by Lane, Payton
His gaze skimmed down and he grunted. “You wouldn’t have a notebook in that dress?”
“Still trying to figure out if I have on underwear? If you ask nicely, I’ll tell you.”
He forced his mind elsewhere. This is business. “My mother is like any mother.”
Silence followed his statement.
“You can do better than that. Is she tall? Short? Grumpy? Kindhearted? Do you have her eyes?”
Like her dress, her voice brushed against him like silk. It made him think of sex. He forced his mind back on the subject. “My mother is straightforward, strong, and forgiving.”
An expression crossed her face. He'd seen it before. It was the one Lynne wore when she was trying to see through his words. “You love her. You want her to be proud of you.”
“I didn’t say anything–”
“You don’t have to. I thought we settled on the fact we can read each other.”
“It’s a defense mechanism.”
“One of them, yes. You don’t like to have feelings. It’s strange. You use other people's feelings against them, but you try not to have any of your own. Why?”
“We also agreed we wouldn’t do this.” His tone came out harsh.
“You messed up and asked me on a date,” she snapped right back. “You get what you pay for.”
“I haven’t even bought you dinner yet. And it’s a business dinner.”
“And back in college I thought it was a cigarette.” Her mouth kicked into a smile. “So maybe if we say our lies enough times, we'll believe them.”
She crossed her legs again and his gaze drunk in the smooth calf, up to her thigh. Wished like hell the dress was an inch or two shorter. Despite the circumstances, he was getting hard and imagining ways to remedy it.
“You’re wearing a thong.” He guessed with a gruff voice. “You’re not the type to go commando unless you know it would drive the other person crazy.”
She ran a finger down his lapel, tapped at his heart. “Would it drive you crazy?”
It had been, and he’d had to say the thong thing to ease his mind, but he wasn’t going to admit it. “Why won’t you sell to me? You can open up a few shops with the money I’m offering.”
“Not everything has a price tag. We seem to keep repeating things to each other.” She sighed. “Why do you want my store? You can buy anyone else’s store on the block.”
“Because we're hardheaded. Some things bear repeating. Everything has a price tag, and I just want yours.”
“For the businessman you pride yourself on being, that’s a lame answer. There’s a story there.”
She used his phrase against him. He shouldn't have liked her for it, but he did. Once again he was reminded Lynne wasn’t the woman he’d pegged her for.
“We’re at an impasse,” he said.
“Then give me more.” She handed him her empty glass. “And after this one nothing, or I can’t be held accountable for my actions.”
He felt light-headed himself. “Agreed. We won’t touch any more until we get to the restaurant. Then I’ll ply you with more liquor until you tell me all your secrets.”
“Only if you tell me yours.”
Nate wanted to. Being around her made his tie feel too tight. He always had the urge to loosen it, just once. Succumbing one time would be all he could allow himself.
“Secrets, huh?” He shook his head before saying, “I watch infomercials late at night.”
She laughed, but nodded. “I consider peanut butter cookies with chocolate chips a full course meal.”
“I prefer paper plates so I don’t have to keep washing dishes.”
“The times I do miss my mother, I pull out the works: soup spoons, salad forks, cloth napkins, fine china, and I’ll make a full meal. Then when I’m done, I eat kettle popcorn off fine bone china like it’s dessert.”
He couldn’t stop the laugh. “If this was a contest, you'd win.”
She smirked. “I keep trying to tell you this.”
The car stopped moving, and he glanced out the window. The restaurant appeared sedate from the outside. A medium-sized plaque placed in a rock wall showcased the name. The restaurant looked more like a hotel with its second story looming above them. Despite its appearance, the restaurant provided the best.
He waited for the driver to open the door, then stepped out, and reached back for Lynne’s hand. She slid across the seat, and when she stood next to Nate, he tried his best not to double-check if she did in fact have on a thong.
As if reading his mind, she smiled, and settled her hand on his offered arm.
She gestured to the sign. “I’ve heard of this place. Very nice choice for a first date.”
Exasperated, he huffed. “It’s not a date.”
“As you keep saying, but your eyes keep straying. Do you always mentally undress your business competition?”
“Most are retirees or people who inherited a business they really didn’t want.”
“Is that why you're having to work so hard this time?”
He opened the restaurant's door and let her go in first before answering, “No. Everybody has a price.”
An expression crossed her face, one that could only be described as pity. “You have a low opinion of people.”
“I’ve yet to meet someone who doesn’t take the offer.” He smiled. “As I keep telling you.”
“I’m not sure if you're confident or arrogant. It’s a fine line.”
“It’s confident or conceited, but it is a fine line.” He corrected and then let out a breath. “At the very least, can you let me woo you a little tonight? Business wise,” he added.
She didn’t seem perturbed by his adamant stance this wasn’t a date. Lynne inclined her head. “I will. Oh.” She leaned over before they reached the maitre d’. “I don’t have on underwear.”
He forced himself not to check and focused on the older man standing in front of them. “Reservations. Craine.”
The man confirmed the reservation in the book on the podium and nodded. “Right this way.”
Lynne slid her hand down his arm and moved in front of him. Nate lifted his gaze to the back of her neck. He wasn’t going to watch her hips swing seductively. This was a business dinner. He was not going to think of her naked, sweaty, or moaning.
Nate lost the battle and let his gaze stray down. He let out a soft groan.
She wasn’t just teasing him. This was going to be a very long dinner.
*****
Lynne wanted to sport a large grin as Nate struggled to keep his professional attitude in place. She had decided he was arrogant. At the very least it was annoying, because she had no doubt he’d been proven right time after time, but he seemed like a man who would revise an earlier stance if he were wrong.
Lynne hoped so, because she was sighing over how handsome he looked under the dim lights in the restaurant. His thick brows furrowed as he explained why it would be such a wonderful idea to sell her soul to him. The focus behind the gaze made his irises appear amber.
He said, his voice smoother than butter, “Think of all the possibilities.”
“I am,” she replied, but not in the sense he meant.
He tilted his head back and chuckled. “You haven’t been listening.”
She flicked her wrist in an airy gesture. “I’ve heard it a million times.”
He frowned. “I haven’t given you this speech before.”
“Doesn’t mean I haven’t heard it.” Lynne thought of her father.
Amazing how a man who had such a great head for business couldn’t wrap it around obvious signs his family needed more from him. Her rebellious years, for one, should have made him stop, maybe for a moment, to see if he could talk her out it. Or even to ground her. Maybe once. Instead he talked to her about corporate takeovers.
Lynne gazed into Nate's eyes. He suffered the same problem, except he would listen to her. He had the first time they met and every time since then. Too bad listening didn't equal acting on the pe
rson's request though.
She said, “You’ve listed all the reasons why continuing with my little venture won’t turn out to be a multi-billion dollar asset. Slightly insulting my business intelligence, but praising me for making a go of it, taking a risk. You've also made a point to remind me you have my best interest at heart. Since I wasn't paying that much attention, you would have or already have concluded that this deal has a time limit. Time is money and my time on this sweet deal is running out. Did I miss anything?”
She reached for her glass, taking a sip of water as he searched for a response.
He mimicked her movements, sipped some water then cleared his throat. “You've summed it up quite well. If you knew the tap and dance why'd you come?”
“First, would you have taken no for my final answer? Second, this is a date disguised as a business dinner. I don't fight temptation, usually, but with you it seems like a sound idea. I can't help but look at you and want you, but you don't want to hear any of that. You want to pretend this is business as usual. Fine by me, but tell those lies to yourself and don't try to make me believe them.”
He sat back in his chair, taking her measure. “Are you always this frank?”
The admiration was in the tone. Her face heated. Oh, wow. He'd made her blush.
“Always,” she kept her tone even.
The conversation ended there when the waiter brought the menus. Before they could pick it up again, the woman returned with their drinks and fresh slices of French bread. The tangy scent of yeast and butter rose from the basket.
Lynne took her time peeling off the flour-flaked edge. “Are we at an impasse again?”
“I believe so.” He frowned at the bread in her hand then just at her. “I don't know. I'm not quite sure, um, how to go about this.”
For a man who knew his place in the world and believed he knew everyone else's, this had to be painfully uncomfortable for him. For that alone, she lifted out of her seat, crooking a finger for him to lean closer.
“Kiss me now, and worry about the details later.”
Nate obliged, but with trepidation. The tip of his tongue tested the contours of her mouth as though he were trying out a new wine. Before taking a full sip of her, he needed to know if she was full-bodied, or if her finish would leave an appealing aftertaste.
He deepened the kiss, and she sighed. Lynne could have told him she was a fabulous vintage. Lynne wished she could like him less for his need to know for himself. She didn't, so when he pressed harder, tempting her mouth to part, she opened willingly.
Much like the bubbles in the champagne flutes, the way he used his tongue and teeth went straight to her head. She held on to the table, because—dear God—he was making her swoon.
Someone cleared her throat. Clearly they'd been caught. Lynne hadn't wanted the kiss to end. She wanted to know if she would actually swoon.
Without an ounce of shame, Lynne nodded to the waitress. Nate ran a hand over his tie and sat down. Lynne did the same.
“That was fast,” Lynne commented.
The waitress had the good sense not to comment on what she'd interrupted as she settled the plates in front of them. “Anything else?”
A fan? That request would be inappropriate, so Lynne shook her head. The silence that followed made her uneasy.
Nate cleared his throat. “I can't watch Steel Magnolias. I know I'm supposed to be a man and men don't cry.”
She frowned. “Who told you that?”
“Where I grew up, men didn't cry.”
“Where is that?”
“But I have to act like something's in my eye when the funeral scene plays.”
He’d completely ignored the question. Ah, yes, they could reveal secrets about themselves, but not talk about deep stuff. The stuff that made you realize life was in fact shitty for some. Get personal, but not intimate. It was already too late for that.
And sooner or later one of them would have to give up their soul. The realization shouldn't have sent a pang of yearning through her, but it did. Probably better this way, if they didn't get intimate.
She said, “I always go through a box of tissues when I watch Forrest Gump. The scene when he asks Jenny if his son is just like him...buckets of tears.”
The ease of being together never came back. They finished their meals with filler conversation. They were on their best behavior, never toeing the line of intimate again. On the ride back, they finished the champagne, but the words they refused to speak overshadowed everything else. Lynne simply couldn't take it anymore.
Thankfully, by then, they were a few blocks away from her house. “Have the driver stop.”
“Why?”
“Have him stop, please. I want to walk the rest of the way.”
He did without another question, but when they stopped he got out with her, closing the door behind him. He gave the driver a tip. “I'll be walking with her.”
“No—” Too late. The car drove off without Nate in it.
With a shake of his head, he said, “If you haven't noticed, I'm a gentleman.”
The unease still clung to the air around them, but she chuckled anyway at the image he presented.
“There is nothing gentle about you,” she said. “You're what people call a still well where waters run deep. Or something like that. I want to know what's beneath those waters. I could guess, and trust me, I'm really good at it.”
“Why?”
She started to walk, and he matched her steps.
“You want to know all about me, but not share anything back. Why? If you say 'it's business' I'm hitting you,” she said.
“It's hard,” the words came out haltingly. “I don't reveal certain things with people I don't know or trust.”
“True, but you don't exactly put out a sign that says ‘open up to me.’ You'd rather not...” she searched for the word. “Get entangled.”
“And you do? How many people here know your background? Who here knows the real Lynne?”
No one. “I guess I'm the pot, and you're the kettle.”
Her heels echoed in the night for a few moments. The silence wasn't filled with unease this time, but something different. Something they shouldn't mess with, but Lynne had never learned to leave things alone.
“You grew up poor, didn't you?” she asked.
“And you grew up rich.”
They turned on to Main Street. Two more blocks before she made it home. She stepped in front of him. The streetlight cast their silhouettes along the pavement.
“Tell me why you want my store, and I'll consider your offer.”
The shadows behind his eyes were much darker than the night around them. He took another step toward her, putting his chest against hers. “Nice location.”
She caught the flicker behind his gaze. “Lie.”
“It has potential to be a very lucrative venture. In my hands.”
He held his breath, giving her the sign. “Another lie.”
“Those aren't lies.”
“Those aren't the reasons you want it.”
Nate shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. She noted the nervous gesture too.
“You're giving yourself away,” she said.
He lowered his head so they were eye-to-eye. “That's what I'm trying to avoid.”
He straightened, offered his arm to her. “Let me walk you home, and we can argue some more tomorrow. I think you're right. This is a date. It's not often I get the chance to walk a beautiful woman home and give her a goodnight kiss at the door. Although I'd be hoping for more.”
Lynne wanted to refuse the momentary truce. She wanted to know what gave him those shadows. Lynne was in too deep. She wanted things she had no right to think about, much less crave.
She placed her hand on his outstretched arm. “If you tell me more secrets during the next two blocks, I'll let you grope me too. It's not often I'm walked home by a handsome man.”
“Groping?” He sounded hopeful. “Now I haven't done that
since high school.”
“It's a lost art with people our age.”
“You make us sound ancient.”
Some days Lynne felt that way. “Do we have a deal?” She offered him a handshake.
He placed a soft kiss in her palm, putting it back on his forearm. “When I'm in a hotel, late at night, I watch Sex and the City reruns. The scenes with Samantha are almost as good as porn.”
“Why don't you just order some?”
“With my luck, my bill would have a glitch that shows the exact name of the movie. And,” he added with emphasis, “I'd get someone old enough to be my grandmother to check me out.”
“Sounds like my luck. One time I tried to order Good Will Hunting. I pushed the wrong button. Trust me. You don't want to know what was ordered instead.”
She glanced at him. The shadows weren't gone, but a smile played at the edges of his mouth. It was enough.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Lynne entered the kitchen to find her mom had cooked a breakfast that could feed five people. The situation had taken a darker and more twisty spiral. She'd now have to deal with it.
Consequence of following her nose instead of ducking out, but too late now. She settled into one of the mismatched chairs surrounding the table. A place was already set. Thankfully her mother had forgone turning the cloth napkin into the White House.
Eloise had clipped back her hair, had one of the aprons on, and from Lynne's viewpoint, dinner thawed in the sink. If this scene had been given music foreshadowing doom, it would be reaching a crescendo.
“Mom?” Lynne asked, but mentally winced.
“Your father is a pigheaded, overbearing, know-it-all.”
Lynne would have been fine without ever knowing about her parents' marital issues, but her mother had already started to pile food onto a plate. Listening was required in order to eat.
She muttered, “I could have told you that eons ago.”
“Yes, but he's your father. He's supposed to be all those things to make you a better person.” Eloise held the plate back. “Did you wash your hands?”
“As soon as I smelled the bacon.”
Eloise huffed and put the plate down. “Do you know what he said to me?”