by Diane Albert
“Oh.” She swallowed hard. “Well. Um. Que belleza to you too.”
He smiled. Quiet laughter welled up in his chest. “You think I’m beautiful?”
“No! I mean—I—oh damn it.” Color crept high in her cheeks, and she looked mutinously away with a sweet little pout. “…you shouldn’t smile like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me think you’re a human being, and not the Dominican T-1000,” she huffed.
“Puerto Rican.”
“What?”
“My mother was Puerto Rican,” he said, and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”
She eyed his arm as if it might bite her, lifted her hand—but her phone rang, breaking the spell. She took a hasty step back, pulled her flip phone from her purse, and lifted it to her ear.
“Hello?” Her eyes took on a far-seeing look, before her jaw tightened and her shoulders sagged. “No. Not yet. But if you give me another month, I’ll get it to you by the end of the week.” She paused, then closed her eyes. “…I know. I do. I’m sorry. Just…please. One week. I’ll have the rent…yes. Yes. Thank you.”
The latter clearly came hard to her, and as she closed the phone she sat stiffly on the couch and pressed her face into her palm. Derek watched helplessly. There was nothing he could do, yet he felt as if he should do something. Anything other than standing here like an unfeeling stone statue. The T-1000, she’d called him. How fitting.
He sank down next to her. “You cannot pay your rent.”
She shrugged in a short, sharp jerk. “I will. I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
He reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around his wallet. “Do you need money?”
“No,” she snarled, then took a deep breath and flashed a forced, artificially flirtatious smile. “If anything, I should be paying you. You’re the hired entertainment for the night.”
“You’ll accept that favor, but not this one?”
That smile vanished, and she shot him a sharp look. “I’m already indebted to you for this mess. I won’t ask for more. Thank you, but no thank you.”
He frowned, but let go of his wallet. “What about Aaron? Does he know—?”
“No.” She stood and glared at him. “And he doesn’t need to know. Not one word, Derek.”
He bit back his argument. The stubborn little thing wouldn’t budge, if she was anything like her brother. He worked his jaw and stood. “Very well, Miss Miller.”
“When you say my name like that, I feel like a spinster schoolmarm.” She snorted. That fake smile was back, plastic and strained. “We’re supposed to be in love. Hearts and flowers on a first-name basis.”
His brows rose. “Is that what you think love is? Hearts and flowers?”
“Not really,” she said, “but I can’t fit puppies and kittens in this stupid tiny purse.” She tossed her head and headed for the door, her heels clicking, her hips swaying. “Come on, before I figure out a way to kill myself just by walking in heels.”
Downstairs, they climbed into the waiting cab and settled in. Neither spoke again until they were deep in downtown traffic, the city lights crawling past. She glanced at him, then blurted out, “We should probably go over a few basics about each other. So we sound realistic. I can count the things I know about you on one hand after a fireworks accident.”
“Basics such as…?”
“Favorite foods. Pet peeves. Work. I don’t know, things people know about each other when they’re in love.”
“Have you never been in love to know?” He had trouble believing that even as he asked. She was a wild little thing who seemed made to love and be loved, brimming with enough unfettered emotion for ten women. She hesitated. Her eyes lowered, and then she looked away, quickly, glancing at something outside the window. “I thought I was. Once.”
The silence that followed was strained. Her profile was ethereal under a panorama of shifting lights that slid over her skin like oil, gilding the bridge of her nose, its upturned tip, her glossed and parted lips. He’d said something wrong. What, he wasn’t sure. But he was starting to think there was more to this woman than her kittenish charm, and he wondered what could make such an animated little thing suddenly turn so still.
“I’ll start,” he said quietly. Perhaps he could coax her to speak again. “How long have you been with Inner State?”
“Almost a year.” Her small smile was distracted. “They hired me as a temp, with the possibility of full-time employment. My temporary position is up in March.”
So she barely had a week or two left on her contract. “Do you still sleep with a night light?”
The whites of her eyes flashed in the darkened cab. Her mouth dropped open. “I—you—how did you know that?”
“Guess.”
“I’m going to kill him.”
His mouth twitched involuntarily. “That’s a yes, then.”
“I stopped when I was sixteen!” She hunched down against the leather upholstery. “…I liked scary movies, okay? But they stopped being fun after dark.”
“What was your favorite?”
“The Grudge.”
“Mm.” She was sulking, and it was adorable. He wanted to pull that sulky mouth to his and— “I prefer the original Japanese version. Ju-On.”
She blinked at him. “You like horror movies?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“Well…yeah. You’re, you know…”
“…gifted with a battery-operated stick up my ass?” he offered with a dry smile.
Her sudden laugh could have lit the entire cab. “Yes.” She leaned a little closer, eyes glittering impishly. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
He swayed closer, lured by that wicked gleam. “And that is?”
“I still have the night light. It’s pink. My Little Pony.”
“Your little what…?”
“You are such a boy.” She laughed again. “God, we sound like we’re in junior high and playing Truth or Dare. Is it my turn to ask yet? I have to think of a good one.”
“Missed your turn. When did you graduate?”
“You don’t play fair.” She shrugged. “Two years ago. I’ve been bouncing from one temp job to another ever since. I’m hoping this is my last contract…but right now it doesn’t look promising.”
He captured her hand. Her fingers were soft and small in his, and as he leaned closer he caught the scent of lavender. “You’ll get your investor, Stephanie. I’m your advantage, remember?”
She withdrew her hand with a tense smile. “Are you the guy who ate a cheeseburger after it fell on a New York sidewalk?”
“That was Michael.”
“Oh.” She pointed a finger at him, her eyes alight. “Then you must be the one who got caught having sex in the library.”
Of course Aaron had told that story—and left out that it was about himself. Derek wasn’t going to be the one to tell her the truth. His phone vibrated in his pocket; he took advantage of the distraction to check it. Work emails, even this late at night. They were starting to pile up. He was trying not to feel guilty, and failing. “Not me.”
“Oh, come on!” She scowled. “There has to be some dirt on you. You’re way too serious. Guys like you are usually secret freaks on an R. Kelly level.”
He eyed her sidelong and tucked his phone away. Work would have to wait until after dinner.
She returned his gaze with a long, discerning look. “Like I said. Too serious.” She looked out the window again. “Next question. Are your parents still together?”
He stiffened. “I’d prefer not to discuss my family.”
“If you’re my fiancé, I should know more about you.”
Derek shook his head. “He won’t be asking about me. He’ll be asking about you. You don’t need to know my whole life story.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Why would they possibly want to know about my family?”
Stephanie glared back at him, fearless and
challenging. “What if they ask a simple question and I panic and blow the whole thing because I don’t know your favorite food? Or what your mom’s name is?”
“It’s not a multiple choice quiz with an answer key. You could say my mother’s name is Conchetta McFee and they wouldn’t know any difference.”
Her mouth quirked at the corners. She half-swallowed a snickering sound. “Conchetta McFee?”
One side of his mouth quirked up. “Be quiet, you impudent imp. You put me on the spot.”
“See? Even you’re getting flustered. Now imagine me, trying to make up something convincing with Rodgers and Wheeler staring at me. When I tell them your childhood pet was a cactus and you used to pretend to be a goldfish in the bathtub, it’s completely your fault.”
“Dragon, actually.”
“…you pretended to be a dragon?”
“Yes.” He looked firmly out the window. “I thought the Loch Ness monster was a dragon, and I’d use my toy boats to drown hapless sailors.”
She burst into that silvery, engaging laughter again, and leaned over to nudge him with her shoulder. “You know, you’re almost cute…for a Terminator.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, and forced a tight smile.
She was waiting. He could feel it in her silence, in the soft, curious way she looked at him. He was tempted to kiss her. Kiss her so she’d stop asking her questions; kiss her so she’d stop prying at him, needing to know him. She wasn’t asking for his life story. She wasn’t asking for the dirty details, like how many beatings it had taken before Derek had fought back against his father. Like the words spoken between them when he’d walked out, and become his own man.
Because he was never really his own man, as long as he lived by the rules his father had whipped into him, beating the last of his defiance out of him.
Maybe it was a spark of that defiance that made him speak. “My mother is gone,” he said, and took a deep breath. “She died when I was a boy.”
She made a soft, sympathetic sound. Her hand on his arm was like a little spot of soft flame, burning through his coat sleeve. “How did it happen?”
“Cancer.” His throat was dry, constricting. “After that it was just me and my father, and the servants who raised me. He and I don’t speak anymore. I still send cards for my old butler’s birthday, but don’t even remember when my father’s is. That’s about the sum of my childhood.”
She bit her lower lip. “I’m s—”
“Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry. I’m not. It’s in the past.” If only he could leave it there. He looked out the window and took a calming breath. “How long have you been in your current apartment?”
She watched him from the corner of her eye. “Almost a year.”
“Do you have any idea how unsafe it is?”
“If you start lecturing me I swear to God I’ll knee you in the nuts. Which is step two in my self-defense plan, by the way. The first is the pepper spray in my purse.”
“Touché.” He leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee. “How old are you again? Twenty-four or twenty-five?”
“Twenty-four.” She met his eyes. “Are you the same age as Aaron?”
“Yes. Twenty-nine. Have you ever been in a serious relationship before me? Ever been engaged?”
“None that I want to talk about with you.” Her cheeks flushed red. “What about you? Any special women I need to know about? Any past fiancées or long lost loves?”
“I’m not the marrying kind.”
She tilted her head. “Never?”
“Never,” he said flatly.
“Good to know my fiancé is never getting married.” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Maybe we should be done with the interrogation portion of the evening. I’m tired already, and we haven’t even gotten there.”
He studied the arch of her neck. His fingers rested loose against his knee, but tightened with the need to touch. “Feeling a little too violated and probed?”
She snorted. “Please. If I was being violated or probed, this would be a hell of a lot more fun.” She covered her mouth and met his gaze with wide eyes. “I did not just say that out loud, did I?”
His laughter slipped out before he could contain it. “You did.” And now he couldn’t get the image of her writhing beneath him out of his head.
This evening was already off to a brilliant start.
Chapter Six
Stephanie stood outside the restaurant, took a deep breath, and grappled for the last shreds of her composure. That car ride had been excruciating. Her head pounded with a fierceness that wouldn’t quit, and she needed to be clearheaded and sharp tonight. At the very least, she needed decent hand-eye coordination. This was a seven thousand dollar dress, and she’d rented it for the night. The two-fifty for the rental had hurt enough. A seven thousand dollar linguini stain would put her in debt for the rest of her life.
She held her hand out to Derek. “Ready?”
He closed his fingers around her palm. Bolts of warmth shot up her arm and worked their way down to her core. The way he was looking at her, his wild black hair shadowing his eyes until they glowed, his regard unwavering…he left her knees trembling, her stomach hot.
“Yes, I’m ready.” His grip tightened. “Let’s go get you an investor.”
They walked into the restaurant hand in hand. The lushly decorated room was ivory and gold and a dazzling wealth of tiny point lights that turned the ceiling into a breathtaking sunset strewn with early stars. The amount of glitz and glamor at every table probably represented half the country’s GNP. Stephanie already felt horribly out of place. She spotted Mr. Wheeler’s table immediately, and tugged Derek that way with a smile. At least Wheeler was a familiar face.
“Good evening, Mr. Wheeler.”
Mr. Wheeler stood and offered his hand. “Good evening, Ms. Miller.” They shook hands. He studied Derek. “Mister…Rory, was it?”
“Yes, sir.” Derek shook Mr. Wheeler’s hand, then slid his arm back around Stephanie’s waist. His fingers burned through the thin fabric of her dress. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Wheeler smiled and settled back into his chair. “Please. Sit.”
Rodgers emerged from the back of the restaurant. His cheeks were red and his sneer firmly in place. “Ah, I see the young couple is here at last. We were starting to suspect you forgot all about us.”
Stephanie bit her tongue. The man was full of piss and vinegar and lies. He was the epitome of the sleazy businessman. Derek squeezed her hip in warning, seeming to sense how close she was to telling Rodgers exactly what she thought of him. Political games and fake smiles were not what she’d pictured when she’d chosen her career.
Clenching her teeth, she summoned up her perfect Corporate Barbie smile. “We are ten minutes early, sir.”
“If we’re late, it’s my fault.” Derek stepped forward and pulled Stephanie’s chair out for her. “I couldn’t decide between the red cummerbund or the black.”
Mr. Wheeler laughed. “And they say women take the longest to get ready.”
“Not in our house.” Derek gently pushed her chair in. “I’m afraid I’m the diva between us.”
Stephanie stared—at his easy, charming smile, at how glibly he moved, spoke, chuckled—and wondered where this Stepford fiancé had come from. He caught her eye, the warning clear: play your part.
“Uh.” She fiddled with her napkin. “He’s being kind. I took hours getting ready.”
“Every minute was well spent,” Derek said, his eyes locked on her.
From the heat in his gaze, she could almost believe he meant it.
The waiter arrived, and Mr. Rodgers took the liberty of ordering for all of them. The most expensive thing on the menu—lobster and filet mignon. She would have preferred a burger, but she kept silent. Played along like a good little girl, even if she had no idea how to act at meetings like this.
After their waiter filled thei
r glasses with wine, Stephanie lifted her drink and smiled. “To a lucrative future together?”
They all toasted, and Stephanie met Derek’s eyes over their glasses. Though he wasn’t smiling, his eyes were warm. “To the future,” he echoed, his voice full of promise.
Damn, he was good. Too good.
She tore her attention from Derek and smiled at Mr. Wheeler. After taking a sip of Moscato, she asked, “Have you had a chance to look over my proposal?”
“Yes, I have.” He sipped from a tumbler of whiskey, then reached into his briefcase. He pulled out a manila folder and stretched to pass it over the table. “And I’ve come prepared with more questions of my own.”
Stephanie took the folder and eagerly opened it. A hand covered hers, holding the file shut. Not Derek. Derek’s touch tingled with a disturbing familiarity, one that was absent now. The fingers covering hers were thick and bristled with coarse white hair. Mr. Rodgers. She should have known from the sick feeling in her stomach.
He looked down at the file. “Let’s save business for later.”
“Isn’t that why we’re here, though?” Stephanie looked at Mr. Wheeler. “Sir?”
Wheeler smiled. “I don’t mind holding off for now. I’d like the opportunity to get to know the people I intend to do business with.”
“All right.” She pulled free from Rodgers, tucked the file into her briefcase, and hid her unease behind her wine glass, taking a slow sip and stealing the moment to compose herself. “What shall we discuss, then?”
Wheeler crossed his fingers together. A wedding band sparkled in the light. “Tell me a little more about yourself. How did you two meet, Derek? May I call you Derek?”
“Of course.” But Derek said nothing else. Stephanie shot him a look, but his calm, easy smile was no help.
She gulped. “You want to know how we met.”
Crap. Crap crap crap. She’d come prepared to talk business with a few idle personal comments—not make up stories about the romance of the century. Why couldn’t Wheeler be a smarmy business-first jerk like Rodgers, instead of this kindly-eyed old coot with a fixation on wedding bells? He was probably already picturing her pregnant with her first litter. She and Derek could breed like bunnies. Little baby Poindexters toddling everywhere.