“Now what?” I ask. My heart is palpitating like crazy.
“Now we get busy.” Margot has a lot of experience tracking down players. She used to tail Earl, and she even knows how to access his cell-phone records, that’s how she found out he was cheating on her. But that’s another story for another day. Margot is already busy typing away.
“You’re going to get us caught,” I say, hanging over her shoulder and reading what she’s just written. She hits the send button as I am digesting what she wrote.
So how do I meet a hot guy like you?
“Jeeze, Margot,” I say, “talk about being Ms. Subtle?”
“Straightforward pays. That way there’s no misunderstanding and we find out if he’s a hound dog.”
“No good will come of this,” I mutter under my breath.
“Closure will come of this,” Margot says, wisely. “Something I never got with Earl. It’s not like he’s the love of your life or anything. He was just a diversion. You wanted it to work because you wanted to get your mind off that client of yours.”
Margot, neurotic as she can be, knows me better than even my own mother. She is right. I wanted to fall in love with Reed, needed to. Carlo DeAngelo seemed out of my league, and after Max, well, I needed a salve for my ego.
Carlo is my dream man but Reed seemed more attainable. He is single, professional, without child and seemed interested in me.
I wonder how many me’s there are out there. Women who’ve fallen for Reed’s seeming sincerity; vulnerable women who’ve thought he was for real and in return had had their hearts broken.
Now I don’t feel one bit bad about posting a fake profile. Let’s see how long it takes for him to respond to Savannah.
I high-five Margot, and we go off to have a glass of wine.
CHAPTER 23
“Can I help you, madam?” The affable maître d’ asks the minute the valet takes off with my car.
“I have reservations.” I give him my name.
The restaurant where Carlo and I are meeting will never make the A list. But it does have excellent seafood and impeccable service. It also has private booths. He and I will be able to conduct a conversation without shouting at each other.
Carlo had offered to come and get me, but I insisted that we meet here. I am more cautious these days, and since I’d been running around all day, I needed the time and space to get dressed leisurely. Driving my own car says I’m in control. Can you tell I’ve developed major trust issues since Reed?
The maître d’s attention is now elsewhere. He is bobbing his head and grinning as guests enter and leave. I am clutching the envelope with the contracts and waiting to be seated. Finally he turns me over to a hostess—a tall thin woman who could have been a model in her heyday.
“Ms. Ingram?” Her smile is wide, friendly. My guess is the name DeAngelo means something to her. “Mr. DeAngelo is already seated. I’ll take you to him.”
I check my coat and we bypass a number of waiting people, those without reservations perhaps.
Carlo has reserved a corner booth for us. A huge window serving as a backdrop looks out on the lake. The water is iced over, and spotlights shine onto a glassy surface where several people are attempting to skate. Music comes from another room, and I catch glimpses of people dancing.
Always the gentleman, Carlo glides out of his booth. He is wearing a dark suit and white shirt open at the collar. He looks hotter than hot. His curly dark hair lies in flat ringlets against his head and is still damp. His eyes light up when he greets me. And I feel that old familiar thing happen as my body goes numb.
“You are stunning, bella.”
“Thank you.”
I sit across from him thinking how glad I am that I chose the more conservative outfit. A bottle of wine waits in a nearby bucket. We are handed menus and the waiter pours our wine.
“Salud,” Carlo says when the waiter leaves.
“Cheers.” I clink my glass against his. “Shall we discuss business before or after dinner?”
“Before. That way we will have the entire meal to talk about other things.”
Is he coming on to me? I still don’t know. I smile, nod in agreement and slide the envelope with his contracts over to him. Carlo takes them out of the envelope and peruses them carefully. He pulls out a Mont Blanc and with a flourish, signs all three copies before slipping one into a monogrammed black briefcase. He hands the other two back to me.
“So how are you really doing, Roxi?” he asks.
“I’m feeling good about life in general. Thanks to you, my business is back on its way up and I feel ready to take on the world.”
“You do not need to thank me,” Carlo says. “You are a bright woman. You would have figured things out yourself.”
I am jittery inside but manage to smile at him.
“You gave me my start. That’s an enormous leap of faith to take with someone you barely know.”
He flicks an imaginary speck of something off the cuff of his shirt and looks at me. “My instincts are usually pretty right on. That’s how I’ve built successful businesses. And that’s why one of my foundations creates dreams. We are similar to Make a Wish.”
Again I wonder if he’s coming on to me. His voice is lower by several octaves and his gaze never leaves my face.
I try for light and playful. “Thank you for your trust.”
Carlo reaches across the table and with the flick of one finger touches my wrist at the pulse. “It’s more than trust. Surely you must know that by now.”
My fantasy has become reality. I am sitting here unable to speak. I bury my nose in the menu. I have dreamed about this moment for a long time.
“Have you made up your mind?” I ask, daring to look at him.
He sets the menu aside and looks me directly in the eye.
“I have.”
“I’m having the escargot for an appetizer but I’m torn between the salmon and the fettuccine with shrimp and scallops.”
“Get them both.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
Good point. I sip my wine and wonder why not. I’ve always been a good girl and I’ve always played by the rules. Not tonight. Tonight I am going to live out my fantasy. I am going to put Reed Samuels behind me and concentrate on this man who has fascinated me from the first moment I met him.
When the waiter comes over, Carlo flashes me his brilliant white smile and places our order. He’s having the Chilean sea bass. Then he reaches across the table and threads his fingers through mine.
“I am captivated by you, bella,” he says in the same tone as if he were asking me to pass the bread basket.
I swallow a mouthful of wine so fast I almost choke and wait for the liquid to settle.
He hands me his napkin.
“You are what they call the full package—hard working, self-sufficient, articulate and dangerously attractive. I cannot believe someone has not scooped you up.”
Carlo’s thumb makes circles on my hand. I am going to melt into the floor. I get hold of myself and ask the million-dollar question. “You are also single I presume?”
His smile is slow and easy. “Yes, I have been unattached for almost four years.” He senses I am about to say something, so he holds up a finger. “So you understand I am by no means a monk. I date here and there but nothing serious.”
The waiter returns with my appetizer and Carlo’s salad. While we eat, I replay our conversation in my head. It is quite obviously leading up to something.
When the entrées arrive—the two I have picked, plus his—he watches with amusement as I dive in.
“Dessert?” Carlo asks when we are through.
“Not for me.” I am stuffed.
A gesture of one finger and the check arrives on a silver tray. A platinum card is handed over and quickly returned. Carlo stands and holds out his hand. I take it and follow him into an inner room where a jazz quartet plays the blues. I am swept up against his hard b
ody and we begin to foxtrot. He is a good dancer, smooth as they come and easy to follow.
Carlo smells a bit like saffron and his body heat makes me heady, so heady I almost stumble over my feet. It gives him the excuse to pull me even closer. We sway in place, my head resting on his shoulder. When the song stops we continue to dance in slow motion. I can feel every taut inch of him.
Time passes. I am not sure how long. Finally the band stops playing and Carlo leads me off the floor.
“Shall we call it an evening, then?” he says.
I don’t want it to end. I don’t want to go home.
We head out to the valet to retrieve our respective cars. Dang but my cell phone chooses that moment to ring. I glance at the incoming number and grimace. Margot can’t have picked a worse time to call.
“Do you have to get that?” Carlo asks when I make no effort to answer.
I hesitate but it is late and this may be a real emergency. I pick up. “What’s up, Margot?”
“I can’t talk long. Earl’s coming over. I just wanted to let you know Reed responded to the fictitious profile we posted. He’s quite the player. He’s looking to set up a date.”
I feel a sharp stab of pain. Again I feel betrayed. “You can’t let that happen.”
She laughs raucously. “Already done.”
I struggle to breathe.
“He’ll get stood up,” Margot says, and cackles again.
I sense Carlo tuned in and listening.
“I have to go.” I slip my cell phone back into my purse.
“Is everything okay, Roxanne?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
I’ve gotten closure at last. This whole sordid situation has nothing to do with me. It’s all about Reed Samuels, a very confused man.
The valets are waiting with our cars.
Carlo walks me to the Land Rover. He tugs on my hand. “I wish you would come home with me.”
I smile up at him. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Carlo DeAngelo is more of a man than Reed Samuels ever could hope to be. He doesn’t play mind games, and that in and of itself says something.
HOOK, LINE AND SINGLE
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1087-9
Copyright © 2008 by Marcia King-Gamble
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