"You stopped wearing dresses in the office," he observed unexpectedly. I’d just told him about my suspicions in the office and explained yesterday's series of incidents, minus the pony dress-up. He'd already seen the paper, and a flash in his eyes suggested that I should have called him straightaway.
I chewed and swallowed, wondering what my clothing choices had to do with anything. "I'm trying to make a better impression," I explained. "Less leg and more brain."
"I don't think the length of your hem interferes with your brain."
"It interferes with my working relationships, if people think you're looking at my legs rather than my brain."
He gave a little sigh, so shallow, I almost missed it. "You're still pissed about that?"
"Yes! It's different for men. No one cares that you employed Lucas, and he's a cutie."
"A cutie, huh?" Solomon laughed as he speared potato, raising his fork to his mouth. "I employed Lucas because he can hack anything."
"Yeah, and like you said, they think you employed me because you either are, or plan to sleep with me. Ergo, pants, not skirts." I looked at my black, knee-length dress. It had a neat bodice and a slightly flared skirt with a thin belt at the middle. I'd paired it with a cropped jacket and wedge heels. It was roughly hotel colors, but not as dull as a navy suit; and it worked well enough that it had gotten me through one day at work. I babbled on, "Except for today, obviously. But I'm not in your office, so it doesn't matter."
"Employing you would be an expensive way of getting you to sleep with me," said Solomon. "It would be quicker to make you dinner and just seduce you."
I raised my eyebrows and said nothing, while brutally stabbing a green bean. "I'm glad you didn't say that in the office." Or before we'd started dinner because I probably would have fled. At least, I think I would have fled. A glass of wine in and I wasn't so sure. I crossed my legs.
"I'm too busy looking at your legs then."
"Very funny."
"Fine, wear pants. I can look at other stuff."
I avoided his eyes. I didn't dare ask him what.
“How was your date?” I asked him.
“What date?”
“When I last saw you. When you gave me the wire.”
He frowned. “I wasn’t going on a date.”
“Oh.” I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.
"How's Maddox?" he asked, topping up my glass.
"You're full of the unexpected tonight," I said. "Maddox is fine. Says he hasn't seen you in a while." Actually he hadn't said that in a while, but I didn't want to spill my relationship woes to my boss. How would it look if Maddox wasn't talking to me and I was enjoying a dinner date with Mr. Sex-on-a-stick? It certainly wouldn't pave the way for a happy reconciliation. On the other hand, Solomon was my boss and he was at home, not the office. What was I supposed to do? Say no? I bet Maddox went to his captain’s house when he was instructed. I wondered if his captain cooked and poured him wine.
"No need to," agreed Solomon.
What was it with men? I didn't need to see Lily, but I hung out with her all the time. We went to the gym together when I couldn't think of a good reason not to, we had dinner together at least three times a week, and there was always a place set for her at my parents’ for dinner too. We shopped and manicured together, and she knew everything there was to know about me.
I gulped the rest of the wine. "Was asking about Maddox your weird and twisty way of finding out if we're still seeing each other?" I had no idea what made me say that and, gasp! My voice sounded a little too flirty. I swear, it just came out of its own accord and now it was hovering in the air between us. Maybe I was getting a little paranoid about the “no speaky” thing. Maybe it was the wine. I mentally cursed the wine.
"I don't see how the phrasing was weird and twisty," said Solomon. But he didn't deny it.
"Funny. Avoid the obvious, why don't you?"
"Same way you're avoiding the question."
"I like these potatoes. What herbs did you use? Rosemary?"
"And thyme."
"A man of many talents."
"You don't know the half of it."
"Flirt." I finished my dinner and closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the flavors and the feeling of being well fed by food that wasn’t nuked. "That was really good," I said, reaching for my wine glass, which had mysteriously been topped up while I wasn't looking. Possibly by the meddlesome ninja wine fairy. "You're a good cook."
"Thank you. You want to take the tour?"
"Of your house? Yes, please." I loved looking around other people's houses, which was good, because there was the possibility of breaking and entering in my imminent future.
"Come on. I'll show you around."
Solomon seemed pleased with his home and I could tell why. It was clear he had been renovating because the bathrooms were new and shiny and the wooden floors stripped beautifully. There were still lots of period features left, all restored. I got the first floor tour first: a large, eat-in kitchen, appliances hidden behind expensive doors and smooth-as-silk Corian countertops. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind the breakfast table and chairs were so new, they reflected us. Solomon stood with his legs planted slightly apart, hands on hips, while I moved around. I turned away, back into the house.
"How do you find anything?" I asked.
"Experience," said Solomon, his eyes following me. "Touch."
I shivered.
The living room, like the dining room, was finished except for a few small details, like light shades and curtains. Funnily enough, there was already a flat-screen hung on the wall. Men. I picked up the fabric swatch cards tossed in a bowl on the coffee table and pondered them.
"I don't see you as the kind of guy who picks out curtains," I said.
"Someone has to do it. I just have to pick the color."
"And the drape and the fabric. It's very complicated. You need to take this stuff seriously, Solomon." I nudged him with my elbow.
"Funny. What would you pick?"
"This one." I tapped my finger on the middle swatch. "It's subtle. Elegant. Not flashy. One of those is like you."
"Which one?"
"Pick," I said.
He gave a shallow exasperated shake of his head. "Turn it over."
I turned the swatch over and found an “x” marked on the back.
"I can't believe I'm talking about curtains with you." I couldn't believe I was mentally decorating his house. This had to stop. "Tell me about a dangerous mission instead."
"I once went to rescue a woman from a homicidal maniac." Solomon inclined his head upstairs and I followed his ascent, my hand sliding on the long, hard, length of the polished… Dear God! I took my hand off right away.
"Yeah? What happened?" I asked.
"She shot the idiot."
I laughed. "Sounds familiar."
Upstairs there were four bedrooms, one of which was transformed into a home office. It was sparse, but nice with a solid desk, chair and a laptop, its screen closed. The other two bedrooms were empty. I wondered what he planned on using them for. The final room was clearly the master bedroom and Solomon obviously hadn't gotten around to it either. Beyond a large bed made up with white linens and a serviceable amount of pillows, there was no other furniture. Two doors led off the room, a bathroom and closet, I guessed, but they were both shut. The twin windows had blinds instead of curtains. My apartment wasn't much bigger than the bedroom.
"It's nice," I said, turning to walk back downstairs. As I reached the landing, I heard Solomon a couple of steps behind me, his footsteps sounding on the hardwood. "It'll be beautiful when you've finished."
"Remind me to give you the tour again sometime."
My cell phone rang as I stepped off the stairs into the hallway, the sound muffled by my purse.
"Excuse me," I said, checking the screen as I retrieved it. Maddox. "I have to take this."
"No problem," said Solomon. "You take it. I'll clear the table."
"Thanks. I know I'm a bad guest."
"No, you're not."
Solomon excused himself, and I pressed “answer,” putting the phone to my ear. "Hey."
"Hey," said Maddox. "I went by your place an hour ago, but you weren't home. Where are you?"
"I'm at dinner."
"With Lily?"
"Solomon."
Maddox was quiet for a moment. I expected him to say something unpleasant about Solomon's intentions, or something cross, or maybe even a little jealous. When he spoke, it wasn't what I expected. "What's for dessert?"
"I don't know."
"I can have a hot lemon meringue pie at your door in one hour."
"Tempting."
"Call me if you want it." Maddox clicked off. I looked at the blank screen for a moment, frowning, then laid it on the coffee table, puzzled. If Maddox had said something else, like “Why?” or “I don't want you at dinner with another man,” I'd have understood it. Instead, he left me with a flirty little offer that I suspected might have a little more in it than hot pie. Men could be very surprising creatures when they weren't consumed by their baser instincts: food, sex, fighting. Not that there wasn’t anything to be said for any of those things, when the time was right.
Solomon re-entered the living room, bearing coffee in black cups. "Everything okay?" he asked.
"Yes, fine. That was Maddox."
"What did he want?" Solomon passed the coffee cup to me. I warmed my hands around it, sitting when he signaled to take a seat on the wraparound sofa.
"He wanted to know what's for dessert." I wanted to know if Solomon's dessert matched up to freshly baked, hot lemon meringue pie before I made a decision as to stay, or split. And by stay, I was fairly certain I was thinking about dessert, not Solomon shedding his sweater, revealing a shirt with a couple of buttons undone, baring his chest, or the way his arms bulged under the sleeves, or the way his pants curved around... I yelped as coffee splashed me. I reached for a tissue to dab the small drips dry.
Solomon's voice was low and full of promise. "I don't do dessert. I go all out on the mains. I like my guests satisfied from the start."
Oh boy.
"Do you want to go over the case now?" I said, quickly continuing, "I didn't get a chance to write up today's notes, but they’re in my head." Like an idiot, I tapped my finger against my forehead. Hell, Solomon made me nervous sometimes.
"To be honest, not really. Don't go thinking I got you over here under false pretences. I want to hear your report, but I'm tired. More than I thought. It's been a long week."
"I'm surprised. I didn't think you got tired. I thought you just worked constantly; then stuck your finger in a wall to recharge." Solomon had a work ethic like nobody's business. He thought nothing of working days, nights, weekends. I suspected he was a workaholic, which made dinner tonight all the more surprising, and the house built for a family, doubly so. I sipped the coffee. It was richly dark, hot, smooth, sweet, and... I was staring at him. I turned away, looking around the room, anywhere, but at him. I said, "I can go. If I get the reports completed tonight, we can look at them tomorrow."
"No, stay, it's fine." Solomon relaxed against the pillows, stretching his legs out. One knee bumped against mine, the fabric rough against my bare leg. "I have my moments. Setting up the business is a lot of hard work. There's a lot to do."
"I see. You just invited me around for my awesome company. Anything I can help with?"
"No, but thanks for asking. It's paying off. I've taken on some big contracts."
A week out of the office and I was already out of the loop. I wondered for a paranoid few seconds why Lucas hadn't said anything, despite talking with me a couple of times. Perhaps, he didn't think it was interesting, or didn't know. Maybe he just didn't want to share with me, the girl. "I didn't know. Congratulations."
Solomon nodded. "It's just the beginning," he said. "There's still a lot of work to do. You and Lucas are going to have to take on more of the smaller cases, while Fletcher works the contracts with me. It might mean working longer hours, or working a couple of cases simultaneously. Happy with that?"
"I can do it. Will you make Lucas wear a dress?"
Solomon laughed, his face lighting up in a way I rarely saw. This was private Solomon; the man, I suspected, few saw. The Solomon who had light creases around his eyes, who dipped his head back when he laughed, who was sprawled in a relaxed way, one arm thrown over the back of the sofa, the other hand cradling his coffee cup. "I never want to see Lucas' legs."
"I work in such a sexist office." I sighed, slightly melodramatically.
"If anyone else looks at your legs, let me know."
"Why? What are you doing to do about it?"
"Take them out back and shoot them."
"I think Flaherty stole my stapler. What are you going to do about that?"
Solomon smiled.
"It was a joke. Please don't hurt him."
"I'll need you to work some cases with me, too."
I hated to say it, but I did anyway. "Isn't Delgado better? Or Flaherty?"
"Delgado and Flaherty can handle cases alone. Sometimes it helps to have a woman around. And..." Solomon leaned forward. "Even though you’re working this one alone, it's part of your training to work cases with senior staff."
"I'm happy to work under you." As soon as I said it, I clamped my mouth shut and, I'm fairly certain, blushed bright red. Solomon smiled in such an infuriatingly sexy way that I wished I could just blink and vanish. What I meant to say was I was looking forward to learning more from him. The idea of being literally under him was something I tried never to focus on. Too hard. I winced. Oh, wrong word choice.
"I should go," I said, rising to my feet. "I have work tomorrow and you're tired."
Solomon didn't look tired now. Solomon looked like a predator, like he'd caught sight of what he wanted and was determining how to reel it in. I decided I was reading too much into it. Lemon pie, chanted my mind, think about lemon meringue pie.
"Call me tomorrow. I want to know where we stand on the hotel."
"I have leads.”
"And you know what to do with them?"
"Absolutely," I assured him, sounding more certain on the outside than I was inside.
"Let me know your next steps. I want the full report tomorrow. Everyone you've spoken to. Everything you've spoken about, and an update on the latest crises. Email everything and then we'll talk, if you don't have time to come by the office. Are you sure your cover isn’t blown?"
“I’m sure. The graffiti didn’t indicate that; plus, nothing has happened since.”
“Anything else happens, call me right away. No one else. Me. Understand?”
“Yep.”
Solomon picked up my jacket as he walked me to the door and held it up so I had to spin around and slide my arms in. He smoothed the fabric over my shoulders, his hands running down my cotton-clad arms and whispered, very softly, in my ear. "You don't have to go."
I held still, his hands still resting on my arms. "Yes, I do," I said, just as softly.
"The cop?"
I wasn't sure where things stood with the cop, but he had extended an olive branch in the shape of pie. I nodded.
I felt Solomon step closer and he dipped his head, the warmth of him burning against me. I closed my eyes as his lips touched the curve of my neck, then my cheek. His palms ran down my arms, over the backs of my hands, and my fingers curled around his. Then he was stepping around me, drawing me to him and his lips were on mine, gently, not pushy, just resting. Moving slowly, he caught my lower lip, like he wasn't sure how I would react, and was giving me time to step away. Giving me time to make a decision.
In those brief seconds, thoughts flashed through my mind: the first time Solomon kissed me, when he offered me the job and kissed me, and how each kiss made me feel like I was feather-light and brilliant.
But there was Maddox and I could stop myself. I had a choice, and even though part of me wanted
Solomon to kiss me forever, another part of me knew it was wrong. Especially when I had a man who offered me hot lemon meringue pie without question, even if he was worried about the choices I was making.
I slid my hands from his, placed them on his chest and stepped back, breaking the brief whisper of the kiss.
His question came like a sigh. "The cop?"
I nodded. And there was the small issue that no matter what else I thought of him, Solomon was my boss and I wanted to work for him, and do it legitimately and with my colleagues’ respect. “And my job,” I whispered. “I like my job.” I didn’t have to add what it meant to me, about gaining the respect of my colleagues, about being good at something for once; it was all there, loaded in my voice.
"I'll respect that," he said. "I won't make a move again… unless you ask me to. Not even when I want to."
I nodded, just once, not trusting myself to speak, and let myself out. During the entire walk to my car, I knew Solomon's eyes were on me; and the feeling didn't lift until I'd taken the corner and pointed towards home.
Halfway home, I pulled over and called Maddox.
The words came out in a rush. "I’m sorry. I should have told you about the job, but I couldn’t. I didn’t mean to make it look like I was hiding things from you.”
“I know. I understand. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. I’m sorry, too, though I think I said it better when I offered pie.”
“How about that lemon meringue?" I asked, hopefully.
The smile in his voice filtered through the phone line. "How about it?"
"I'll be home in twenty."
"I'll be there."
"You bake fast."
"I do other things very slow."
Wow.
Chapter Fifteen
The staff of The Montgomery had removed any evidence of the convention by the time I made it into work on the Saturday, per my non-acceptable hours arrangement. I was yawning like I hadn't slept in days. Maddox stayed over and I seriously thought long and hard about ditching work in favor of a day in bed. I was feeling more and more like I needed a major sleep fest.
Who Glares Wins (Lexi Graves Mysteries) Page 22