by Susan Mann
“I’m sure you will.” She picked up her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Walk me to my car?”
He smiled and hefted his briefcase from the desk. “With pleasure.”
Chapter Nine
Quinn raised the mascara brush to her right eye and swiped it under the upper row of lashes several times, being careful not to cake it on so thick it would turn into a clumpy mess.
“I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me come do your makeup for you,” Nicole’s voice said from Quinn’s phone lying on the bathroom counter.
“’Cause the one time I let you, I ended up looking like a hooker.”
“Hey!” Nicole’s huffiness came through loud and clear.
The brush stopped and hovered in front of her eye. Quinn scowled at the phone in mild exasperation.
“Yeah, okay. You’re right. It was awful.”
“And what did we learn?”
Nicole sighed and said in a flat tone, “Blue eyes and blue eye shadow don’t mix.”
“Thank you.” Quinn switched and applied the black goo to the lashes of her left eye. “And James and I are just going to dinner. It’s not a big deal.” Simply saying the words made her stomach lurch with excitement. “I mean, we’re not exactly walking the red carpet at a movie premiere.” It was a good thing, too. She hated dresses and the mere thought of wearing a long, formal one by a designer she’d never heard of nearly made her break out in a sweat. She was grateful to instead be wearing comfortable black jeans and a gray cable-knit pullover sweater. “Thanks for helping me decide what to wear, by the way.”
“You’re welcome. Is it sad I know exactly what’s in your closet without even being there?”
“You see me at least five days a week,” Quinn answered, her defenses up. “You’ve seen me wear everything in my closet at least a hundred times.”
She regarded herself in the mirror. Her naturally light lashes, now augmented with the mascara, were darker and fuller. She had to admit the more expensive brand of mascara Nicole told her to buy really did make her blue eyes pop. But she decided to keep that revelation to herself. Otherwise it would embolden Nicole and before she knew it, it would be The Hooker Incident all over again. So she stayed silent, screwed the cap back on the tube, and dropped it in the open drawer.
“You’ll need to get some new clothes if you start going out with James all the time.” Quinn could practically see her friend preen when Nicole added, “Which is funny since about two weeks ago, you weren’t interested in the dating scene.”
“I changed my mind.” Quinn rummaged around in the drawer and found a tube of lipstick. She pulled off the top and recoiled when garish red lipstick—a leftover from The Hooker Incident—twisted up. She tossed the tube back into the drawer as fast as humanly possible.
Quinn smiled as she thought about the man who had changed her mind. “Can you blame me?”
“Not even a little. James would change my mind, too,” Nicole answered. “I’d dump Brian in a heartbeat if James asked me out.”
“You would not,” Quinn said, calling her friend’s bluff. She found another tube of lipstick and checked the color. It was sheer, just the way she liked it.
“You’re right,” she heard Nicole sigh. “I wouldn’t.”
Quinn swiped the lipstick over parted lips.
“Besides, it would never happen. The man hangs on to your every word.”
Quinn made a face. “He does not.” She slipped the tube in the front pocket of her jeans in case she found an occasion to reapply after dinner. Then she raked her fingers through her blond hair a couple of times in a vain attempt to fluff it. She rolled her eyes. There was really no use. Until she had a personal stylist—and why would she ever—it would always be flat.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that,” came Nicole’s reply, complete with an incredulous snort. The teasing dropped from Nicole’s voice and Quinn heard the sincerity in it when she said, “I’m really happy for you, Q. I hope you have a good time tonight.”
She picked up her phone and flicked off the bathroom light. “Me too.” As she walked through her bedroom, she said, “I gotta go. If you promise not to text me twenty times before dessert to ask me how it’s going, I’ll give you a call tomorrow and give you details. Deal?”
“Deal. Talk to you soon.”
“Bye.” Quinn touched the screen to end the call, slipped the phone into her back pocket, and checked her watch. It was a couple of minutes before seven and James would be there any minute. From the doorway of her bedroom, she surveyed the living room. It would never be featured on the glossy pages of Architectural Digest, but at least it was clean.
Too nervous to sit, she puttered around the apartment until the intercom buzzed. When James announced himself, she pressed the button to allow him in. She considered opening the door and waiting for him in the doorway, but that seemed too eager. Instead, she stood behind the closed door and waited the twenty seconds until there was a knock. Her hand rested on the doorknob as she drew in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then gusted it out. She unlocked the door and opened it.
James stood before her with his hands deep in his front pockets and a shy smile gracing his face. He looked more handsome than she’d ever seen him, in a dark blue V-neck cashmere sweater and blue jeans. It was only by divine intervention she didn’t actually whimper. She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth and said, “Hi.”
“Hi.”
She took a step back. “Please, come in.”
“Thank you.” He stepped through the doorway and as he passed her, his scent made her toes curl. “You look lovely.”
“Thanks. You look really nice, too.” She might have sounded completely lame, but nice was the only word her thoroughly addled brain could come up with besides dreamy. She was trying hard to avoid coming off like an eleven-year-old girl gushing about her favorite member of a boy band, so nice would have to do.
James glanced around the apartment. “Nice place. Why am I not surprised by the packed bookshelf?”
“Occupational hazard,” she replied with a shrug.
His gaze settled on the two-foot-tall artificial Christmas tree sitting at the center of the square card table that served as her dining table. “Very clever. I like the scaled-down size of the ornaments,” he said of the decorations that looked like very small, very shiny gold, red, and green wrapped packages.
“It’s a good thing I like trimming it, too.” When his brow lowered in confusion, she clarified, saying, “Every time I come home from work, Rasputin has somehow managed to scatter them all over the apartment.”
“You realize he’s got you trained.” He laughed.
She grinned and said unabashed, “Completely.”
“Speaking of Rasputin, I believe I need to gain his approval before we can leave. What happens if I don’t pass inspection? Am I going to have to return to Santa Monica alone?”
“Why? Are you not feeling confident about your cat-whispering abilities?”
“Oh, I’m ready,” he answered. The look he gave her melted her insides. “There’s just a lot riding on it, that’s all.”
“I wouldn’t be too concerned,” she managed when she found her voice. “I pay the rent, so I have veto power. Besides, I’d hate for you to go back to Santa Monica alone.”
“I appreciate the consideration.”
“I have to admit I’m also curious about how he’ll react to you. I don’t have a lot of company, so he’s not around new people very often.”
“Happy to be your test case,” he said.
“Okay, here we go. Kitty, kitty, kitty,” she called. A half a minute later, Rasputin prowled out of her bedroom and slowly approached, his tail trailing behind him, tip curving up. About five feet from where Quinn and James stood, he stopped and stared at them with amber eyes.
James didn’t advance to greet the cat. Instead, he squatted down, reached out his arm, and pointed his index finger at Rasputin. He turned his head slig
htly to the side, stayed completely still, and waited. After thirty seconds or so, the cat started forward again, his supple shoulders rolling as he strode straight for James’s extended finger. When the cat reached the outstretched fingertip, he sniffed it, and then touched it with his nose.
Impressed, Quinn watched the greeting continue as Rasputin rubbed his cheek against James’s finger and then his hand. After the cat pushed his face against James’s hand a few more times, he scratched Rasputin under his chin. Still in a crouch, he twisted around and looked up at Quinn. “I believe I’ve just survived the crucible of the Feline Gatekeeper.”
“With flying colors.”
James stood and the cat immediately wove between James’s feet and rubbed his sides against James’s shins. “Obviously, Rasputin is an impeccable judge of character.”
“Obviously.”
There was a short pause while they both watched Rasputin continue to mark James, leaving a few stray strands of cat hair on his jeans in the process. James didn’t seem the least bit concerned. When the cat moved away to rub against the corner of the couch, James asked, “Ready to go?”
“Almost,” she answered and reached for her jacket draped over the back of the couch.
James’s phone blinged as Quinn slipped her arm into one of the sleeves. She noted the uncertainty clouding his face, obviously not knowing if she would be bothered if he responded. “Go ahead and check it if you want,” she said. She shrugged on the jacket and flipped her hair out from under the collar. “I don’t mind.”
His features cleared. “It’s probably nothing, but since it’s the middle of the night in Britain, it’s best I check.”
“Of course.” She watched his face as he tapped the screen with his thumb and grew concerned when his eyebrows puckered as he read the message. “Is there a problem?” she asked. “Do we need to take a rain check for tonight?”
He stared at the phone a few seconds longer before shaking his head. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s my sister. I’ll text her back now and ring her later.” His thumbs moved across the screen as he filled Quinn in. “She’s at a Christmas party at a friend’s house and couldn’t wait to tell me the chap she fancies has been chatting her up. She’s quite thrilled.”
“And you don’t like him.”
“No, I don’t. I find him to be obnoxious and tiresome.” He slipped the phone into his back pocket and returned her gaze. “It’s that obvious?”
“Let’s just say I recognized the big brother face you were just wearing. I’ve seen it myself a time or two. As a little sister, I can tell you Sophie might act like it annoys her when you go all big brother on her, but deep down she appreciates you care and are looking out for her.”
“Thanks. It’s nice to know a baby sister’s perspective.”
“Happy to help.” She picked up her purse and keys from the kitchen counter. James went out the door first. She made sure the lamp on the table was on, closed the door, and locked the dead bolt with her key.
They walked past the row of town houses on their right. When they’d traveled about halfway between Quinn’s apartment and the front gate, a man in long shorts and a sweatshirt came up the stairs from the complex’s parking garage below. He carried two canvas bags full of groceries. “Hey, Quinn. Going out tonight, huh?” The man smiled while giving James a quick inspection.
“We are. Rick, this is my friend James. James, Rick is the complex manager. He lives here with his wife and two munchkins.”
Rick set one of the bags on the sidewalk and the two men shook hands. “Where are you off to tonight?”
James smiled over at Quinn and said, “I’m taking this lovely lady to dinner at a little Italian place in Santa Monica.”
“Well, that sounds like fun,” Rick replied. Even in the dimness, Quinn saw his eyes twinkling at her.
Never comfortable being the center of attention, Quinn moved the conversation along. “What are you and the family up to tonight?”
“We’ll be popping and stringing popcorn while we watch Christmas movies.” He chuckled and added, “With a six- and an eight-year-old, there might be more eating than stringing.” He picked up the bags by the handles. “I’d better get inside before they send out a search party. It was nice meeting you, James. You two have a nice evening.” He started up the steps to his front door. She knew the man could barely wait to get inside and tell his wife, Emily, Quinn was actually going out on a date.
“Thanks. Tell the kids I said not to eat too much popcorn.”
“Will do,” he called back just before the door closed.
“He seems like a friendly neighbor,” James said as they started walking again.
“They’re a nice family. I babysit the kids once in a while in exchange for them taking Rasputin when I go out of town.” Quinn reached the front gate and pushed it open.
“That seems like a fair trade,” James said and opened the car door for her. Once she’d slid into the passenger seat, he shut it, ran around to the driver’s side, and climbed in the car next to her.
The conversation stalled and the silence that descended wasn’t the laid-back quiet that settled over them on other occasions.
Quinn snuck a side-eyed glance at James. His relaxed posture and the slight smile on his face as he accelerated and merged the car onto the 405 Freeway seemed to indicate he didn’t feel the same level of discomfort she did, or any at all, for that matter. That alleviated her mind a little since he didn’t appear inclined to pull the car over, make her get out, and end their date right there on the spot due to her lack of sparkling conversation skills. It still didn’t stop her from overcoming the silence by putting voice to a trivia dust bunny that kicked up in her brain when they zoomed past a green freeway sign announcing the distances to the upcoming off-ramps.
“Did you know Mulholland Drive is named after William Mulholland? He supervised the building of the Los Angeles Aqueduct in the early part of the twentieth century. L.A. wouldn’t be the city it is today without the water that first aqueduct brought.” After her short and somewhat blurted history lesson, she swallowed and hoped he didn’t find what she’d said completely lame.
“That’s interesting,” he said. “He must be revered around here.”
“I think most people don’t even know who he was,” she said, pleased he seemed interested in her bit of brain lint. “Plus, some of the things he did to secure the water rights up in the Owens Valley where the water came from were pretty sketchy. And one of the dams he personally inspected collapsed and the water killed hundreds of people. So there’s that.”
He looked over at her for a split second before he turned forward again to face the sea of red taillights from the cars in front of them as they sped over the Sepulveda Pass. “I enjoy your bits of random trivia. Your ability to remember information like that is indeed a gift.”
She smiled and the nervous knot in her stomach fully untangled when she realized he was referencing their conversation at the coffee shop.
“Okay, so you’ve seen me use my superpower a couple of times. What’s yours?”
He tilted his head in thought. “Hmm. I’m not sure I have one.”
“I’m sure you do.” She studied him and then snapped her fingers. “I know. You can get any cat you meet to instantly like you.”
He took one hand from the steering wheel and rubbed the back of his neck with it. “Yeah, well, about that. I got lucky. I didn’t have the first clue about how to make friends with a cat, so I read what to do on the Internet. I’m surprised it worked.”
“You could have fooled me. You looked like a natural. Maybe it really is your superpower.”
“Perhaps.” After a short pause, he nodded. “I know what my superpower is. You saw it earlier today, and I’m not talking about cats.”
She assumed he wasn’t talking about his ability to charm the socks off her, so she filtered that out. “Give me a minute.” She stared out the window and thought back to earlier that day. She’d first seen him
outside of Mysterious Art Collector Guy’s house. Her gaze fell on the tall, cylindrical building at the Sunset off-ramp. Every time she drove past it, it reminded her of the air filter that went in Tom’s 1990 Camaro. He was always tinkering with its engine and she’d sometimes helped him by passing him whatever tool he needed. A spark ignited in her brain and the two memories fused. “Supercars,” she said. “Your superpower is knowing all about supercars.”
Warmth spread through her at his smile. “Very good. I’ve loved cars since I was a little boy. I can’t help but be fascinated by their look, their sound, their speed, the engineering that goes into them.” James peered over at her and popped a shoulder up and down as if embarrassed by this revelation. “I’ll never be able to afford one, but I guess it doesn’t hurt to admire them from afar.”
“Maybe you won’t be able to afford the Spyder we saw this morning, but a Lotus Evora might be doable someday,” she said blithely.
She felt an immense sense of pleasure at the shock he showed when he sat up straight. “How do you know about Lotus?” He sat back and sighed. “Why am I surprised? I should know better by now.”
“There’s a British car show I channel-surfed past one night when the three hosts and their racing driver—”
“The Stig,” he said, supplying the name of the show’s enigmatic and mute driver whose identity was hidden behind a white helmet with a black visor. James practically bounced in his seat with excitement.
Quinn grinned. “Yes, the Stig. Anyway, the four of them were racing through central London, each using different modes of transportation to see who got to the city airport first. From then on, I was hooked.”
They spent the rest of the drive chatting and laughing about the show, its hosts, and the different races and challenges the three had been on. As James parked the car on the street not far from the restaurant, Quinn sighed and said, “Someday, I’d love to go on an adventure like those guys have, like to South America or Africa. Shoot, I’d be up for driving from London to Edinburgh, for that matter. I’m not picky.”
“What’s stopping you?”