by James, Julie
Vaughn followed her upstairs, where her stepladder sat underneath the smoke detector outside her bedroom. He climbed up, reached for the smoke detector, and gave it a twist.
Nothing.
“It’s stuck,” he said, frowning.
She snorted. “Not exactly a newsflash, buddy.” When he stared down at her, she smiled and touched his knee. “And what I meant by that was, thank you so much for rushing over here to help me figure out this mystery.”
“So saucy,” he said, shaking his head. He turned back to the smoke detector and scrutinized it for a moment. “Ah. There’s the problem. Whoever painted your ceiling was sloppy—they painted over the rim of this thing and that probably sealed it shut.”
He reached up and twisted again, harder—Sidney was satisfied to see that even Captain America here had to put some effort into the task—and then it popped off.
“Thank. God.” She hurried into her bedroom and grabbed one of the new 9V batteries off her dresser. She handed it to Vaughn, who changed it out for the old battery, twisted the casing back on, and then climbed down the ladder.
“That should do it, but I’ll stick around to make sure,” he said. “We might as well do the downstairs smoke detector, too. Who knows the last time the previous owners changed it.”
He grabbed her stepladder and carried it downstairs, providing Sidney a nice opportunity to admire the way his tall, leanly muscular frame filled out his suit. It wasn’t even that well-cut of a suit—mmm, the things she could do with this man in the men’s department at Barneys—but it didn’t matter. Knowing what was underneath the clothes, and just seeing him be so . . . capable, was enough to have her giving him a long once-over.
Downstairs, they discovered that the smoke detector there was sealed with paint, too. With a hard twist, Vaughn got it open.
“I was planning to order a pizza tonight,” Sidney said, while throwing away the old batteries. “If you don’t have any plans, you’re welcome to stay—my treat as a thank-you.” She smiled innocently. “I even promise to keep my hands to myself if you’re worried about your seven-day rule.”
“I’ve realized the seven-day rule is superfluous with you,” he said, sounding wry.
She wasn’t sure what to make of that answer. “So that’s a . . . yes?”
“As long as you don’t mind me getting comfortable. Long day at work.” He took off his jacket and threw it over the back of one of her counter stools, yanked off his tie, and then loosened the buttons at his neck.
Keep going.
Sidney cleared her throat. “What do you like on your pizza?”
She placed their order and then opened a bottle of chianti. “You said you had a long day at work? How so?” She poured them each a glass.
“Huxley and I picked up a new investigation. We have to move fast with this one, so there was a lot of hustling to make sure everything is set.”
“You can work undercover in two different cases at the same time?”
As they moved into the living room, he explained that his partner would be handling the undercover work this time. That led to an amusing story about how Huxley and his fiancée, also a special agent, had first gotten together after pretending to be a couple during a sting operation that had taken place at a restaurant.
He took a seat on the couch and set his wineglass on the table. “What are these?”
“Oh. My parents’ wedding albums.” She’d forgotten she’d left them out. “I was planning to look through them tonight. I’ve been thinking about what to do for Isabelle’s ‘something old.’ You know, because brides are supposed to have ‘something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.’ I thought it would be nice if she could have something that our mother wore on her wedding day. Unfortunately, I found out this week that one of my father’s ex-wives pitched all my mom’s wedding things. Supposedly, it was an accident—I guess with the high turnover of wives in that house, something was bound to get lost in the shuffle.” She shook her head in both frustration and disappointment. Then she managed a half-smile at Vaughn. “I’m just a little ticked off about that, if you can’t tell.”
“Understandably so.”
She sighed. “Anyway . . . now I’m thinking that I’ll put an old photo of our mom in a locket, and Isabelle can wear that instead. Or carry it in her purse.” She shrugged. “It’s not the best idea, but it’s all I could come up with.”
“I’m sure your sister will think it’s great.” Vaughn pointed to the albums. “Can I take a look?”
The question surprised her. “Of course.”
He picked up one of the albums and leaned back against the couch. Sidney scooted closer to him as he opened it to the first page, a photograph of her mother standing in front of a window while looking down at her bouquet.
Sidney smiled nostalgically. “I used to look at these albums all the time when I was younger, but I haven’t seen them for years.”
Vaughn turned the page to a candid shot of her mother laughing with one of her bridesmaids. “You’re right. Isabelle does look a lot like her. But you have her smile.” He pointed. “I can practically hear her making some dry quip to this woman here as the photographer snapped the shot.”
“That was her best friend, Ginny Gastel,” Sidney said. “And you’re probably right. I remember her and my mother laughing a lot whenever they were together.”
Vaughn turned the page to a photograph of Sidney’s father lined up with his groomsmen. He grinned at the sight of the men dressed in ’70s gray tuxedoes with ruffled shirts. “Looking slick, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Now that outfit I could handle being accidentally misplaced,” Sidney said.
Vaughn pointed to the photo on the next page. “I’m guessing these are your grandparents? Will I be meeting any of them at the wedding?”
They went through both albums, with Sidney next to him on the couch, legs tucked underneath her. The pizza came just as they were winding down, and they decided to eat in the living room while watching some action movie that made Vaughn roll his eyes at the portrayal of the FBI characters.
“Come on. Where is his backup squad?” he said to the TV.
Sidney was curled up on the couch, feeling quite cozy after those two glasses of wine. Her lack of sleep the previous night was definitely catching up with her. “Do you always have backup?” she asked, leaning her head against him.
He moved his arm so that she could rest against his chest. “All the time. The FBI loves overwhelming people with manpower and firepower.”
“Good.” In her drowsy state, this suddenly was very important to her, knowing that he was as safe as possible while doing his extraspecial agent thing.
Her eyes felt heavy, so she decided to shut them for just a teeny tiny moment. The last thing she remembered was feeling Vaughn’s fingers stroking up and down on her arm in a light, soothing caress.
• • •
A FEW MINUTES after Vaughn felt Sidney’s body relax against his chest, she shifted and got even more comfortable, using his thigh as a pillow. He brushed her hair off her face, smoothing his fingers over the long, coppery strands.
The movie only had about ten minutes left. When it was over, Vaughn turned off the television, which caused Sidney to stir. She turned onto her back, her head still resting on his leg, and looked up at him.
She reached up and sunk her fingers into the back of his hair. “Stay tonight.”
Looking down at her, Vaughn couldn’t think of one reason why he shouldn’t. Being with her tonight had eased that irritated, unsettled feeling he’d had all week. “As long as you promise that your crazy future brother-in-law isn’t going to show up and start yelling at me again tomorrow morning.”
She laughed at that, and then they both laughed even harder when Vaughn did his Oh-My-God impression of Simon walking in on him in the shower. And when they made i
t to the bedroom and he pulled Sidney into his arms, he couldn’t help but think just how good it always was with her.
Something felt different between them as she led him to the bed. Instead of the impatient need to have her naked that he’d always felt before, tonight he took his time undressing her. He noticed little things he hadn’t before, like the scattering of freckles across the top of her shoulders, which he kissed as he slid the straps of her bra down her arms.
Under the covers, his hands and mouth moved slowly over her. By now, he knew what she liked, knew all the things that had her moaning his name softly in the darkness, and when he finally eased into her, he kept his lower body still for several moments as they kissed, wanting to simply savor the feeling of being inside her.
And in that moment, he was pretty sure that nothing else had ever felt quite so right.
• • •
VAUGHN WOKE UP first in the morning and decided to take the initiative this time with the coffee. He got dressed quietly, not wanting to wake Sidney, and headed downstairs. He’d noticed her keys on the kitchen counter the night before, so he grabbed them and walked the three blocks to Starbucks. There, he realized he didn’t know her coffee order, so he ordered a grande of the medium roast, thinking that was the safest bet.
He let himself back into her town house, and put the keys back in the same spot. Sidney’s laptop set on the counter nearby, open but in sleep mode.
And that’s when he saw it.
A small white card—seemingly a business card—lay upside down next to the laptop, with the handwritten words: Maybe next time we can meet for more than two minutes?
Vaughn flipped the card over and saw it was from some lawyer named Tyler Roland. He put the card back where he’d found it, then headed upstairs.
Sidney peeked one eye open as he took a seat on the edge of the bed closest to her. “You are a god,” she said, spotting the coffee cups in his hands. She sat up, took one of the cups from him, and had a sip. “Mmm. Thank you.”
He took a sip, as well. “Looks like somebody has another hot date coming up,” he said conversationally. When she paused and looked at him, he explained. “His business card was on the counter next to your keys. ‘Maybe next time we can meet for more than two minutes?’”
“Oh. Tyler.” She stared at her coffee cup for a moment, twisting the sleeve. “He and I are supposed to have dinner this Wednesday.”
Vaughn felt something gnawing in his gut, but he shook it off. Of course she had a date—she’d been going on dates this whole time. That was how these things worked; they were simply two people having a good time together. Sure, they’d gotten closer, and, yes, it was easy being around her, but that’s what made the situation so ideal. There was no awkwardness between them—just a perfect no-strings-attached arrangement.
Exactly the way things were supposed to be.
“Ah. Another contender seeking to test his luck against the thirty-four-item checklist,” he said, his tone deliberately teasing. “How did you meet this one?”
She looked at him. “You really want to talk about this?”
“You’ve been telling me about your dates all along. Why would it be any different now?”
Something flickered in her eyes, but in the next moment it was gone. “Right. Of course. Um, so . . . I met Tyler briefly a few months ago, then we ran into each other on the street the other day.”
How fortuitous. “And he went straight for the dinner invite? No drinks or coffee first? Huh. That seems a little forward.”
“Actually, we have a mutual acquaintance,” she said. “He’s friends with a partner at my firm who says that Tyler’s a good guy. With that kind of endorsement, I figured he was dinnerworthy. Plus, I’ve been wanting to try Sogna ever since I moved back to Chicago.”
“He’s taking you to Sogna?” Vaughn was familiar with the restaurant, one of the most exclusive in the city. Not because he’d dined there himself—with a $210 prix fixe menu, it wasn’t exactly in his budget. But last year, he’d coordinated a sting operation out of the place and he’d seen firsthand that it was nice. Really nice. “Sounds to me like somebody’s trying to show off.”
Sidney cocked her head, considering this. “I don’t think so. Maybe he’s just a foodie. He seemed really interested in hearing about the restaurants I’d eaten at in New York.” She gestured with her coffee cup. “Oh. I just realized—I should start thinking about what I’ll wear, in case I need to drop something off at the dry cleaners today. Maybe that pink dress I wore to my father and Jenny’s garden party.”
Vaughn’s hand tightened around his coffee cup. He remembered that dress well. “I don’t know . . . I thought I noticed something wrong with one of the sleeves on that dress. It kept slipping down your shoulder.” Obviously, he was . . . just trying to help her avoid any fashion faux pas on her big date.
She smiled. “No, it’s supposed to do that. Gives me allure.”
Right.
• • •
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Vaughn parked his car in the FBI lot, arriving just moments after Huxley. Seeing him, Huxley waited in front of the security building, which all agents and visitors were required to pass through.
Vaughn slammed his car door—probably a little harder than necessary—and then strode over to his partner.
Huxley raised an eyebrow. “I think you left your side-view mirror on the pavement there.”
“The door slipped,” Vaughn said, with a nonchalant shrug.
Ignoring Huxley’s skeptical look, he breezed into the security building and flashed his badge at the guards.
He, for one, had a corrupt city code inspector to take down tonight.
Twenty-seven
ON WEDNESDAY EVENING, Sidney walked into Sogna restaurant and smiled at the hostess. “I’m meeting someone here. I believe the reservation is under Roland?”
The hostess checked her reservation list and nodded. “Of course. Mr. Roland is already here. I’ll show you to your table.”
She led Sidney up the glass-and-steel staircase to the second floor of the restaurant’s split-level dining room. At the top of the steps, Sidney could see Tyler waiting at a table next to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a romantic view of vibrant Michigan Avenue. Smiling when he spotted her, he looked classically handsome in his tailored sport coat and blue button-down shirt.
She felt a moment’s hesitation before walking over, a slight jittery feeling in her stomach—which she immediately wrote off as butterflies of anticipation. This could be it, she told herself. This could be her last first date, her Mr. Right, the man she was meant to spend the rest of her life with.
The jitters in her stomach kicked it up a notch.
Ignoring that, she put forth her most charming smile as she approached the table, determined to have the best damn first date ever.
• • •
“DO YOU MISS New York at all?”
Sidney rested her fork against her plate, thinking about Tyler’s question. As it turned out, he was a foodie—for over a half hour they’d talked about their favorite restaurants, which had led to his current question. “I do, at times. But kind of the way you miss a cool place you went on vacation, or the city where you spent a summer abroad during college. As much as I enjoyed living in Manhattan, I don’t think I ever fully settled in to thinking it was home.” She turned the question around. “How about you? Do you ever think about living someplace other than Chicago?”
So far, Tyler was doing well against her checklist. In addition to their conversation about favorite restaurants, during the appetizer course, they’d covered a lot of the first-date basics. She knew he had a younger sister with whom he was close—something they obviously had in common; that he’d attended Harvard for both undergrad and law school; and that he liked to golf and play squash. Typically, however, this was the point in the date—when the questions
became more substantive—that the contenders began to falter.
“No, not really,” he said. “I mean, I like to travel and visit different places, and, obviously, there were the seven years I lived in Boston for school, but both my family and my job are here in Chicago. So I’m pretty set where I am.”
This gave Sidney an opportunity to segue into the subject of his career. “How long have you been at your firm?”
“Two years, after lateraling in as a partner. We’re a relatively new firm—we’ve only been open for three years.”
Sidney’s radar began to beep, hearing that. As a businesswoman, she knew how unstable start-up ventures could be—and if things weren’t settled with Tyler’s career, her research said he had to be nixed. “How’s business going?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“Great,” he said, without any hesitation. “The two partners who started the firm—friends of mine, actually—brought a huge client with them when they left our old firm. We’ve acquired a lot of new clients since then, so we’ve brought on five more associates and two other lateral partners. And I think we still might need to add to that number, given how much new business is coming in.”
Great. So he’s a workaholic. “Sounds like you guys are really busy.”
“We’re busy, sure—as a lawyer, you never want to be not busy. But one of the commitments my friends made when starting the firm was to staff cases so that no one works the insane amount of hours you see at large law firms.” He smiled. “And if you knew the kind of lifestyle J.D. and Payton had at our old firm—basically meaning, no life at all—you’d understand why this is important to them. That’s one of the main reasons I joined their firm . . . well, after waiting a year to see if they actually got the place off the ground,” he chuckled. “Having a healthy work-life balance is important to me, too.”
Well, isn’t he just knocking these answers out of the park?
Sidney’s inner pragmatist gave her a sharp nudge.
I mean, yay!—he’s knocking these answers out of the park!