by Scott, Kadie
Poo taken care of, she started off across the park, T-Bone scurrying to keep up. Her fluffy skirt bounced in a way that teased him with flashes of her behind, a lush backside which he’d had spectacular views of in yoga pants last night. The sight was a momentary distraction from the fact that she was walking in the opposite direction from his coffee shop.
“Where are you going?” Only, he didn’t need to ask as a terrible sense of foreboding overtook him. Please don’t let her say the cart.
“The coffee cart in the park. He’s got fantastic stuff.”
She kept going, and he followed. “Why don’t we go to Central Perk? They have a larger selection.” And they knew his order.
Gina stopped in line and shook her head. “No dogs allowed. Besides, they’re way overpriced.”
“You pay for quality,” Max insisted. He didn’t want her to think he was a total loon, but he had a thing about his coffee, and he didn’t know where the cart guy sourced his product.
“Try this and you’ll never go back, I promise.” She must’ve caught his disgruntled expression, because she put a hand on his arm. She’d done that last night, too. “My treat, okay? If you don’t like it, you can go to your fancy, overpriced, pretentious shop.”
“I’m not worried about the cost so much as the swill you’re trying to push on me.”
Exasperation tugged at him. She’d noticed his irritation—something he did his best to keep to himself—and tried to make him feel better. Usually when people pandered to his need to have certain things his way, he came off feeling either like an asshole or a diva. He was neither. Anyone who didn’t recognize driven and efficient when they saw it could just fuck off.
However, zero judgment came from the one person who shouldn’t like him, who shouldn’t want to bother to pander to his needs. The pretentious coffee comment sank in. Okay, maybe a little judgment, but not about his need for control.
“What can I get for you?” the man operating the cart asked in a thick Brooklyn accent.
Max stepped forward, preparing to schmooze his way to a proper cup of coffee. “My…” What did you call the person you were blackmailing? “…friend here tells me that after I try your coffee, I’ll never go back to my fancy, overpriced—” He turned to Gina questioningly. “What did you call it?”
Her lips twitched. “Pretentious.”
He turned back to the guy. “The pretentious coffee shop on the corner over there.”
His gambit worked, and the man puffed up. “Gina is one of my best customers,” he acknowledged. The guy already knew her by name? Hadn’t she only been in his building a few days?
She waved. “Hi, Larry.”
Of course she knew the coffee man’s name.
“What’s the best you’ve got?” Max asked.
No way was he putting the stuff to his lips without additional info first.
“That depends on what you like. I source all my roasted beans from Roma. It’s a company out of—”
“Idaho,” Max supplied. Good sign, as Roma was on his approved list. “I know them. Do you have their Ethiopian dark blend?”
Larry’s bored expression dropped away and he straightened. “You know your beans.”
Max tried to play nonchalant. “I like coffee.”
“Then I have something better, if you’re willing to give it a try.”
Anyone who paid top dollar for Roma beans couldn’t be a complete fail. The tension oozed out of Max’s neck and shoulders. This might be worth a shot. “What?”
Larry pulled out a ceramic, vacuum sealed jar. Inside were beans in a rich, dark color with a slight oily sheen. “These are Kenyan. They produce a coffee with a moderate body and a citrusy top-note.”
Max sniffed appreciatively. “Fresh ground?” Most coffee carts purchased the beans whole, but only made their coffee from stuff ground the night before to save time. Not his style.
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask me that,” Larry groused. He started scooping beans into a grinder.
Max grinned. “What temperature do you recommend?”
“One-ninety-five. I find if you go hotter with a dark roast, they come off ashy.”
“But not too watery at that temp?”
Larry shook his head. “I decrease my ratio of water to coffee to 16-1.”
Max had to admit he was impressed. “I’ll hand it to you, Larry. You know your stuff.”
The guy nodded his thanks. “Black?”
“Yes, please.”
Another nod, of approval this time. “Try this,” he said as he handed over the cup with a lid.
Max took a cautious sip and groaned at the nutty caramel tones with zero hint of bitterness. “I hate to admit it, but Gina was right.”
Max held out a hand, which Larry shook with a grin.
“I’ll try some, too, if it’s that good,” Gina piped up.
Larry gave Gina a dubious stare. “It’s a bit strong for your taste. I’ll add a thimbleful of this to the sugar and cream you drink.”
“Oh, you’re one of those.” Max and Larry exchanged a look that said they were on exactly the same page about over-sweetened coffee.
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Gina protested. She took her cup from Larry and popped the lid on, they paid, and, together, she and Max wandered deeper into the park, following T-Bone’s lead.
After an easy stretch of silence, she nudged him with her elbow. “You totally charmed Larry into making you what might be the fussiest cup of black coffee known to mankind.”
“Don’t knock it till you taste my coffee,” he echoed her comment from a moment ago.
She shook her head. “I’m not knocking it. I’m…shockingly impressed.”
An unreasonable spark of pride lit inside him, which he squashed like bug under his shoe. What a dumb thing to be proud over. He shrugged. “You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.”
She took a sip of her coffee and groaned. “I take back every sarcastic thought I had about you being picky back there. You’re not picky. You’re a connoisseur.”
He could tell she meant it by the genuine smile she aimed his way, plus the way she buried her face in her cup to gulp down more. Which translated to her actually getting him. Even Drew didn’t get Max’s precise tastes in coffee, poking fun at him about his orders, and they were best friends.
“So if you can employ that brand of charm on others—you’d make a good salesman by the way—why blackmail me, rather than simply asking me on a date?”
“I don’t date.” The words popped out before he could stop him. She was throwing him way off his game.
“Oh?” She grinned. “Practicing to be a priest?”
Max choked on a sip. “I didn’t say I was celibate.”
“I see.” Her expression slid to assessing.
He rolled his eyes, able to read her thoughts in her expressive gaze. “And no, I don’t pay for sex, either.”
“I didn’t say anything,” she protested.
“You didn’t have to.”
She scrunched up her nose in a way that shouldn’t have been cute, but was, and didn’t offer further protest.
Adorable.
Max paused. Where had that thought popped up from? He administered himself a healthy dose of mental disdain, dismissed the idea, and decided they should get down to business. He’d only scheduled an hour for this meeting. “Let’s talk terms.”
…
“Right.” Gina sighed. “Terms.”
Might as well get it over with. She found a sunny patch of grass and lowered herself to the ground, letting T-Bone wander on the leash, then glanced up at Max, whose brow was furrowed with consternation. She patted the ground beside her. “It’s not wet, grab a seat.”
First, he removed his jacket and folded it neatly on the ground before dropping down beside her. He left his long legs out straight, crossed at the ankles, and he looked miserably uncomfortable. He seriously did not know how to relax.
He ignored her watchful gaze. “I’
ve already mentioned this…relationship…will last until New Year’s, and we agreed to celebrate Christmas Eve at my parents’ house and I’d drop you off for Christmas at your family’s.”
Gina nodded as she stroked T-Bone’s soft fur. “Got it.”
“The goal is to convince my family you’re my girlfriend.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Got that, too.”
“You asked about clothes, so I checked. The office party is semi-formal. According to my assistant, that means a cocktail dress.”
Unlike some guys she dated who assumed she was this-side-of-starvation poor, he didn’t ask if she could afford one or had one. Gina appreciated that in a weird way. She made a mental note to ask Sabrina if she could borrow something.
Unaware of her thoughts, he continued. “Christmas Eve at my folks is casual. Jeans. Nice shirt.”
“Fine.” What was his version of a nice shirt? She’d bet money he’d wear a suit.
“Now for kissing and all that stuff…” He waved a hand. “I think if we hold hands mostly, we can get away with a few quick kisses.”
Just a few quick kisses, huh? She couldn’t help but chuckle. “What? No tongue?”
A subtle shift in his expression from analytical to hot had her completely arrested. Talk about a plan backfiring. But as quickly as it came, suddenly he was back to business. “I think we can avoid full-on making out.”
She blew out a silent pent-up breath. Joke or not, his answer was a relief. Her major condition for this was limited physical contact. That slow slide of seduction he seemed to put out without realizing it could seriously mess with her head. She was plagued with a pesky awareness of the man as it was, no need to complicate things.
Gina drained the rest of her coffee. “So, what should I know about you?”
Max paused. “Know about me?”
By the way he eyed her with wary distrust, you’d think she’d just asked for his bank account number, or the password to his computer.
“Yes, Max,” she replied in her most patient teacher voice—she subbed a lot. “Most dating couples know stuff about each other. For example, if someone asks, how long have we been dating…?” She let the question trail off.
Max’s shoulders dropped. “Oh. Six months should do it.”
“And we met how?”
“Through your friend and my neighbor, Sabrina. We can even tell them about the dog, just not about—”
“You blackmailing me?”
He ignored her sugary comment. “When you lie, use as much of the truth as possible. It helps you not slip up.”
“Right. I’ll try to channel my inner Mata Hari spy skills.”
Blackmail and lying. Maybe Sabrina had Max’s number. Although something didn’t quite add up with him. Gina just couldn’t put her finger on what.
T-Bone got bored with batting at the fluffy edges of her elf skirt, gave a yip, and bounded away. He turned and pounced, butt up in the air and tail frantically wiggling, trying to get her to chase him around—clearly a favorite game of his, if the night before was any indication. Gina laughed and hopped to her feet.
Max sent her an irritated scowl. “We’re not done.”
“Keep talking. I need to play some energy out of this guy, since he’ll be alone in the apartment for four hours.”
Jogging away, she laughed again as the little dog bounded after her. As she circled Max, she tossed out another question. “Back to getting to know each other… What do you do, Max? Are you a lawyer by any chance?”
He shook his head. “Finance.”
Made sense. “For?”
“Nowhere interesting.”
Gina paused so abruptly, T-Bone tumbled over her feet. “I need more information than that. Especially if I’m meeting your colleagues.”
He lifted an eyebrow.
“I swear you have that eyebrow on a string.” Gina resisted the urge to clap a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t meant to say that.
He lowered the eyebrow, expression now more annoyed. Bet no one ever calls him on stuff. Not women at least, because they’d be too distracted by all the yumminess.
“A stodgy institution you probably haven’t run across, and my colleagues are all like me,” he said.
She grinned. “Now that I have to see.” A room full of Max replicas? No way was that possible. They’d have the market cornered on sex appeal. “What’s your specialty?”
He hesitated. “You could say I’m more of an accountant, checking the books.”
He had said he was good at math last night. T-Bone yipped, and she resumed chasing him around Max. “Very cool.”
Now was his turn to blink in surprise. Why? Did most people not find his job cool? She guessed finance and accounting sounded boring, but she was impressed with anyone who found a job they had a passion and an aptitude for and were lucky enough to do it.
“I have several jobs,” she volunteered when he didn’t ask.
Max watched her playing with T-Bone from his spot on the ground, and he struck her as alone. She suddenly got the urge to reach out and hug him…or tackle him, just to see his reaction.
She glanced at T-Bone and a spark of mischief ignited.
Gina picked up a small stick and tossed it for the dog a few times, inching closer to Max as she did.
“The elf gig is temporary,” she continued, to keep him distracted. “I usually pick up an extra job at Christmas, because most retail places are hiring and they pay decent money. It covers the cost of all my Christmas gifts.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” he commented.
A finance guy would say that.
Judging she was close enough now, Gina tossed the stick for T-Bone, directly into Max’s lap.
“Hey!” he protested, brushing off the debris.
Before she could answer, the dog launched himself at Max, landing in a heap of paws and fur in the middle of his lap.
“I see how it is,” Max mock-grumbled.
To Gina’s delight, rather than get annoyed or brush off the small animal, Max rolled over to his hands and knees—in the grass, with a suit on.
“It’s my stick now.” With gentle hands, he wrestled with the dog, playing tug with the stick. T-Bone loved the attention. He gave the cutest growl, which sounded more like a toy airplane engine, and Max laughed.
Whoa! Heaven help her, the man had a terrific laugh, deep and rich. If she wasn’t careful she’d be rolling over and showing her belly for Max to rub as eagerly as T-Bone was now. What was wrong with her?
“What other holiday jobs have you had?” Max didn’t look up to ask.
Progress. She’d got him talking. Gina flopped to the ground beside him. “Retail usually—on top of getting paid, the discounts are fantastic. I’ve sold scented candles and lingerie. One year, I was an assistant for a holiday decorator, but my fear of ladders put an end to that one pretty fast.”
Max chuckled, a low rumble of a sound that washed over her in a heady way. “Ladders? Not heights?”
She lifted a haughty eyebrow in her best Max impersonation. “They go hand in hand, in my experience.” After giving him a second to absorb that reality, she continued. “This year I’m an elf, as you know. I was also requested to come back for the third year running as a gift wrapper, also at Macy’s.”
He tossed the stick in her direction and T-Bone scampered over. “Are you any good?”
“I said I was requested.” She affected an offended tone. “I take pride in my work, sir. People weep with joy when they see the results.”
Max chuckled again. “In that case, maybe I’ll hire you to wrap all my gifts. I need to see a sample first.”
She wrestled the stick out of the dog’s sharp teeth and tossed it back in Max’s direction. “Right. You have standards.” That one still stung. Besides, she’d do well to remember who this guy was.
Blackmailer. Liar. Good with dogs. But that last bit didn’t cancel out the first two.
He considered her for a long moment, as if trying
to figure her out. Something about the look in his eyes—intense and confused at the same time—had her breathing a little heavier.
“If those are your seasonal jobs, what do you do the rest of the year?” Max asked.
Oh. He was still asking about her jobs. Gina hitched a shoulder in a careless shrug. “It depends. What I trained to do, and what I prefer to do, is work in the theater.”
“An actress?”
For once, no judgmental vibes came her way. Surprising. “No. I’d be a total flop as an actress—so you might want to rethink your choice in fake girlfriends.”
He just shook his head.
Oh, well. Worth a shot. “And I can’t sing to save my life. I’m a set designer.”
Max considered that. “Do you paint?”
She shook her head. “I can, but I do most of the design on my computer, showing a set from all different angles. Sometimes I make models. I work with the director, lighting designer, sound engineers and so forth to make sure it all works together. I then work with the master carpenters and painters and other folks to bring the set I design to life.”
T-Bone was now running laps as fast as his stubby legs would take him around the two of them, his leash dragging behind him. She snickered at the sight.
“I had no idea set design was so complicated. Is it steady work?”
Again, Gina looked for judgment in the question, but found none. Every other man she’d dated had found her career ambitions frivolous, but the most judgmental man she’d met didn’t seem to. Why did that hook her interest?
“Steadier than acting. Maybe. Once I make more connections in the industry. I’ve worked a couple Off-Broadway sets, usually as an assistant set designer. I’m interviewing for a bigger show in January, so…fingers crossed.” She held up her fingers. “In between, I keep my schedule clear with odd jobs.”
“So, you’re more of a right brain person—very creative?”
She winked. “And you are clearly left brain,” she shot back. “All logic and numbers.”
“Couldn’t get any more opposite than us.”
Why did that sound intriguing rather than off-putting? She should hate this guy, or at least still be seriously annoyed with him. “Your parents will never believe us.”
He shook his head. “They’ll be too occupied being thrilled to notice details.”