The Man Behind the Mask

by Barbara Wallace

  “Same as any clambake, I suppose, only with fresher seafood. Why?”

  “Because I’ve never been to a clambake before, New England or otherwise, and I want to make sure I dress appropriately.” His comments about visibility and marketing made her want to put extra care in how she looked tomorrow night. “What will you be wearing?” She didn’t remember him carrying more than a lightly packed bag himself. The Bartletts’ invitation must have caught him as unprepared as her.

  Simon shrugged. “Not sure. I was going to have the concierge send something up from the hotel boutique.”

  “Oh.” So much for using him as guidance. She started to turn, then stopped again. “I don’t suppose... Never mind.” It was a silly idea.

  “What?”

  She waved him off. “It’s nothing.”

  “Delilah, remember what I said about speaking your mind?”

  How could she forget? He reminded her every ten minutes.

  Simon had straightened, his eyes expectant. Looked like she had no choice. She shouldered her bag yet again. “I was wondering if you wanted to come shopping with me.”

  * * *

  What was wrong with him? Yesterday it was flashbacks and nightmares. Today he’d lost his common sense. How else to explain why he was walking around Quincy Market shopping for beachwear with his assistant?

  When Delilah asked if he wanted to spend the afternoon with her, he should have said no. After his mistake last night—not to mention today’s debacle—the last thing he needed was to risk blurring the line a second time. He had the perfect excuse: work. Yet here he was. What had he been thinking?

  Of course, the same could be asked when he made up that idiotic excuse why she shouldn’t go sightseeing with Josh Bartlett. Since when did he care about industry gossip? If a rumor did break out, he could squash it before the stories ever reached Delilah.

  Much like the way he wanted to squash Josh Bartlett every time he smiled in Delilah’s direction. Who did Bartlett think he was moving in on Simon’s assistant?

  Then again, since when did he start feeling so damn possessive of his employees? Damn unnerving. Justified though, seeing how he knew exactly how amazing an assistant Delilah could be.

  A soft cough interrupted his thoughts. Delilah gave him a small smile. “Don’t feel as though you have to spend the entire afternoon with me,” she said.

  Oh, but he did. He wanted to make up for deep-sixing her plans earlier. Hastening to reassure her, he flashed a smile. “Don’t tell me you regret dragging the boss along already.” Frankly he was surprised she wanted anything to do with his company after he spoiled her plans. Told him she wasn’t that interested in Josh’s company after all.

  The realization should not please him as much as it did. Nor should he like the blush creeping up her neck.

  But it did, and he did, and he didn’t want to think about what that meant.

  “I only meant that I’m sure there are things you’d rather do than watch me try on clothes the whole time. We could do our own shopping and meet up later.”

  “Nice try,” he replied, shaking his head, “but we both know I’m going to end up hanging around regardless.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I’ve shopped with women before.”

  She laughed. “Something tells me I’m not like your other shopping companions.”

  No, she definitely wasn’t. The other women he knew were obsessively fashion-conscious and self-indulgently extravagant—two traits Delilah definitely lacked.

  Another thing—those other women didn’t have laughs that slipped over him as easily as hers did. The sound made him feel lighter than he had in years. “Whether you are or you aren’t doesn’t matter. I’ll still have my errands done in about half the time.”

  “Says you.”

  She said it softly, almost under her breath, but the challenge came through loud and clear. The craziest thought popped into his head. Went against everything he’d been lecturing himself on the past ten minutes, but what the hell? Why not have a little fun?

  “You willing to put your money where your mouth is?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw on the information kiosk that there’s a branch of my favorite men’s store on the other side of the marketplace. I bet I can walk down there, find something to wear for tomorrow and be back before you’ve finished trying on your first outfit.”

  “Of course you could,” she replied. He was about to say something about conceding so easily when she added, “You won’t be looking at price tags. Shopping on a budget always takes longer. Try shopping on my salary and see how quickly you shop then.”

  “Are you suggesting I don’t pay you enough?”

  “No one at my pay level makes enough.”

  This time it was his turn to laugh. The woman had a valid point. He was damned if he was going to peruse bargain racks with a multimillion-dollar account on the line. “Fine, we even the playing field. Buy whatever you want without looking at the tag. I’ll reimburse you.”

  “You—you’re going to buy me an outfit?” Seeing her flustered expression, Simon almost laughed again. Whenever he caught her off guard, her lips turned into a small O and moved without sound. Made his offer that much more fun to make. “Why not?”

  “Shoes and all?”

  “Shoes and all. Of course, you realize that now you can’t use budget as an excuse.” He was curious to see what Delilah would pick once money stopped being an issue. “Do we have a deal?”

  Instead of agreeing like he expected, Delilah frowned. “How do you know I won’t go crazy and buy a thousand-dollar dress?”

  “We’re going to a clambake. If you can find thousand-dollar beach clothes, have at it. Although, I know you won’t. Your responsible side won’t allow it. Now, again, are we on? Winner gets dinner at the restaurant of his choice.”

  That got her. She immediately folded her arms. “His choice? Someone’s awful confident.”

  “Yes, he is,” Simon replied, matching her pose.

  “Then prepare to eat your words.”

  “No I’ll be eating dinner, and I have the restaurant all picked out.”

  In truth, he didn’t care who won; he was having way too much fun enjoying the freedom of the moment. As well as this new saucy side of her. She wore it well.

  After settling on a time limit, they arranged to meet at Quincy Market’s famed Red Auerbach statue. The life-size bronze replica sat smoking a cigar on a nearby bench.

  “First person back can take a seat with him and wait,” Simon told her.

  He leaned closer, for no reason other than he had the sudden desire to move into her personal space. “I’ll text you when I arrive.”

  “No need,” she replied, leaning in with a smug smile of her own. “I’ll already be waiting.”

  Their mutual challenges had left them only inches apart. He was close enough he could see the tip of her tongue as it slipped between her teeth. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  Why indeed? How about because for the first time all day last night’s dream was safely filed away. Or because he felt lighter and more relaxed at this moment than he had in years.

  “Because” was all he said.

  “Not much of a reason.”

  “Reason enough.” He wondered if she knew how erotic it was when she worried her lip like that? Lifting his gaze, he found her studying him, eyes wide with expectant curiosity and yet again, his insides felt that strange end over end sensation.

  Startled by the feeling’s strength, he stepped back, covering by offering up his most confident smirk. “Better get shopping, Miss St. Germain. It’s getting close to dinnertime.”

  “You do know, I’ll be expensing the meal, so even if I lose, you don’t really
win anything.”

  “Ah, but you’re wrong. I win bragging rights.”

  Tipping his hand to an invisible hat, he left her to the task.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE you selected pizza for your victory dinner.” Delilah’s ponytail bounced as she shook her head.

  It was an hour and a half later and they were making their way to Boston’s North End, their respective packages swinging in cadence with their steps. “If you wanted to eat something different, you should have shopped faster,” Simon teased. “Not my fault you took so long.”

  “Five minutes. I took five extra minutes. If there hadn’t been someone ahead of me in line at the register, I’d be studying restaurant recommendations right now.”

  “But sadly, there was someone in line, so you’re eating pizza.”

  He watched as she shifted her packages from one arm to another. She had a few more than he did, thanks to a quick stop at the local sports paraphernalia shop to buy souvenirs and he had to bite his tongue to keep from offering to carry them for her. While offering might be the chivalrous thing to do, it would also lend a datelike feel to the day and, frankly, he’d blurred the line enough as it was.

  She nearly dropped a bag. To hell with it, he thought, as he caught the flailing handle. “Let me.” Without waiting for an answer, he took some of the heavier bags off her hands.

  Delilah’s cheeks pinked, but she didn’t argue. “Thank you.”

  “It’s the least I can do since you’re buying the pizza.”

  “Technically, you’re—” She stopped, leaving him to walk ahead several steps without her. “You didn’t pick a cheap restaurant because I said I’d expense the bill, did you?”

  “Good Lord, but you’re suspicious today,” he remarked.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to be,” she said. “Today’s put me off balance. The last thing I expected when I invited you to join me was for you to treat me to a shopping spree.”

  She held up the bag containing her new clothes. “You didn’t have to buy this.”

  “I know.” Same way he didn’t have to take the water shuttle or challenge her to a shopping competition. “I wanted to.” It felt good indulging someone who didn’t ask to be indulged. He smiled thinking of how he’d robbed Josh of enjoying her smile—something he was enjoying far more than he should.

  “Consider the dress a reward for a job well done. Like an employee bonus.” He would have purchased the souvenirs and dinner, too, but knew she would have adamantly refused.

  Delilah considered his words. “A bonus, huh? Too bad I didn’t know beforehand. I might have looked harder for the thousand-dollar dress.” She smiled, and Simon’s insides grew warm. Four years they’d worked together. Why was it he didn’t recognize her fantastic smile until today?

  “I have to admit,” he said, “you surprised me. Your shopping efficiency is impressive. Are you sure you bought an entire outfit?”

  “Positive,” she replied. “Shoes, too.”

  So the bags implied. “Then I am doubly impressed.”

  “In the spirit of honesty, I should have told you that I spent my formative shopping years with three little kids in tow. You should see me in a supermarket. You learn to make fast decisions when your brothers are trying to tip over the display rack.”

  “I take it you got stuck babysitting a lot.”

  Her eyes dropped to her shoes. “You could say that.”

  Years of practice had left Simon able to recognize unspoken words when he heard them and his assistant’s clipped answer said a lot. He refrained from asking though. He also knew people held back for a reason. As badly as he wanted Delilah to continue, he wouldn’t push.

  After several silent steps, Delilah spoke again. “My mother had a hard time after my father died. She needed a lot of help.”

  “I didn’t realize,” Simon replied. “When you said single mother, I assumed...”

  “He was killed in a car crash coming home from work.”

  “I’m sorry. How old were you?”

  “Fifteen. And since I was the oldest...”

  She picked up the slack in responsibility. Again, unspoken words said a lot, making Simon wonder how much slack she carried. Fifteen was far too young to become an adult. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, thinking they were two of the most inadequate words in the English language.

  “Stuff happens, right?”

  Simon recognized the tone; it was nonchalance in the face of hardship.

  “What else can you do?” she asked.

  The answer was nothing. You did what had to be done. You pushed aside your pain and your lost childhood, and you stayed strong.

  Interesting how both their lives changed irrevocably at age fifteen. Maybe that’s why he felt such a bond with her from the start. On some unconscious level, they understood what it was like to see your innocence snuffed out in one flashing instance.

  It was an unfair parity. After all, Delilah didn’t shoulder any blame. Misfortune had thrust upon her. She never had a chance to speak up, to stop reality from crashing down around her.

  Unlike him.

  “Things are better now, I take it?” An obvious question, seeing how she had moved to New York.

  “She— That is, things got better while I was in college.”

  She did it again, tried to cover and minimize the situation, but Simon caught the slip anyway. “Do you visit them much?” he asked.

  “Not as often as I should. Don’t get me wrong—I love my family.”

  “But you need your space.”

  A shadow crossed her features. “Exactly,” she said in a softer voice. “I’m sure I sound like a bad person for saying this, but I can be myself out here. There’s no pressure.”

  “Pressure?”

  “To be the Delilah my mom wants. You know how parents are.”

  Did he ever.

  “Listen to me,” she continued. “You ask about my father, and I get all melodramatic. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be. You weren’t that melodramatic.”

  They fell back into silence, the only sound the soft smash of Delilah’s shopping bags hitting her legs. “For what it’s worth, you’re not a bad person,” he said eventually.

  “Now who’s being good for whose ego?”

  “I mean it.” Reaching over, he grabbed her wrist, forcing her to stop and face him. “Seriously. From what I see, I don’t think you could ever be a bad person.”

  What you saw was what you got. There weren’t many people in the world you could say that about, himself included. Simon’s appreciation for her grew.

  “So....” To his disappointment, she slipped her wrist from his fingers. The sudden loss left his hand so empty, he almost reached for her again. “Where’s this restaurant you’re taking me to?” she asked. “We’ve been walking forever.”

  “Won’t be long now. We’re in throwing distance in fact.”

  “Assuming the restaurant is still standing,” she remarked. “Fifteen years is a long time.”

  Except in some instances, when fifteen years wasn’t long enough. He shook the darkness off. This trip was about good memories. “It’s still here.” He wasn’t completely flying blind; he’d checked the web for the listing. Surprised him how many landmarks still existed. Evidence that the more things change, the more some stayed the same.

  One more corner, and Simon’s pulse picked up in nostalgic excitement. Mangia’s looked just as he remembered. There were a few changes, of course. The awning was newer, and the owners had added outside seating, but the green-and-red neon sign still hung over the door bright and garish and condensation fogged the front windows just like in his memories. He wondered if the insides still smelled like fresh bread and wood smoke. He didn’t have many g
ood prep school memories, but pizza at Mangia’s was one of the best.

  Stepping inside, Simon took in the brightly painted walls with disappointment. He missed the bunches of dried herbs; they’d been discarded in favor of a modern interior that was, in his opinion too cream-colored and plain.

  The row of booths in back hadn’t changed though. In the middle one sat two teenagers, boys not more than thirteen or fourteen, a half-eaten pizza between them. He smiled at the familiar picture.

  “My roommate freshman year had a cousin who told us about this place,” he said to Delilah. “We’d take the T here on Sundays, get a large Mangia special and spend hours debating whether the truth was really out there.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Science fiction conspiracy.”

  “You were a sci-fi geek?” She sounded shocked, like he’d told her he was an alien himself. Proof he had become so adept at playing his role that not even a glimmer of the boy he was remained. Today, however, he wanted that boy to return. For some unexplained reason, he needed Delilah to see him. To know the him that had existed once upon a time. “Sci-fi geek, computer game aficionado.” So many weekends enthusiastically arguing imaginary facts. “We had a great time that year.”

  “Only one year? What happened?”

  A loaded question if ever there was one. “I got older, and had to put childhood behind me.” He hoped that would be answer enough.

  Delilah nodded. “Happens,” she replied. Her face, normally so open and bright, grew sober. Thinking, no doubt, how her own life changed at that age.

  The hostess led them to a table by the window. With its wine bottle candleholder and red-and-white tablecloth, it couldn’t help but feel romantic, despite the casual surroundings. As she took her seat, Delilah tried to picture a teenage Simon gorging on pizza and debating cult TV. Quite the change from that version to the adult sitting across from her. She wondered what precipitated the transformation. Something significant, since he had gone from fun-filled Sunday afternoons to never wanting to think about prep school again.