by Robin Kaye
“Down, girl. It’s not Nick. Nick’s been, well . . . you know.”
“No, I don’t know. I wish you’d tell me, so I can deal with it and go on with my terribly uneventful, boring, and tedious life.”
“Gina, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about this. It’s family stuff and—”
“Did something happen to Richie?”
“No. He’s fine. I’m sorry about today.”
“That’s okay. It was almost worth it to see the big boss confused. He had the nerve to ask me if women could have PMS twice in one month.”
“He didn’t!”
Gina set the flowers on the credenza and took a seat across from the desk. She kicked off her shoe and pulled her leg underneath her.
“Okay, if Nick The Prick didn’t hurt you, then what happened?”
“Gina, would you please stop calling him that? He’s been—”
“What?”
Damn, why had she opened her mouth? “Great.”
“If I had to venture a guess, I’d say you must be pretty great, too, to rate those flowers. It looks like he signed the card himself.”
She tossed the small envelope on Rosalie’s desk.
“How can you tell?”
“Puleeze, do I have to teach you everything? Look. It’s written with a masculine hand, and you know the only people who work in flower shops are women and gay men.”
Rosalie opened the envelope, and sure enough, there was Nick’s name scrawled in his writing. She opened the top drawer of her desk and tucked the envelope inside.
“Uh, oh. I knew it!”
Gina launched herself out of the chair and planted her hands on the desk.
“You’re saving the card. You’re falling for him.”
“I am not. I save all my cards.”
“Okay, then show me Joey’s card from the last time he sent flowers. When was that? Oh, right, your birthday.”
There wasn’t one other card in the drawer. Damn.
“You can’t, because you threw it in the trash along with the flowers a few days later. No great loss there. They were cheap flowers.”
Rosalie tossed Nick’s card into the trash. “There, are you happy now?”
Gina inspected her manicure. “Not especially. I’ll leave you now, so you can drool over your flowers in private and dig the card out of the trash can. If you change your mind and want to talk about whatever it is that caused this lovely mood, you know where to reach me.”
What could she say? If she thanked Gina, she’d be admitting that she’d drool over the flowers and dig the card out of the trash. Not that Gina ever doubted it, but still, a girl had her pride. “Thanks for the offer. If I need to talk to someone, you’ll be the first person I call.”
Gina rose, slipped on her stilettos, and sashayed through the door. “Have fun going through your trash.”
The door closed on Rosalie’s response, which was probably a good thing.
After waiting to see if Gina would come back to catch her in the act, Rosalie took her time drooling over the flowers. But not even flowers could cheer her. She should be handling this better. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t suspected her father was screwing around, but seeing proof was a different story.
Rosalie picked up the phone and dialed. “Hi, Ma.”
“Rosalie? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“You never call unless something is wrong. Are you sure you’re okay? You don’t sound like yourself. Did that cafone do something to hurt you? I told you, he had the devil in his eyes. I don’t know why you don’t find a nice steady man like your father. You could call Joey—”
“Ma, stop. I’m not going to call Joey. I only want to find out how you and Papa are.”
“Tell me what it is. You never call without a reason.”
So much for subtlety. “Okay, Ma, you caught me. I’ve been thinking that you and Papa should take some time and do something together. I have a friend with a timeshare in Florida. On Sanibel Island. She’s offered it to me any time I want. Do you and Papa want to go down for a week or even a long weekend? I can arrange the whole thing. What do you think?”
“Rosalie, I told you, your father’s working on a big project. He’s not going to want to go out of town.”
“Maybe he will, if you ask. When was the last time you two did anything remotely romantic? Why don’t you go to Florida and invest time in your relationship?”
“Ever since you met that cafone, you’re talking and acting nuts. You know, I saw on Oprah—”
“Ma, there’s nothing wrong with me. I only wanted to do something nice for you and Papa. Talk to him. Maybe you can talk him into slowing down enough to go for a long weekend. Try. Okay?”
“Sure, okay. Rosalie? You sure you’re all right? Is something wrong?”
“I’m feeling run down and tired. I guess it’s harder to get over pneumonia than the usual crud. I’m not supposed to be working full days yet. Maybe it’s catching up with me. I’m not sure I’ll be up for Sunday. I’ll call you.”
“You want I should bring you some chicken soup?”
“No, Ma, but thanks. I have soup at home.”
“Okay, cookie. I’ll talk to you soon, then.”
A tear escaped, and Rosalie brushed it away. Her mother hadn’t called her cookie in years. “’Bye, Mama. I love you.”
She hung up the phone and looked at all the work she’d been avoiding piled on the desk.
Her phone beeped. “Ro, a man is on line one. He said his name is Nick. Just Nick.”
“Thanks, Gina.” She took a deep breath. “Hello?”
“Hi. How’s your day?”
“Not so good, but the flowers are beautiful. Thanks, Nick.”
“I thought you might need some cheering up. Plus, it gives me an excuse to pick you up from work. I’m parked across the street, whenever you’re ready.”
“I was wondering how I was going to get the flowers home. It would have been a shame to leave them in the office, but I wasn’t looking forward to the subway ride.”
“I can come up and carry them for you.”
“No. I mean, thanks, but that’s not necessary. I’ll be down in a little while, all right? Let me clean off my desk and check my schedule for Monday.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a few.”
She hung up the phone and beeped Gina. “Can you come in here for a minute? I need to go over next week’s schedule before I leave.”
“Sure thing, boss, but isn’t it a little early?”
She strolled in with her notepad and a printout of the calendar.
“You have lunch with Mr. Lassiter, Sr., on Monday.”
“Okay. E-mail him the report so I don’t have to shock him into a three-martini lunch.”
“Good idea. You have a meeting with Mr. Hunter, the senior loan officer, at three. His office. He’s making you dance.”
“I’ll remember to wear my tap shoes. Is there anything I need to look over before Monday morning’s staff meeting?”
“I have a file on my desk that will fill you in on everything you missed this last week.”
“Fine. I’m going to take off. Have a good weekend.”
Gina picked up the flowers. “I’ll help you downstairs with these.”
“No, thanks, I’ve got it.” Rosalie threw the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder and took the flowers from Gina.
“You won’t even let me catch a glimpse of your Romeo, will you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“What if I promise not to say anything?”
“As if that were possible. Come on, Gina. Just because you promised not to say anything about who he is doesn’t mean you won’t say something else equally horrible. You’re passive-aggressive.” She didn’t mention the fact that sometimes Gina was not quite so passive.
Gina crossed her arms and pouted—a pout that would have had every male on the planet rushing to do her bidding.
“It’s not going to work
.”
She humphed and blew her straight black bangs out of her eyes. “Fine. Here. Give me your briefcase, and I’ll leave it at the security desk.”
Nick had had a lunch meeting with his bankers in the financial district, so it wasn’t a big deal to stop by and pick up Rosalie. Of course, he had to go all the way uptown to the New York Athletic Club on Central Park South to change clothes. Okay, so he was pathetic; it wasn’t as if he didn’t know he was pathetic.
He couldn’t stop thinking about how she’d looked the night before when she caught her father with his mistress. She’d been an amazing mixture of a scared little girl and a pissed off, indignant woman. For a minute, he’d been afraid she’d go after her father, which would have been very bad on several levels. It would have been the last time he’d have been able to take her to his favorite restaurant in Nolita, plus it would have cost him a fortune to get her out of jail and defend her for murder. After he’d shuffled her out of the restaurant, he’d thought for sure he was in for an evening of weeping. He’d been wrong again. Rosalie hadn’t shed one tear. After the blood returned to her face, she’d pulled herself together, and though she’d been quiet, she’d never shown weakness. It was scary. She had a way of putting up an impenetrable wall that, even when they’d made love, he hadn’t been able to breach. It bothered him. Not that making love to her was a hardship, but it would be nice to feel as if it meant something to her other than a physical release.
Nick scrubbed his hands over his face and laughed out loud. He felt like an ass. He had exactly what he wanted. He’d finally found someone who wasn’t falling all over herself to trick him into marriage, and it was denting his ego. Ain’t that a kick in the pants? Damn, he’d thought he knew himself, then one woman walked into his life and turned everything upside down.
A flash of red caught his eye. She’d stepped out of the revolving door, and all he could see were her legs. The wind had whipped down the street and blown open her long, red cashmere coat. He couldn’t complain about the view but wondered what she was thinking. She was getting over pneumonia, and she didn’t have the sense to button her damn coat? Was she asking for a relapse? The flowers covered the rest of her. Maybe he had overdone the flowers. He’d never even asked the florist the price. Damn, he had to remember he was supposedly living on a service manager’s salary. He was sure a greenhouse full of flowers would set a service manager back a year’s poker money.
She rested the vase on her hip to scan the street, and when she saw him leaning against the car, a smile took shape before she consciously shut it down. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Maybe she wasn’t as immune to him as she acted.
Nick nodded at her and jaywalked through the throng of cabs waiting at the light.
“Here, let me take those.” Nick took the flowers from her with one hand and pulled her in close for a kiss. “Button up. It’s cold as hell out here.”
Rosalie raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She made fast work of the buttons while groaning her displeasure. He figured he’d gotten off easy.
“I’ll be right back. I need to run to the security desk for my briefcase.”
“Okay. I’ll put these in the car.”
He was contemplating where to put the arrangement when she came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“How are you going to get that monstrosity in there?”
“I’m going to have to push your seat forward as far as it’ll go and set them on the floor in the back.”
“You know, everyone I saw while I was carrying these down from my office looked at me with such pity. A couple of them even asked if you had done something awful and were groveling.”
Nick handed her the flowers and bent down to move the seat. He looked up and smiled. “Yeah? What did you say?”
“I told them no. Now they all think you’re compensating for something.”
He shook his head, took the flowers from her, and wedged them into the backseat. “Great.”
She reached out and squeezed his shoulder before she gave him a nudge. “Oh, come on, Nick. You have to admit, the flowers are a little over the top.”
He slid the seat as far back as he could without breaking the vase and stood, pulling her into his arms. “All right. I went a little overboard, but it was worth it. You look happy.”
“I don’t know about happy, but I did have a good laugh.”
Nick helped her into the car. He got a bonus on the flowers as she tried to pull her skirt down in the legroomless front seat. A good deed rewarded.
He climbed in beside her and laughed. “You know, the show I’m getting here,” his hand traced the hem of her skirt, which barely reached the top of her thigh-high stockings, “was worth every penny those flowers set me back. You have the most amazing legs.”
“I don’t know about amazing, but they’re long. And right now, they’re practically wrapped around my neck, so would you mind driving?”
“You expect me to be able to drive after putting that image in my head?”
Rosalie had to hand it to the man; he sure knew how to make a girl feel wanted. He had no problem driving. He drove the car and drove her crazy at the same time. Whenever his hand wasn’t on the gearshift, it was on her thigh, tracing slow and lazy circles above her stocking but never moving closer to the one place she ached for him to touch. By the time they pulled up in front of her brownstone, she was ready for bed, but the last thing on her mind was sleep. All thoughts of her crazy family, her bad day, and her worse mood had slipped into oblivion.
Nick killed the engine and reached across her to get her door. They were face-to-face, and she fought the urge to nuzzle his neck.
Nick stilled for a moment before he continued. “I’ll get the flowers. I need them to hide behind, if you get my drift. Bending down to get them might be a problem, though.”
“Oh. . .” She reached over and ran her hand down the length of his fly. “Oh, my.” It hadn’t occurred to her that he might have been . . . uncomfortable, too.
“What? You think I can spend twenty minutes with you in a car in your sexy stockings and fuck-me shoes, with my hand up your skirt, and not have a hard-on? Sweetheart, I can barely be in the same room with you and not react like a kid at his first porn flick.”
She opened the door, hoping the cool air would dissipate the heat building up in the car. “I’ll get the flowers. You can use my briefcase.” She cleared her throat, trying to rid her voice of its sudden huskiness. “I hope we don’t run into Henry and Wayne.”
Nick pressed closer, and the timbre of his voice made it clear the cool air wasn’t doing the job. “If we do, they’ll know I’m not compensating for anything.”
There was no chance of that. They spent the evening making love. Nick wasn’t one of those once-a-day-if-you’re-lucky lovers. No, he was the good-for-two-in-a-row, every-few-hours kind of lover she’d only read about in romance novels. Nick proved those guys did exist. Thank God and Nora Roberts.
Saturday, they only ventured out once for food—if you called Bosco Chocolate Syrup food. Nick had the kitchen well stocked with all the other essentials—ice cream, strawberries, and whipped cream. They’d had Bosco but had run out. Who knew she had such a taste for chocolate—especially after she learned it wasn’t just for ice cream any more?
By Sunday morning, Rosalie had exhausted the poor guy into what looked like a coma. She and Dave took pity on him and went without him on their weekly excursion to the dog park and then to Fiorentino’s Italian-Jewish deli and bakery. A perfect combination. Where else could you buy cannolis and knishes? She bought bagels, lox, and cream cheese with chives, plus dessert to go with a box of coffee, and headed home with plans to kiss Nick awake.
Nick rolled over and groaned at the sunlight streaming through the windows. His stomach muscles were sore. He’d never had enough sex to wear him out—until now. Either he was getting out of shape, or he’d never stayed long enough for round two. Or three. Or four. Damn. If he’d known
that spending the weekend with a woman would be this good, he would have done it a while ago. But he’d never spent time with a woman who didn’t get on his nerves before. Rosalie had her idiosyncrasies, an aversion to all things closet-related being at the top of the list, but they were more cute than annoying.
The bed dipped. He reached behind him and wrapped his arm around her waist. Oh, man. The waist wasn’t Rosalie’s. It was smaller and bonier. He let go, rolled over while grabbing the sheet that rode low on his hips, and sat up in a split second.
“Who the hell are you?”
The black-haired, dark-eyed pixie looked him over. Nick fought the urge to pull the sheet up higher.
“So, you’re Nick, just Nick, eh?”
“Yes. And you are?”
“Gina.”
She stuck her delicate, manicured hand out to shake his, forcing Nick to switch the hand that held the sheet around him before shaking. If she hadn’t looked so serious, he would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation.
She wore a tight, long-sleeved T-shirt tucked into spray-painted-on jeans, with a big belt that accentuated her small waist and anything but small bust. Damn, a few weeks ago, waking up to a woman who looked like Gina would have been a dream come true. Now, it was a nightmare.
Nick cleared his throat. “Do I know you?”
“No. But I know all about you, Nick, just Nick, so I’m not going to waste time with the niceties.”
“I think that’s pretty clear, considering the way you barged in here.”
Gina rolled her eyes heavenward, as if she were praying for patience. “Whatever. Rosalie is entirely too nice and trusting, and you’ve got her eating out of your hand. I’m looking out for her, and I thought you should know I’m keeping my eye on you. You hurt her, and I’ll cut your privates off with rusty nail clippers. That way it’s slow, painful, and guaranteed to cause lockjaw. Any questions?”
“Yes. Would you mind waiting to threaten me until I’m dressed?”
“No, I don’t mind.” Gina sat and waited.
“Are you going to watch?”
“As if you have anything I haven’t seen before.” She turned her back and crossed her arms while she tapped the toe of an extremely dangerous-looking black boot with a heel thin enough to double as a weapon.