction in unison, and soaring through the space. When the music finally faded, she rested her forehead on his chin for a moment, feeling the patter of little wings in her heart, not from exertion, but from … what?

  As before, Frank pressed his lips to her hand. “Thank you, Miss Amaya, for the enchanting waltz.”

  Their eyes locked, and smiles bloomed on both their faces. “Thank you, Mr. Judd. It was indeed a lovely dance.”

  Frank’s demeanor returned to a charming blend of shy and attentive, and they glided back to their table in the alcove. He seated her first and then slid into the chair beside her. When their legs brushed together, she didn’t pull away, savoring the tenderness of the moment, even if it was only an act. Her gaze flickered across his face and to the tie. Had he opted out of the bowtie because she made him feel silly about it? What if he had told Jenelle that she had made fun of him?

  What if she had genuinely hurt his feelings?

  Her eyes dropped to his hands, neatly folded by his place setting. An urge to grasp them again stole her breath for an instant.

  “I do hope that won’t be the last dance of the evening,” she said, her voice softer than intended.

  He inclined his head a little. “We’ll make sure of it.”

  Frank struggled not to stare at Amaya’s lips, so much more tempting than the appetizers that lay before them on the table. Why did fancy restaurants make such a fuss about presentation? An ounce of food, painstakingly decorated with elaborate drizzles and fronds, still looked like a bite of Klingon cuisine to him. It rarely tasted better for the effort.

  He sighed and gestured at the plate. “Would you care to try it first?”

  Amaya’s brows rose. “I don’t think I can even identify it.”

  Frank suppressed a chuckle. “It might be better if you don’t. But it’s all made of the freshest ingredients.”

  “So says the waiter,” said Amaya, lifting the outermost fork and wiggling it between her thumb and forefinger. “He doesn’t say fresh what
, though, does he?”

  “He did. But he said it in French, and alas, he wasn’t talking about kicking or leaping.”

  Amaya giggled and pointed the fork at his nose. “I don’t do snails or octopus tentacles. Eating slime and rubber is not a luxury in my book.”

  Afraid he would laugh aloud if she said any more, he deftly lifted one of the pieces into her mouth and watched her lips close around the prongs of the fork. His insides wriggled like a cage of trapped ferrets at how sensuous she was without even trying. He blinked slowly, and his brain bobbed like a helium balloon despite not touching the wine.

  Her surprised squeal of delight startled him back to business, and he pulled away, feeling their arms part. Had they been resting against each other? Was that why his body felt ablaze?

  Amaya, obviously oblivious to the erratic sensations running through his being, covered her mouth with a giggle. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting something that looked so funny to taste so good. Very savory.” She scooped up a piece and held it up to his mouth. “You try.”

  He opened his mouth, wishing for a fleeting moment he could taste her lips instead. She slid the hors d’oeuvre into his mouth, and he let it roll across his tongue, all the while focused on her sparkling eyes.

  “Good, isn’t it?” she beamed.

  He swallowed, unaware of experiencing anything but the cheering glow of Amaya’s face so near. “Wonderful,” he whispered. “Go ahead. You can have the rest.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Take it.” He nudged the plate. “I’ve tasted enough to review it. I want you to enjoy it.”

  Her bare shoulders rose and fell in a childlike gesture of rapture. “How sweet of you.”

  Sweet. No woman ever called him sweet.

  Was she acting?

  She must be acting. This was part of the charade, right? She was Jenelle’s best.

  “Amaya, can I ask you a personal question?”

  She hummed affirmatively through the final mouthful of food, and he wished he could order plate after plate of the appetizer instead of the whole meal to come.