“You haven’t exactly made that easy. Each time we’ve been together, you either don’t speak, don’t show up, or disappear,” I threw back at him.
“I’m here now.” There was no edge to his voice, only seductive tones.
I bit my lip. “I noticed.”
“Let’s get to know each other.”
That was a dangerous proposition.
Chapter Thirteen
We moved to the great room where it was more comfortable, at least when it came to the seating. Him being there was out of my comfort zone.
I sat on my chair, sipping my wine, waiting for him to make the first move. He sat on the end of the couch closest to me. His eyes drifted to that Serendipity bag and back to my copy of Les Misérables that could always be found on the table next to me. They finally landed on me. For a split second it looked like he might say something about that day, but he didn’t. Instead, he let out a heavy breath and rubbed his neck as if this was not comfortable for him either.
“I’m not used to being around people like you, Kate.”
I set my glass on the table. “People like me?”
“Real people,” he clarified.
My eyebrows raised. “As opposed to fake ones?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“Can you elaborate?”
“You sound like a therapist.”
“Habit. Sorry.”
That brittle smile of his appeared. “I didn’t ignore you tonight. I did my thing, and I expected you to do yours.”
I laughed. “I’m really sorry, but you’re going to have to elaborate.”
He leaned back into the couch. “Normally when I take a woman to any event, it’s expected that we give each other space so we don’t overshadow each other. She gets her chance in the spotlight and I get mine.”
“I don’t have a spotlight, nor do I want one.”
“You have one, whether you see it or not. I noticed the way the men in the room looked at you.”
I blushed. I hadn’t done that in a very long time. “You were watching me?”
“You were my date.”
“Client date,” I reminded him.
“Regardless, I didn’t forget you were there. Though I will admit I can see where you might disagree with me.”
“I appreciate your concession. Can I ask you a question?”
He gave a small nod.
“Why do you even bring dates to these types of events if you’re only planning on spending the evening apart?”
“Because it’s all part of the Hollywood game.”
“So tonight was a game for you and I was there to play my part.”
His entire body went stiff. “No.” The steel in his voice was raw. “I take seriously what I do for law enforcement families. I asked you to come with me tonight because I wanted you to see that.”
“Because you think I’ve judged you.” Why did that make me feel a tad guilty?
“And because I know I’ve given you reason to. I was hoping we could start over tonight, but I only gave you more reasons to think I’m a Hollywood playboy.”
That and some other things. “Why does my opinion matter to you?”
He captured my gaze. “You are the first person in a long time who hasn’t wanted anything from me. The fact that you despise me is kind of refreshing.”
A mile-wide grin sprung up on my face. “I’m happy to oblige.”
“I have no doubt.” He relaxed against the couch again.
“Is that why you’re using Binary Search? You want someone ‘real’?”
“Something like that.”
“You want someone who despises you, too?” I teased.
He gave me a look that went right through me. “Perhaps I do.”
I shook my head. He needed to stay out of my insides. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Kate . . .” He paused in a way that seemed like it was for dramatic effect. “I meant what I said on my questionnaire. I won’t be committed to anyone I date using your service.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way. I would ask this of any client. Do you have commitment issues?”
“I have no problem being committed to the right woman.”
“How do you know we won’t match you with the right woman?”
“You won’t.”
“Okay.” I let it drop.
“What about you?” he asked. “What kind of relationship are you looking for?”
“I’m the one who gets to ask the questions here.”
“That’s not how a date works.”
“Is that what we’re on?”
“You do owe me one.”
“I’ve tried three times.”
“Not very hard.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Two of the three dates, you left before they ever happened. And the first date you flirted with my dad all night. By the way, he would love it if you came to the restaurant for dinner again.”
I would love to go to Jack’s on the River again. The food and most of the company was amazing. “I like your dad.”
“That was apparent.” I couldn’t tell if that annoyed or amused him.
“Your daughter was right; he’s too old for me. But he does make a girl think twice. He reminds me of an old Bogart and Bacall film. Where the man doesn’t play any games. You know right away he’s attracted to you.”
“Is that what you’re looking for?”
“You keep trying to make this about me.”
“And you keep avoiding my questions.”
“Fine.” I grinned. “I want someone with class, who’s not afraid to have fun. Someone who will make me have some too. Get me out of the shell I sometimes stay too long in.”
“Any other qualifications?”
“Lots.”
“I’ve got time.”
I took a sip of my wine, avoiding his question again. “I think it’s your turn to answer a question.”
“What do you want to know?”
I tried to think of something that wasn’t on his questionnaire, though I was still having a hard time reconciling the man on paper with the one in front of me. The one where I could see a peek of the hair on his chest. I had to shake my head to refocus.
“Um . . . Where do you live?” That was so lame. I couldn’t think of a single question on the client date check-off list.
There was a sparkle of victory in his eyes. He knew he had unhinged me a bit. “This summer, Skye and I are staying with my dad. He has a little place near the restaurant.”
I tilted my head, surprised.
“What?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I figured you’d be staying in some penthouse suite or something downtown.”
“You pegged me for a penthouse guy.”
“Maybe. Are you?”
“It’s not really my style. I have a house in Laguna Beach.”
“Is it on the beach?”
He shook his head. “It’s located in the hills above. It provides a view of the ocean as well as privacy.”
I tucked my legs under me and got a little more comfortable. “I imagine that’s not easily obtained in your profession.”
“It’s been challenging at times, but I’m old news now.” A hint of loss mixed in with his words.
“You wish you weren’t.”
He leaned forward and rested his arms on his legs. “Are you trying to diagnose me?”
“Why does everyone think that as soon as they know what I do?” I grinned.
“You didn’t deny it.”
That’s because it was true. I wanted to figure him out. I realized, though, now that I’d relaxed, I was hungry. The only thing I had eaten all night were those chocolate mousse shooters at the gala. “Do you want some cheesecake?”
“Is this your way of evading my question?”
“Yes.” I jumped out of my chair.
It didn’t surprise me at all that he followed me into the kitchen.
> He stood at the island while I retrieved the cheesecake I’d made a couple of nights ago and some strawberries to slice. I turned around to see him carefully observing me.
Suddenly I felt shy with his eyes so intent on me. I placed the spring form pan and carton of strawberries on the island “Did you want a slice?”
He peeked into the pan. “Looks like you eat it straight out of the pan.”
“If you’re afraid I’ve contaminated it with my germs I can offer you—”
“Why don’t you grab two forks and we’ll call it good?”
How did he make that sound seductive? And why did I stop breathing? Breathe, Kate. Breathe.
“Okay.”
Never in a million fantasies did I imagine one where Nicholas Wells and I sat at my island and ate cheesecake straight out of the pan. But there we were, stools close together, indulging in sweet ecstasy.
He rested his fork in the pan for a moment. “This isn’t half bad.”
I gave him half an evil eye. “Was that a compliment?”
“Yes,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“You need to work on those.”
His brow arched. “Would you like to give me a list of character defects I can work on now, or does that come later?” His tone wasn’t curt, but it drove his point home.
I sank some in my chair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out judgmental.”
His expression softened. “Don’t be. I know how I can come off.” He picked his fork back up. “This is delicious.”
“I don’t know if I believe that now.” I nudged him with my shoulder, though I shouldn’t have, but it had happened naturally. That weird connection I had to him appeared, making me drop my fork in the pan.
He ceased moving as if he felt it too. Or maybe he didn’t think he should be touched. Though he had touched me before.
For a moment we were both still.
He was first to speak. “Do you like to cook?”
I almost laughed at his out-of-the-blue question, but I didn’t want him to think I was being critical of him. “Honestly, I’m not that great of a cook. I only learned to bake because my mom’s idea of dessert borders on embarrassing and hazmat.”
I got the smallest hint of a laugh out of him.
“It’s no laughing matter. I lost friends over the whole-wheat-carob-chip cookies my mom tried to pass off as the best chocolate chip cookies ever, and don’t even get me going on when she started a house fire when she tried to make bananas Foster. We still don’t let her make dessert.”
“Are you close to your parents?”
I nodded. “As crazy as they drive me, they’re my best friends. How about you?”
Nick wiped his mouth with a napkin. “My mom,” he paused, “was everything a mother should be. My dad is all right when he’s not hitting on my dates.”
“Does he do that often?”
“Only once.” He ran a finger down my cheek making me shiver. “I can’t say I blame him though.”
He had me locked in his gaze. Something inside my brain was buzzing, warning me of danger, but it took me a moment to respond. “It’s getting late,” I whispered.
“I suppose it is.” He didn’t move.
For a second I didn’t want him to. That was wrong. He was wrong for me. And he was a client.
I leaned away. “We finally got in our client date.”
“Is this your idea of a good date?”
“You can never go wrong with cheesecake, wine, and . . . good conversation.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He stood up.
I hoped he did for his dates with Chanel or whoever else he dated using our service. I stood up and followed him to the great room, where he picked up his jacket and tie. He took one more glance at the book bag. Still he didn’t say anything.
I walked him to the door and held out my hand, not sure what else to do as this was business. “Have a nice night, or I guess, morning.” It was already past midnight.
He stared at my hand with narrowed eyes. “I don’t end dates with handshakes.”
“Oh.” My hand dropped like a cement block. My cheeks flooded, embarrassed. I scrambled to open the door for him.
“Kate.” His smooth, deep voice made me pause with my hand on the knob.
My eyes fluttered up. He was standing ever so close, and before I could say or do anything, he bent down and brushed his warm lips against my cheek.
He didn’t stop there. He whispered in my ear, “I read the unabridged version of Les Misérables.” He whispered even lower what happened to the doll. It was a secret only to be shared among those who read the full version.
He had me immobilized and wishing I was still that twenty-year-old who believed in the magic of him, of romantic love.
He stood up straight but held me with his eyes. “I went back to the bookstore several times that summer hoping to meet you again.”
I had no words.
He kissed my cheek one more time. “Good night, Kate.”
I somehow managed to open the door for him. He strutted out and I watched him walk to his car.
I was right. Getting to know him was dangerous.
Chapter Fourteen
I needed to right my world. My “date” with Nick last night had me in a tailspin. I needed research and coffee. Serendipity’s it was. I’d missed my normal Saturday visit there anyway thanks to him. There was great irony going to the place where I met him for the first time, but it was my place. And it had the self-help books I needed.
I purchased a stack of books, everything from, How to Maintain a Professional Relationship with Someone You Are Attracted To, all the way to Why Smart Women Make Stupid Choices and How to Stop. I wasn’t messing around.
I ordered a large coffee in their café and sat crossed-legged on one of the chairs in their reading nook and started with Narcissist or Self Centered. Maybe I had missed something.
I spent my morning deep in research and making notes in my notebook. One of the big questions on my mind was, was Nick empathetic, meaning was he willing to change his behavior once he was called on it? Or was he accommodating because he knew it would be best for his image?
The biggest question on my mind, though, was why, after everything I knew about him and despite him breaking most of the rules on my list, couldn’t I stop thinking about him? Worse, I was his relationship manager and I was having thoughts—lots of thoughts. Thoughts that went way beyond him kissing my cheek. I rested my hand where his lips had been.
I took a break near noon to rub my tired eyes and people watch. My favorites were always the children, their innocence and excitement when someone read to them or when they could read the book for themselves. I loved to watch parents help their children sound out words. There was a little boy there with his father. His dad was making all the sounds, from a choo choo train to an airplane. The boy clapped with delight. Small chubby hands were the cutest. I wanted one to hold. Some days I wondered if I would ever get the chance. My parents had mentioned adoption. It was an option. They’d even offered to pay for it. They were ready to be grandparents, and thought they would be by now. My miscarriage was a loss for them too.
But I wasn’t sure I wanted to do it alone. I wanted a partner to share it all with, whether we adopted or had a baby together.
I was about to get up and get a refill on my coffee when my people watching got interesting. Two of the most beautiful people ever headed my way. One with an air of self-regard, the other wishing she was somewhere else by the look of her pouty lips. I did take note, though, of the way Nick put his arm around his daughter and whispered something to her to make her smile.
Why was he here? In my place. Our place? I couldn’t think like that. But he had remembered.
I hastily closed the book in my lap and tried to shove the rest in my bag, but I was too late. He was upon me.
“I thought I might find you here.” He sounded so pleased with himself.
I looked up and bit my li
p. “You were looking for me?”
“What do you think?”
I ignored the chill that gave me and focused on how conceited that was. I chose not to respond to him but acknowledged his daughter. “Hello, Skye. It’s nice to see you again. You look very pretty today.” Did she ever in a coral sundress with her hair pulled back.
“Thank you.” She seemed surprised by the compliment, which surprised me.
“Are you guys just out and about today?” I babbled, trying to keep this all aboveboard and light.
Nick held up a leather laptop case. “I needed a good place to write and Skye,” he gave her a meaningful glance, “wanted to . . . get some books.”
Skye gave him a forced smile. Why did I think Skye didn’t want to get books? Most kids read everything digitally now. And did he really need to write in a bookstore?
“What kind of books are you interested in?” I asked Skye, playing along.
Skye looked at her dad, not sure what to say.
Nick brought out his acting skills and smoothed it right over. “I thought you might have some recommendations for her.”
“Is that why you were looking for me?” Skepticism littered my tone.
“One of the reasons.” He had a much different tone. One he shouldn’t be using around me.
“Right.” I focused back on Skye. “I have some recommendations if you’re interested.”
Her face soured. She obviously wasn’t. “Okay,” she resigned herself to her fate.
I shoved my notes in my purse before standing up, thinking that was the safest course of action. I needed to get away from Nick. “We can head to the teen section or the classics.” I spoke only to Skye. Her dad wasn’t invited.
She gave her dad a look like you owe me.
“I’ll save your seat and write while you ladies peruse,” Nick said while perusing me. I was super casual in shorts and a T-shirt. I wasn’t expecting visitors at the bookstore, especially not him. He was dressed, as always, to break hearts, in tight jeans and a T-shirt that showed how lean and muscular his arms were. I was surprised he hadn’t been accosted yet by a fan. Even I wanted to pet his arm. I seriously needed to stop that line of thinking.
I brushed past him, rolling my eyes. It was better than petting him.
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