by Day Leclaire
“I have reservations, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Oh. Are reservations required?”
At long last he showed a spark of genuine amusement. “They’re not just required. They’re imperative.” His attention shifted to Scratch. “You brought the dog?”
“I couldn’t very well come without him.”
“They’ll never let him in. There must be health ordinances against animals in a restaurant.”
“Really? I’ve never had a problem before.”
She glanced at his date. Pamela was tall and attractive, if a bit quiet and controlled. She’d dressed in a conservative pearl gray dress, her hair restrained with an ivory clip. A set of fine brown eyes returned Angie’s regard.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Pamela prompted politely.
His reluctance was palpable. “This is my secretary, Ms. Makepeace. Angie, Pamela James.”
The two women shook hands. “Have you known each other long?” Angie asked.
Reed shot her a look that had her falling back a quick step. “Don’t start or you’ll be looking for a new job tomorrow.”
“My goodness, Reed,” Pamela interrupted. “What in the world did she say wrong? She simply asked how long we’d known each other.”
Annoyance smoldered in his gaze. “That’s not what she meant.”
“It isn’t?”
“It’s just a friendly question, Reed,” Angie interrupted.
His mouth tightened, not that it intimidated her. Progress couldn’t be made without movement—and she fully intended to move this mountain of a man, no matter how hard she had to push. Though, by the look of him, she’d have to push da—dang hard.
“You already know the answer to that question, so why ask?”
“Apparently she doesn’t or she wouldn’t,” Pamela retorted before addressing Angie. “We’ve only just met.”
“Excellent.”
. “What the hell do you mean by that?” Reed demanded.
Pamela frowned. “For heaven’s sake, it’s just social chitchat.”
“There’s more to it. Count on it.”
“I just meant first dates are so special,” Angie explained. “The initial glimpse you catch of each other. The sudden, stunning physical awareness that follows. Then you start anticipating his first touch, anxious to determine if he feels as delicious as he looks.”
Pamela appeared startled. “I never thought of it quite that way.”
“Ms. Makepeace—”
“Really?” Angie frowned at Reed’s date. “I always found the first few dates an exciting time. The hot and heavy passion that blinds each partner to certain painful truths.” The dog pawed at her skirt, distracting her. “Stop it, Scratch. I’m talking about the fun stuff. When emotion causes you to ignore the flaws. The love rush.”
Pamela folded her arms across her chest. “Flaws? What flaws?”
“Well... Let me think.” It didn’t take long to come up with a few. She only had to remember her day with Reed. “Like having a nasty temper. Or a blatant tendency toward stubbornness. Oh! And always wanting your own way about everything. Those sorts of flaws.” Scratch gave a soft whine and Angie glared at him. “I remember what Goodenkind said. True love. Happily-ever-after. Yada, yada, yada. Well, love’s love. Flaws and all.” She turned her glare in Reed’s direction. “Right?”
“I’ll have to take your word for it. I wouldn’t know. Are you quite through now?”
“I hope not,” Pamela said. “I’d like someone to explain what she’s talking about.”
“No problem,” Angie hastened to reply. “You see, you two haven’t been together long enough to have seen the bad as well as the good. Reality hasn’t set in. Or boredom. With any luck that won’t happen until you’re safely m—”
“Ms. Makepeace?” Reed interrupted gently.
“What?”
“I strongly recommend you don’t finish that sentence.”
“Perhaps we should have kept to meaningless social chitchat,” Pamela commented.
Reed smiled without humor. “See? I told you her remarks weren’t innocent. If you knew her as well as I do, you’d have realized that.”
Pamela lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should have been the one asking how long you two have known each other.”
Angie grinned. “We just met today.”
A pregnant silence followed her announcement, a silence Reed finally chose to break.
“Ms. Makepeace? In case you didn’t realize, I’m not very happy with you.”
She gave a tiny shrug, a wry smile tilting her mouth. “I’m used to it. I appear to have a knack for doing or saying the wrong thing. But if it makes you feel any better, if I fail this assignment, I won’t be inflicted on anyone else. And my supervisor will send Chuck or Dotty to straighten out the mess. You won’t be made to suffer. I promise.”
The maître d’ interrupted then. “Miss Makepeace! What a great delight to see you again.”
Angie turned around and smiled with genuine pleasure. “Hello, Rollo. How’s Beatrice?”
“Much recovered, thank you.” He gestured expansively. “How do you like what we’ve done with the place?”
“It’s beautiful. Why I can’t even tell where the fire was.”
“We covered it up very fine, yes?”
“You sure did. I’m sorry about the mess, by the way.”
“Pfft. As you see, the mustache grew back, no problem.”
He fingered the waxed tips and smiled broadly. “You have come for dinner?”
“Can you fit me in?”
“Of course. We always have room for you, Ms. Makepeace.” He glanced at Scratch and frowned. “But, er, you know the rules.”
“Told you,” Reed murmured close to her ear.
With a tiny sigh, Angie opened her purse and removed a scrap of red elastic. She slipped it over Scratch’s head, centering the snazzy red bow beneath his muzzle. “There? Satisfied?”
“You know our tie policy is strictly enforced,” Rollo scolded gently. “Even for such honored guests.”
“I understand completely.” She almost laughed out loud at Reed’s astonished expression. Tossing him a cheerful grin, she followed Rollo into the dining room. “Well, that went well, don’t you think?” she said to Scratch.
“Am I the only one who finds it strange to be eating at a five star restaurant with a dalmatian?”
“You’re not eating with a dalmatian,” Pamela answered with what Reed had begun to realize was typical pigheaded logic.
So much for experiencing the “love rush” before noticing the flaws. Not that he minded. After Emily and the torment of the past two years, he didn’t want to have anything more to do with love.
“There’s no difference,” he retorted.
“Yes, there is. You’re dining in the same restaurant as a dalmatian, not with him,” Pamela instantly corrected.
“And you don’t find anything strange about that?”
She sent him a quizzical glance. “Should I?”
To hell with tact. “Yes, you should.” He looked around the restaurant. “I can’t believe no one’s complaining. It’s as though they don’t even notice. There’s a deaf dalmatian sitting at a table wearing a bow tie and a smirk and everyone’s acting like it’s an everyday occurrence.”
“Well, it’s not as though he’s eating with his paws or slurping his soup or barking too loudly.” Pamela returned her attention to the menu. “The sole looks good, doesn’t it?”
Reed started to respond, then gave it up for a lost cause. He flipped open the menu, furious when his brand new secretary managed to snag his attention for the twentieth time in the past ten minutes.
Not that she did it deliberately. She hadn’t waved or smiled or raised any further ruckus. She didn’t need to.
Hell, no. All she had to do was sit there and every few minutes he found his gaze straying in that direction.
She occupied the centermost table, her bright red dre
ss and pale blond hair seeming to catch and magnify the subdued lighting. Not only was she the most beautiful woman in the room, but she also appeared perfectly at ease having a dog for a “date.” Not many women could pull that off with such flair. She wore her wire-rimmed glasses again, perching them precariously on the tip of her nose. His mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. How did she keep them from falling into her minestrone? As he watched, she pulled out that damned steno pad and busily scribbled another notation.
He winced, imagining what sort of comments she was recording. By the tiny frown centered on her brow, it couldn’t be good. What had he done to deserve such a nutcase for a secretary? It must have been one hell of a sin.
“Have you decided what you’re ordering?” Pamela asked.
“What? Oh. Sole.”
She nodded in satisfaction. “Perfect. That’s what I planned to order, too. It would seem we have a lot in common.”
Reed released his breath in a silent sigh. Yeah, right. They shared a common interest in a dead fish. Undoubtedly a match made in heaven. “I’m sure Ms. Makepeace will be thrilled.”
“Stop arguing, Scratch. A list is vital. He’s a list person. I’m a list person. Now stop complaining and tell me what I should put on it. He rates honesty as the highest virtue of all, so that’s number one.” Angie peered at Reed’s table over the top of her wire rims. “Now, how am I supposed to tell if Pamela’s honest? It’s not like she’s wearing a sign or anything. I don’t suppose Good’s told you anything helpful?”
Scratch released a gusty sigh.
“That figures.” She glanced at the list of virtues she’d started recording. “Let’s see. What’s next? Sense of humor. That’s my choice, not Reed’s. With a temper like his, having a mate who can turn his anger into laughter is imperative. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen either of them so much as crack a smile.” She added another notation. “And strong-willed. It wouldn’t do to match him with a doormat. He’d be bored senseless before the week’s out.”
Scratch barked sharply.
“Why do you keep bringing that up? I’m aware that he’s supposed to love her. But the man doesn’t believe in love.”
She removed her glasses and tossed them to the ivory tablecloth, thoroughly disheartened. The rims glittered like gold beneath the lights, though they were actually made of titanium. It didn’t bother her. She’d learned long ago that dross often masqueraded as gold.
“Explain something to me, if you can. How am I supposed to convince Reed to believe in love, when I know da—darn well it isn’t real? The man values honesty above all else. And yet I’m supposed to convince him to buy into a lie.”
Scratch wrinkled his muzzle, the pity reflected in his intense blue eyes almost more than she could bear.
“How’s your sole?” Pamela questioned.
“It’s always perfect.”
“Mine is a shade on the dry side.”
“You took it without sauce.”
“It’s dry.”
“Fine. It’s dry.” Reed reached for the salt which allowed him a surreptitious glance at his watch. Damn. At least another forty-five minutes before he could safely escape.
“Salt is bad for your health, you know.”
He lifted an eyebrow, thoroughly out of sorts with the woman. “Really?” He bared his teeth. “Want some?”
“I don’t like this. They’re both having sole.” Angie swirled her fork in the fettuccine marinara. “And they both look so...”
Scratch growled.
“Yeah. Bored. Where’s the fire? I don’t even see any sparks. Not so much as a wisp of smoke. He hasn’t held her hand. Hasn’t whispered sweet nothings in her ear. He hasn’t even made her laugh.” She glared at the dalmatian. “How’s he supposed to form a forever type relationship when they practically put each other to sleep?”
Rollo appeared at her elbow. “How is your dinner, Ms. Makepeace?”
“Wonderful. You’ve changed your sauce, haven’t you?”
The maître d’ beamed. “You could tell?”
“You’ve added anchovies. And you’ve switched to Greek olive oil. Shame on you, Rollo.”
“Please, Ms. Makepeace! Not so loud. You’ll give away all our secrets.”
“Oh, sorry.” She glanced toward Reed’s table again and snagged Rollo’s shirt. He bent low in order to hear her whispered question. “How often does he come here?”
“Mr. Harding? Twice a month like clockwork.”
“Always with a different woman?”
Rollo shrugged. “Once in a great while the lady will last more than a single date. Not often.”
She released him and considered the problem. Then she caught his sleeve and tugged until he bent close again. “The ones that last... Does he steal the occasional kiss?”
“I am sorry to say, no.”
Uh-oh. “Does he ever touch his dates?”
The maître d’s brow wrinkled for an instant before he smiled in triumph. “Once. He helped her up. The young lady had sprained the ankle.”
Sh—shoot! She released Rollo’s arm and he straightened. “Does he ever argue with his dates?”
“Never.”
“Share secrets?”
He chuckled. “Not him.”
“Laugh?” she asked weakly. “Smile at his women?”
The maitre d’ gave a distinctly Latin shrug—a shrug that spoke volumes.
She drummed the table with her fingernails, then snagged Rollo and yanked him downward. “Has he ever left with a woman before they’d finished eating?”
“Ah... The love rush.” Reluctantly he shook his head. “He has never done this. Apparently, none of his dates has roused the urge to hurry a meal. My guess is that he always enjoys dessert at the table, more is the pity.”
Instead of in bed. Da—Dang! “Thank you, Rollo.”
Scratch released a rumbly sigh as the maître d’ scurried away.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Angie fixed her stubborn boss with a determined gaze. “It seems that in addition to secretarial duties I’m going to have to give Mr. Harding some lessons on romance.” She shook her head. “The things we angels have to do.”
CHAPTER THREE
A WEEK later, Angie had just finished sorting the last pile on Reed’s desk when Scratch lifted his head and released an excited whine. Leaping from the couch, he sprinted toward the closed door leading to the outer reception area and glanced at her, shivering in undisguised pleasure.
“Joel’s here?” she asked, lifting a pale eyebrow. She checked her watch. “It’s only six. Rather early for him, isn’t it?”
She crossed to the door and silently opened it a crack. Sure enough, Joel stood in front of a bank of file cabinets, fumbling through the folders overflowing one of the drawers. He hadn’t turned on any lights. Instead he squinted in an effort to see with only the dusky dawn light to aid him. A lock of bronze-streaked hair curled across his brow above a straight, well-defined nose. A slight frown slashed sharp creases from his cheekbones to the side of his mouth, reminding her vividly of Reed.
“The site files aren’t there anymore. I moved them,” Angie announced, stepping into the outer office area.
Joel leaped in surprise, twisting to face her in an impressive, catlike move. “Holy sh—”
Scratch barked sharply—a clear reprimand.
Angie fought to hide a smile. “He doesn’t approve of swearing, I’m afraid. He reads lips, remember?”
“Oh.” Joel scuffed a sneaker-clad foot into the beige carpet. “Sorry. You scared me and it sorta slipped out.”
“He also doesn’t approve of burglars or thieves.” Angie folded her arms across her chest. “Nor do I.”
“I’m not stealing anything. I was—”
“Looking for another construction site to visit?”
He shrugged, flashing her an engaging grin. “Yeah. I have my own set of keys and—”
Scratch cut him off with a growl.
“Hey, I didn’t
swear.”
“No. But lying doesn’t go down well with him, either.”
Joel sighed in exasperation. “Damn! Shoot! I mean...darn!”
Angie chuckled. “Don’t worry. I slip up a lot, too. But I’m improving. I hardly goof at all anymore.” “With the lying or the swearing?”
“Swearing. I never lie.”
Joel nodded toward the dog. “And he can tell if somebody fibs?” he asked curiously.
“Every time.”
“How?”
“Scratch has this built-in lie detector,” Angie confided. “It can be really annoying.”
“Da—Dang. Sure am glad Reed doesn’t have one of those.”
It was said with such heartfelt sincerity that Angie couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll bet. Now would you like to try again with the keys?”
“I...uh...borrowed—” He winced as Scratch released an infuriated howl and held up his hands. “Okay, okay! I lifted Reed’s keys one day and made a duplicate set. Then whenever I want to find a construction site I haven’t visited recently, I sneak in here and look ’em up. Since most people wouldn’t peg me for a fifteen-year-old, I can usually hire on as a temporary without too much trouble.”
“Until one of Reed’s regular crew spots you.”
“Somethin’ like that.” He cocked his head to one side and fixed her with familiar hazel eyes. “You gonna rat me out?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Angie replied.
“It’s not like I got what I came for.” His grin flashed again. “It’d take a few more midnight raids before I find where you hid everything.”
“May I make a suggestion?”
He exhaled gustily. “If you have to.”
“Why don’t you work with me for a few weeks?”
Joel reared back. “Hey! I’m not some sorta dumb secretary.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He blushed painfully at her dry tone. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Stepping away from the bank of file cabinets, he began to pace, his movements filled with restless energy. “Nobody understands. I want to be outside. I want to build something from start to finish with my own hands. I want to be part of the action, not trapped at school or inside some boring office for my whole life.”