One Taste

by Cari Quinn

  “You need to go out and have fun. InDesign and Dreamweaver do not create the perfect ménage, love.”

  “It doesn’t?” She swallowed a laugh, not wanting to encourage him. “Yeah, well, with Declan’s name popping up every time I click on a site, I need to work even harder.”

  Her company had started out as just a little anonymous fun on the internet. She had a knack for designing pretty layouts for the blogosphere. With everyone and their Aunt Matilda wanting a blog, and all they had to choose from were corporate-looking blues and reds, people were clamoring for something more original.

  The only classes she’d enjoyed in college had been the design electives she’d managed to show up for. She’d started messing around with the programs she had access to and come up with templates that gave the user more ways to customize them. An anonymous website and a few well-timed emails to friends with more money than sense and voilà—instant extension of her allowance via PayPal.

  As the heiress to one of the top twenty Fortune 100 companies, she had a healthy allowance. But partying in Los Angeles and a love for designer accessories made a girl industrious. Insomnia left her with a lot of time to hone her craft.

  She’d never gotten a degree, but she could pull apart a website and figure out any design program put in front of her. The web had saved her life in more ways than one.

  “If you keep obsessing about Declan Thorne, you’ll end up with an ulcer.” Max stood. “That’s it. We’re going out tonight.”

  She plucked her glasses off her head and put them back on. “No way. The last time you took me out I ended up partying with a bunch of drag queens until seven in the morning.”

  “You had a blast!”

  She grimaced at his version of reality. “I spent the next day with my face in the toilet.”

  His chin fell to his chest in defeat. “Okay, how about we just go to The Café Bar?”

  Miranda tucked her chin in her propped hand and flicked through emails. “Closed for renovations.”

  “Clementine’s?” Max tried again.

  “It’s meet-your-soul-male night,” Ryleigh piped in.

  “Perfect!” Max clapped.

  “Not on your life. Men are off the table.”

  “Miranda is missing a vital piece of hardware for that party anyway,” Ryleigh said and rounded her desk to plug in her printer. She turned around with a grin. “Or software, depending on the level of X in the air.”

  Max sneered at her. “Rude.”

  “Pompous Fabio wannabe.” Ryleigh flipped open the printer top, plugging in the cartridge.

  “Fabio wishes he had my hair.”

  The chatter between Ryleigh and Max faded into the background as Miranda fussed with Dante’s bio page. She waded through a folder of action shots and then the more GQ shots that Max had taken at the teaser party Dante had thrown last week. She needed to find two that really went together in both color and vitality. She needed that pop to hold interest.

  “God, you kill me.” Max stood next to her, hooking his fingers around the arm of her chair to give her a swivel. “You can’t waste this glorious outfit. Just go out with me for a little while.”

  “What?” Frowning, she blinked out of her work zone.

  “That seals it. We’re going out tonight. We’ll go to Rina’s. You’re hot enough to plunge in with the back-to-college crowd. I’m not wasting all of this perfection. After I do your makeup of course.”

  “Just because the drag queens allow you to work on their faces does not mean the same holds true for Miranda.”

  “Quiet, peasant,” Max tossed over his shoulder at Ryleigh.

  Exasperated, she finally got the gist of what was going on. “Enough, children. I’m not going out. In fact,” she pushed her chair back, “I’m going to go and change out of this before you get any more bright ideas. The skirt is binding anyway.”

  “It’s binding because you haven’t worn anything without elastic in three weeks.”

  She laid her cheek against the desk and stifled a whine.

  The phone on Max’s desk rang, saving him. He hustled to his desk and pointed at her just before he lifted the receiver. “We’re going.”

  “Saved by work.” Scooting forward, she clicked two pictures up side by side. She wanted this bid so bad she could taste it. Max didn’t seem to understand that right now she had to worry about gaining clients not bedmates.

  Besides, she’d been there, done that with the bar scene. In fact, she’d done it too well and had the scars to prove it. When the time was right she’d find a nice guy and settle down.

  Maybe.

  The only thing that needed her attention right now was her company and she liked it that way. Shooting an instant message to Leo because his Bluetooth was going to have to be surgically implanted soon, she asked how things were going.

  He messaged back that they now had two new potential clients she had to meet the following week and one on the hook.

  Leo Davidson was the ultimate salesman for Miracle Designs. He’d believed in her company before she had—pushing her to go out on her own. He had the heart of a gambler on speed with nerves of steel and a lead-lined stomach. She, however, had been chewing on Tums since their inception.

  She lost herself in tweaking Machismo Inc.’s website. Leo and Ryleigh packed up and left, but she continued to toggle between her design screen and the wide screen she used to test the pages in various web browsers. She was determined to finish the biography page and build a template for Dante’s line of soccer jerseys before she shut down. If they won this bid, they’d be one step closer to dragging her company into pretty black-colored numbers.

  The beauty of living on Pacific time was that her day could end pretty much whenever she wanted. Most of her clients were based in San Francisco, but she had a handful of clients who had defected to New York’s Fashion Row. Good thing she had such a great view of the city for sunrise.

  She stood, doing a few stretches to ease the stiffness. “You know a guy could help you find new ways to use those moves.”

  “Shut up, Max.”

  “Ready for your makeover?”

  She closed her eyes. “Max, I love you to pieces, but I do not want to schlep downtown on a Tuesday night. What could that possibly accomplish?”

  “Baby steps.” Max took her hand and pulled her toward the hidden stairs to her apartment on the fourth floor. “I promise I’ll only keep you out for an hour. If you hate it we’ll go home.”

  Sixty minutes she’d never get back, but it was also a small price to pay to get Max to shut up for a while. If she said no, he’d only intensify his demands and she’d end up heading into the Friday night meat market. Following without another word, she let him sit her down at her vanity.

  “I do love your makeup, Miranda.” He rubbed his hands. “You barely wear it, but it’s always super high-end stuff.”

  You could take the girl out of L.A., but you couldn’t take the expensive taste out of the girl. She closed her eyes and let him do his thing, making a face when he pulled her glasses off. “You’re wearing your contacts tonight.”

  “Man,” she huffed.

  “Don’t give me that. I’m going to make those hazel eyes of yours look like they belong to a goddess.”

  “Good luck,” she muttered and let her mind drift to the six hundred other things she should be doing as he played with her pots and trays, making happy little noises as he painted her face. Anything he did would come off with cold cream and a shower.

  “Have you ever thought about going blonde?”

  The quick flutter of panic almost cost her an eye.

  “Hey!”

  She took a slow, steady breath. It was a lifetime ago—well, in the L.A. scene it was a lifetime ago. He didn’t see what she used to be. “Sorry. Don’t like the red, Max?” She tried for a light tone.

  “Oh no, I love the red. Just something about you reminds me of a blonde sometimes, that’s all. Must be the California dreamin’ and all t
hat.”

  She forced her muscles not to lock, to smile an easy smile. “C’mon, the only way I’ll ever pull out from the pack is if I’m a redhead. Everyone in this state is blonde.”

  He sighed. “That’s very true. My Will included.” He laughed. The rumble was light and nearly girlish but manly at the same time. Only Max. “In fact, he’s been working in the sun so he’s got all these glorious highlights in his hair. Of course I immediately attacked him when he—”

  “Max.”

  “Walked in the door. I didn’t even mind all that manly sweat all over him. I even sacrificed a—”

  “Maaaax.”

  He paused. “What?”

  “TMI.”

  He huffed. “You are simply no fun, Miss Prude.”

  Lord, if he only knew. “I’m not a prude, I just don’t need all the gory details.”

  “I’ll have you know there’s nothing gory about my Will. And now with those little blonde tips in his sandy hair…” he trailed off. “Too bad he’s doing an overnighter in Vallejo.”

  Yeah, too bad. “Do you have to drag out the trowel or am I done?”

  “You sell yourself short. Just a touch of makeup makes you completely come alive. I mean you’re beautiful no matter what, but God wouldn’t have created makeup if he didn’t want people to enhance themselves to their highest potential.”

  “Ah, but what if it’s an evil plot by Lucifer?”

  “Open your eyes, goddess. I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

  She blinked open her eyes. It didn’t feel as if she had anything on her face, but that was the beauty of high-end cosmetics.

  “Perfect. I’m a genius.”

  “I don’t look like Julia Roberts’ slutty roommate from Pretty Woman, do I?”

  He turned her toward the mirror. “I wasn’t kidding, you look like a goddess.”

  She had to lean forward to see but she had to admit she was surprised with the results. He’d used subtle colors to enhance her eyes until the hazel looked green with gold flecks everywhere. A bit of bronzer gave her a sun-kissed effect that usually had to be done with an airbrush.

  She looked up at Max’s smug face and thought about lying, but just couldn’t discount the obvious work he’d done. “I hate when you’re right.”

  “I know.” He patted her head. “Now about the hair.”

  “Nope, I did my hair this morning and this is how it stays.” She pulled the last of the pins that never quite kept her hair out of her eyes and let her waves run over her shoulders. “I only sit still for one primping session a month.” She stood, fixing her skirt and belt. She added a few more bangles to the ones already on her wrist and turned around. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  “As soon as you take off the Stevie Nicks skirt and—God, are those leggings?” he said over his shoulder as he flicked through her closet and came out with a navy skirt that came to mid-thigh. “This, and keep the boots.”

  She looked down at her skirt-over-leggings ensemble. “This is very in, I’ll have you know.”

  “Yes, if you’re twenty-two.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “You aren’t telling me I’m old, right?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Of course not. You look twenty-two so you can get away with it, but you don’t want to attract a twenty-year-old male tonight. You want a man.”

  She didn’t want any man, twenty, thirty or forty. What was so hard to get about that?

  “Go put your contacts in and change. For God’s sake, shave your legs if you didn’t this morning.”

  She dragged herself to the master bathroom. “This is starting to feel an awful lot like work,” she called out and shut the door.

  Chapter Two

  “You’re not impressing me here, Tony.”

  His best friend glanced at him quickly, but his gaze flitted back to the crowd, distracted by the wealth of women in the room. “What do you mean? I’ve brought four ladies over here and you turned every one of them away.”

  “Were any of them over twenty-two?” Nate faced the room at large. A weekday didn’t mean much when you came into Rina’s. Every night was Friday night as soon as you stepped over the threshold.

  “And you…this is all your fault.”

  Matt Cross leaned back on the bar, his beer dangling from his fingers. “You think I like sitting at a bar fending off chicks?”

  Nate gave him a bland look. “Absolutely.”

  Matt didn’t answer, just grinned and tracked a pair of blondes walking by with bowl-sized fruity drinks. Not that he blamed him. They were attractive, just not interesting enough to pull him away from his beer.

  There were two main bars, both of which had the effect of being lit within, drawing the eye to the main stage of glass shelves full of colorful liquor bottles. The bar top was a frosted light box kept pristine by very diligent, very friendly bartenders. The DJ fueled the room with a driving beat that got under the skin. The guy was obviously doing his job, because even he wanted to go out there and move.

  Nate scanned the dance floor. There was a decent mix of grad students and professional women mingling and laughing. He’d even flirted with the idea of wading into the crowd. He’d had enough interested looks come his way to warrant it, but he couldn’t shake the restlessness that had been hounding him since he’d walked in the door. “Why don’t we go upstairs?” Nate asked.

  “What, are you nuts?” Tony smiled at the woman beside him, lifting his beer bottle in a toast. “This is where the action is. This is why I’m here.”

  “The only thing you’re doing is giving off a creepy vibe by staring at all the women like you’ve never seen one before,” Matt said with a smirk.

  “Fuck you,” Tony said and pushed off his stool. “Look at those little co-eds over there.” He made an appreciative hum as a blonde did a slow dip and roll with her hips that made Nate’s eyebrows lift. “Did we have girls like that when I was single?”

  “It was one hundred years ago, they were wearing bloomers,” Matt quipped.

  Tony nailed him with an elbow and ordered another beer. Nate stared up at the comfortable couches that lined the second level of the club. He’d rather be up there. He’d had enough of bar bunnies and hook-ups. And if the cougar sitting next to him brushed any higher on his thigh he was moving.

  What he wanted he wasn’t going to find here.

  He sipped his Guinness, letting the dark flavor settle on his tongue, hoping it would mellow him out. “What about that one?” Tony asked, lifting his chin toward a brunette with more cleavage than could possibly be God-given.

  “I like to play softball, not bring them into my bedroom.”

  “C’mon, those are at least cantaloupes.”

  Nate laughed despite his foul mood. “Yeah, you’re right.” He had to admit she was at least attractive. She was no Mira— “Fuck.” He had to remove her from his brain. She was a customer. She didn’t know he existed. He had a list of reasons why he needed to get over the fascination.

  “What? Where?” Tony craned his neck like an excited puppy.

  “It’s definitely not that kind of bar.” Matt took a long draw from his bottle. Suddenly he waggled his brows. “Over there is close though.”

  “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Tony grinned. “Think Jenn would do that?”

  Nate choked on his beer. “I think if you ask, you’ll end up an inch or five shorter, son.”

  Tony put down his beer. “What say we go on out there and show the ladies how it’s done?” he said with a swivel of hips that looked mildly painful.

  He snorted so hard he felt the burn of hops in his nostrils. “Throttle back, perv.” He pointed to the band on Tony’s third finger. “They’ll only laugh at you because you’re married.”

  “I still got game,” Tony snarled.

  “The only game you have is LeapFrog,” Matt said.

  “Hey, those things are pretty cool. You should see the—” Tony jerked to a stop and grimaced. “Oh man
, I am lame! When did that happen?”

  At Tony’s horrified expression, Nate wrapped a friendly arm around his shoulder. “Pretty much about the time Katie came out screaming.” Nate stood up straight and moved to the other side of Tony. Sweet Jesus, the cougar had actually pinched his ass. What the hell?

  Tony collapsed onto the stool. “Damn, why didn’t you stop me?”

  Propping his elbows on the bar top, he leaned back to survey the scene again. “I plan on being just as lame when I settle down, Tony. Relax.” He scanned the room one more time and nearly dropped his glass mug. “No fuckin’ way.”

  Tony was too depressed to pay attention, so no one was there to stop him from staring at her. This wasn’t her wheelhouse. Granted, he didn’t hang at this club as much as the little neighborhood bar his brother worked at, but he’d never seen Miranda here—or that much of Miranda, ever.

  His gaze drifted down to the skirt that barely skimmed mid-thigh and the boots he’d wondered about earlier. He wasn’t sure what was worse, the fact that he could see them, or that they climbed to her knee. He almost didn’t recognize her without her glasses, but the hallway that afternoon had given him a rare edge for once. Her hair was down, curling around her shoulders, begging for his fingers to dive into the cocoa butter scent that he couldn’t get out of his head.

  A man only a few inches taller than her followed behind her. Slick and polished, his hand rested at the base of her spine as he steered her to a table in the corner.

  Who the fuck was that?

  If there was a worst-case scenario, then the scene at Rina’s was it. Packed with women wearing little more than baby-doll dresses and beachy cotton that suited the coast, it was every man’s wet dream. Sun-kissed shoulders, perfect hair and toned bodies that hadn’t seen a double digit since they’d gotten out of the kids’ department made her feel old and frumpy.

  Miranda turned to go right back out the door when Max caught her around the waist and pulled her into him. “Relax.”

  “It’s a meat market, and clothing wasn’t on the menu.”