by Lisa Wells
Meemaw might think things had changed and people from the opposite sides of the track could fall in love and make things work, but Aggie didn’t. Sure, they could fall in love. But “make things work” was a whole different story.
“I do like him,” she admitted. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s an uptight, pompous ass, but he has an adventurous side. The other night he went to Pappys with me and hardly complained.”
Aggie received the full-force of Meemaw’s smile. “Do you like-him, like-him?”
“I like that he has his head screwed on straight. It inspires me to want to get mine screwed on straighter.”
She laid a hand on Aggie’s arm. “I don’t see a darn thing wrong with how your head is screwed.”
“Because you love me, warts and all.”
Meemaw shifted in her seat. “So, what are you going to do about this like you have for him?”
She rolled to a stop at a red light. “I don’t know. But I do know you’re going to stop trying to manipulate my relationships. Okay? I told you the truth. Liking someone is an ocean away from loving someone. Let me take it from here.” The light turned green. They proceeded several blocks with no conversation. What was Meemaw thinking?
“You’re such a peach for confiding in me,” Meemaw said. “I promise to not meddle any further. The last thing I want is for you to disappear out of my life because I was too bossy or too interfering.”
Her words gave Aggie’s heart a papercut. She pulled over to the side of the road. “Meemaw—”
“Tarnation. Is Officer Bobby pulling you over, too?” Meemaw twisted in her seat to look out the back window. “I don’t see his lights. You don’t have to pull over unless he turns on his lights. You know that, right?”
Aggie took off her seat belt and smiled. “Meemaw, I love you. I would never disappear out of your life. You’re the perfect amount of bossy and interfering.”
“Aren’t you a peach for allowing me the right to do a little interfering? Now. Let’s talk about what you’re going to wear. No way on my watch will you let a man buy your clothes. I don’t care if it is for work.”
Aggie nodded. Her reaction hadn’t been an overreaction. The gesture had been a bullshit stab at her upbringing.
Chapter Thirty
For about two strides, the next evening, Aggie tried not to embarrass Max as they were led through a restaurant inside a private club to their private dining room. Then she gave up her attempt at blasé sophistication. The statues, brass, and dark woods inside the lush restaurant were too much not to gawk at like a child at the circus.
Max pulled out her chair. They were in the Boardroom, a room with a round table and a widescreen for those conducting business after dinner. Their potential customer had yet to arrive. “You look lovely,” Max said, taking a seat next to her.
Heat warmed her cheeks. “It’s hard to look bad in this lighting.” Truth be told, minus the tiara, she felt like a damn fine damsel. Using the money she’d set aside to find her mother, since thanks to Richard, her new private detective didn’t cost a dime, she’d purchased a black cocktail dress off the sales rack at White House Black Market. The detective was actually the man she was supposed to have had a date with tonight. No, not a date. A meeting. They’d rescheduled. She’d called it a date for the sake of the grandmothers.
“You’ll be happy to know none of this cost you a cent.” Tonight, she wore her lucky pink stilettos. No cost. Manipulated her hair into a French twist all by herself. No cost. Painted her own nails. No cost.
He grimaced. “I would have been fine with you buying the moon with my credit card.”
The vibe of sincerity in his tone evaporated her snark. “Thank you. You’re looking rather handsome yourself.” He wore a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and a lovely lavender tie with a matching pocket handkerchief. Rather fanciful for him. “Is the tie new? How about the suit? Did you, too, have to go out and buy something suitable for dinner?” And, just like that, her snark returned.
Before he could reply, the potential client entered the room.
Max and Aggie stood.
The men greeted one another. Then Max said, “Mr. Smith, I’d like to introduce you to my assistant, Ms. Johansson.”
Mr. Smith held out a hand and shook Aggie’s. She’d expected him to say call me and offer her his first name, because that’s what would have happened in her circle of acquaintances. He didn’t. Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.
As soon as they sat, a waiter handed them cocktail menus.
Max ordered a bottle of wine. Aggie didn’t recognize the name, but their guest nodded in approval.
“I take it you’ve been here before, Max.” Mr. Smith wiped his utensils with his napkin.
“Many times. Their food is divine and their service impeccable.”
Mr. Smith placed his napkin back on his lap and smiled. “In that case, order for me. I trust your judgment.”
A silent sigh of relief flittered through Aggie. The menu had dishes she couldn’t pronounce. She had no idea what they were. Thank God she at least knew which fork went with which portion of the meal. “A brilliant idea,” she said to Mr. Smith. “Be a peach, Max, and order for myself.” Had she used the word “myself” correctly? Should she have said “me” instead? Ugh. Grammar rules were her jam, why was she second guessing? And did saying “be a peach” make her sound less intelligent? Not at all. Southern women were charming and smart and, if the two gentlemen she was having dinner with didn’t know that, they could just kick it.
The meal came in stages. The appetizers were a meal all by themselves. Her favorite was the pan-fried calamari with hot cherry peppers and the lobster bisque.
“Ms. Johansson, tell me about yourself,” Mr. Smith said.
“I graduated from Kansas State with a liberal arts degree.”
“How did you come to work for Max?”
“We are both blessed with meddling grandmothers.”
His smile lost its starchiness. “My grandmother is an accomplished busybody as well. She holds a special spot in my heart.”
For the entrée, Max chose for them the bone-in kona-crusted, dry aged KC strip with shallot butter. Accompanying the entrée were dishes of lobster mac ’n’ cheese, roasted wild mushrooms, grilled asparagus with lemon mosto, and creamed spinach.
“How about you?” she said to their client. “Tell me an interesting fact about yourself.”
“The most interesting thing I’m involved in at the moment is overseeing a trivia night fundraiser for charity.”
Aggie took a bite of the lobster mac ’n’ cheese. A groan of pleasure erupted from her lips.
She didn’t realize how orgasmic it came across until both men paused in what they were doing and gaped. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Filling the awkward silence, she said, “Speaking of trivia, did you know, for men, sex burns about one hundred to two hundred calories on average? On the other hand, for women, it only burns approximately sixty-nine calories.”
More silence.
“I speculate this finding must be based on the woman lying on her back and the man doing most of the work. Now, if the couple were actually doing the position sixty-nine, then surely a woman would burn more calories.”
If possible, the silence grew even more silent. Like outer space silent.
Her attempt to lighten the moment had backfired. She resisted the urge to crawl under the table. Her ticking bomb of a mouth had just exploded all over their nice dinner.
As if coming out of a coma, Max coughed. “Aggie—”
Laughter burst from Mr. Smith’s lips. When it subsided, he said, “Max, I will have to hire your grandmother to bring someone like Aggie into my life, too. Aggie, what other trivia do you know that might come in handy for trivia night?”
“About sex?”
…
Max waited for an emotion to
come that didn’t. Instead of being upset at Aggie for her ability to say the most inappropriate things, he wanted to laugh. God help him, but he liked that about her. Didn’t want her to change.
“Um, let’s go with not about sex,” Max said to her. Thank God, Mr. Smith had a sense of humor.
Aggie beamed at Mr. Smith. “One more, and then I promise I’ll move on to trivia about vegetables.” She glanced at Max as if asking for approval.
Making him squirm appeared to be her superpower. He nodded. If he lost the contract, he lost the contract.
“Did you know there’s enough sperm in just one male to impregnate every fertile woman on the planet?”
The waiter brought their dessert to the table, a flourless chocolate espresso cake.
“Ms. Johansson, you are a treasure. I hope Max is smart enough to know what he has in you.”
“He isn’t, but that hasn’t stopped me from trying to educate him.”
“I’m sitting right here, you know,” Max said.
“Indeed, you are,” Mr. Smith said. “Max, this has been the most fun business dinner I’ve ever attended, and I’ve attended a lot. Most of them were a sleeping pill in the form of a gathering.”
“I’m glad to hear that, sir. If you like, I’ve prepared some slides to share with you with my ideas on a new location for your next business endeavor.”
Max spent twenty minutes showing Mr. Smith three different locations, each with his plan as to how the properties could be re-imagined offering a unique atmosphere for a bookstore slash bar business venture. “What do you think?”
Aggie hadn’t helped him on this proposal. He glanced at her to see what she thought. She gave him that smile. The one he loved so much.
“Max, I like your ideas. I like them a lot. Number three is the one I’m drawn to the most.”
He brought his attention back to his client. “Fantastic. Shall I have a contract drawn up?”
“Not so fast. I have an equally appealing proposal from one of your competitors.”
“What’s it going to take to tip your decision in my direction?”
Mr. Smith glanced at Aggie. “Your assistant reminds me a lot of myself at her age.”
She dropped her fork. It hit the table with a resounding clank. “Did you grow up poor, too?” Her words weren’t loud, but they shouted hurt feelings.
Mr. Smith tilted his head toward her. “That’s not what I meant, but I know what it feels like to have to prove yourself to everyone you meet. What zip code did you grow up in?”
“64133. You?”
“64134.”
Aggie’s posture relaxed. “My grandmother moved into 64134 after she left home. I forget the one she grew up in, but it was worse.”
Mr. Smith nodded as if the two of them were now bonded in the same way soldiers of war bonded. “What I meant about being like me is I would wager to guess you were raised to place high importance on a well-rounded education. As was I. Not just one you find in the books.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed you were judging me. I’m just so used to people looking down their nose at me.”
Max’s heart splintered. Had he ever made her feel less? Probably. Hell. No wonder she branded him a pompous ass. He deserved the title.
“It wasn’t until I earned my first million that I figured out there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with me.” Mr. Smith tugged at his shirt sleeves revealing his gold cuff links.
“Thank you,” she said. “I tell anyone who wants to listen there’s not a damn thing wrong with me, but…well…some insults stay with you long past their use-by date.”
“You’ll get there.” He glanced at Max. “Ms. Johansson’s knowledge impresses me. I want the two of you to be on my team at trivia night. If we win, the contract’s yours.”
“You’re such a peach. Contract or not, I’d love to be on your team,” Aggie said. “My meemaw has been filling my head with trivia since before I could speak.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Max and Aggie stayed behind to discuss the dinner after Mr. Smith left. Now, coming up with no other reason to linger, Max said, “Give me your keys, and I’ll have our cars brought to the front.”
“I came in an Uber. Betsy wouldn’t start.”
“Betsy?”
“My car.”
“You named your car?”
“You didn’t name yours?”
“Never crossed my mind,” he said.
“Tell me what kind you drive, and we can come up with a name for him or her.”
“A black Porsche.”
“Definitely a him. What else can you tell me?”
“Why don’t I give you a lift home, and you can discover more for yourself?”
She eyed him like a banana she couldn’t wait to eat.
The slight ache he’d had all night while sitting next to her amplified, causing his breaths to become hot and heavy as they left his body.
“Can we put the top down?” Her words were emphasized with a captivating flick of her tongue over her ruby-red lips.
“I’m always up for a topless ride.”
Her eyes widened, and the slight tilt of her head told him she caught his play on words. Always beautiful, tonight she stunned him in a little black dress held together with a single button at the left-side of her curvy waist.
“Me, too,” she responded, her voice husky.
In his car, she picked the radio station. Classic country.
“I would have pegged you for a rocker.”
She stared straight ahead. “I am a rocker, when I’m in the mood for what rock brings out in me.”
He turned the car out onto the road. Realized his palms were sweating. “What kind of mood brings out the classic country girl in you?”
“You’ll see.” His cock picked up on the promise in her voice and jumped to attention.
“I’m intrigued.” He’d always been comfortable around women. Not so with Aggie. She morphed him into a self-conscious teenager.
She laid her head on the headrest of the leather seat and smiled as the wind blew in her face. “Do you know where I live?”
“I do. I drove—”
“Oh, I love this song.” She leaned forward and turned up the sound, making conversation impossible. Which left him with nothing to do but think about the part of the evening behind them. Tonight was… An adjective for tonight evaded him. His inability to string words together had started the moment she waltzed into the restaurant, her eyes wide like Cinderella meeting her fairy godmother for the first time.
His first glimpse of Aggie, dressed to impress, blew several fuses of his internal wiring. From the distance, her fire engine red lipstick beckoned him, and every other man in the room, to sample her lips. Her hair pulled back in some sexy updo had his fingers itching to remove the bobby pins holding her tresses in place.
Her dress, a short black number, made him want to cancel the meeting and get a room. She must have decided their agreed-upon office length didn’t apply to business dinners. Her long legs wore glimmery hose, and, as usual, a pair of ridiculously high heels adorned her feet. Pink.
The only jewelry she wore were tiny stud diamond earrings. He’d had an instant craving to buy her a locket she could wear with those earrings. One long enough to snuggle between her ample breasts.
A red light brought him out of his reverie, and he rolled to a stop. If he didn’t distract himself, things were about to get awkward. He lowered the volume.
“Hey.” She tossed him a scowl. “It wasn’t over. Don’t you like country music?”
“I love it.” Grant made fun of his country music–loving side. One of the few things he and his best friend didn’t agree on. “Would you like to come back to my place and celebrate our first successful business dinner together with a drink?” The invi
tation wasn’t spur of the moment. He’d been contemplating asking her ever since inviting her to dinner.
And now, as the question hung between them, he told himself the invite had nothing to do with him making sure she didn’t call the guy she was supposed to have had a date with tonight. Had nothing to do with Max not wanting them to hook up. Because if that were the case, it would mean he was jealous of the other guy, and he had no right to be jealous of any man in her life.
Aggie shrugged in a way that knocked a guy’s self-esteem down a hundred flights of stairs. “Sure.” Then she turned the radio back up and sang. A little off-key…which didn’t appear to bother her in the least. “Join me,” she shouted.
The ease of her demand captivated him. It was as if tonight she didn’t see him as her boss. The knot he’d been feeling all evening loosened. “Okay.”
Together they belted out “I’ve Got Friends in Low Places.” At some point, he realized they were holding hands. Not sure when that happened, pretty sure he initiated the move, certainly sure he didn’t want to let go of her hand.
He turned in the opposite direction of his condo and drove the long way home.
When he finally pulled into his parking spot, he angled to her. “What would you say if I told you I like-you, like-you?” Hell.
Her smile slipped all over her face before settling into a straight line. “I’d say you’re a little drunk, and tomorrow at work, you won’t be able to make eye contact with me. You might even call in and say you’re working from home in an effort to avoid the girl you like-like when you’re drunk on success and smooth liquor and Garth Brooks.”
The insult stabbed him in places having nothing to do with ego. “I’m not drunk. I know exactly what I’m saying.” He didn’t go around declaring his like-like for someone haphazardly.
She rolled her eyes and then grasped the door handle. “Are we going to sit here all night, or are we going to go up to that fancy-ass condo of yours and have a drink?” She opened her car door and slipped out, denying him the opportunity to do so.