Kenzie pursed her lips and watched the exchange in silence, realization dawning on her. He knew the woman, but how?
“You know how it goes.” Scott leaned in on his arm and rested his weight on the podium. “My boss is an asshole slave driver.”
Becca giggled—actually tittered and covered her mouth with her fingertips while Kenzie bit back a gag—and grabbed two menus from their hiding spot. “Your table is ready if you are.”
“Always.” Scott’s smile was warm and genuine.
Amazement tempered Kenzie’s inappropriate memories as she followed them through the crowded restaurant. He nodded, waved, or smiled at half the staff. Not only had he been there before, but he was on friendly terms with almost everyone. He was a little loud and under-dressed, but he seemed friendly enough. She still didn’t understand why his board was complaining.
Their table was near the back, away from most of the din. Before taking his own seat, Scott held out her chair for her and scooted it in while she sat. She tried and failed to ignore the warmth in her chest at how flawlessly he’d done it.
Their waitress was with them within seconds, filling their water and setting a bread basket on the table.
“Tanya. New haircut? It looks good.” Scott’s voice was distinct, even in the chatter-filled room, drawing more glowers from around them.
That kind of attention was bad, and it pushed away some of the lingering lust. Kenzie didn’t know if she should shush him or sink farther in her seat.
“Thanks.” The redhead fluffed the short bob. “Got tired of the baby wrapping sticky fingers in it.”
“At least she’s outgrown the spitting up, right?” Scott asked.
“Totally.” Tanya pulled a pad and pen from her apron pocket. “Getting milk puke out of these black button-downs is murder.”
Someone nearby coughed, and voices died down, the entire section growing quiet. Kenzie grimaced at the mental image invoked by the conversation and the attention they were drawing.
“I’m going to take your word for it.” Scott didn’t look fazed. “Is the special any good?”
“Fresh prosciutto-wrapped chicken with roasted cauliflower. Dessert’s a surprise.”
Scott looked at Kenzie. “You’re not vegetarian or anything like that, right? You like a good, thick slice of meat every once in a while?”
She should have seen that coming. Kenzie felt more heads turning in their direction, and the heat in her face grew. She took a long swallow of ice water, intentionally ignoring his second question. “I’m not vegetarian.”
“Sweet.” Scott looked pleased. “We’ll both have the special, and the calamari to start.”
Tanya looked at her. “Anything to drink?”
She’d have the strongest anything in the house if she thought she could get away with it. “A glass of the house white wine.”
Scott raised an eyebrow, gaze lingering on her as he spoke. “Coke for me.”
“I’ll be back soon,” Tanya assured them.
Scott glanced at his phone as soon as she was gone. “It’s noon. I’m already driving you to drink?”
Kenzie tried to keep her expression neutral. She wasn’t going to let him get to her. “You’re lecturing me on what is and isn’t appropriate?”
He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Some of us like people the way they are.”
Had she wounded him? No, the sharp edge in his stare screamed challenge. She pushed back anything else it made her think, like that stern jaw and hard mouth sliding down her throat. “I like you just fine.” Her voice was firm. “But sometimes you have to play by other people’s rules to get things done.”
“Right, of course.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, but his clenched jaw kept any words from coming out.
She needed to change the subject to something he wasn’t dead set against. They could work more on his behavior in public when he wasn’t already on the defensive. “Are you free all afternoon?”
He relaxed and leaned forward, posture casual. “I’ve cleared my calendar just for you.”
She didn’t know if that was enticing or just arrogant. Or maybe both. She forced her demeanor to stay neutral. “Great. I was thinking we’d go shopping. Get you something more appropriate to wear to business meetings.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to show me how to dress.” It wasn’t a question.
She pursed her lips. “It’s not like I’m going to throw out your jeans, though if you’ve got any that are rattier than that, you probably can’t wear them in public anyway. You just need a couple of Oxfords and some slacks for when it’s appropriate.” She kept the tailored suit suggestion to herself. One step at a time.
“Of course.” He winked at her. “When do we play My Fair Lady?” His voice grew shrill. “The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.” He enunciated every word, drawing another round of glares from nearby tables.
A musical reference. That held promise. But his delivery wasn’t doing it for her. She lowered her voice, leaning over the table and growling. “Stop. You need to learn how to behave in public instead of acting like a spoiled frat boy with a trust fund.”
“So sorry.” His playful expression vanished, and his lips clamped shut.
He genuinely looked wounded. Why had she said that? And if he stopped listening, how was she going to get her point across?
An awkward silence descended over them. When the waitress brought out their appetizer, Scott was just as friendly and brash as before, and Kenzie wanted to plug her fingers in her ears and crawl under the table at the graphic conversation about breast feeding and pumping.
Tanya left, and Scott sighed. He dipped a battered piece of squid in sauce and chewed thoughtfully. He nodded at the bar. “See the bottles lining the back wall?”
Kenzie glanced at the multicolored glass for a brief second and then went back to staring at her plate. “Yes.”
“Michele—the man who owns the bar—collects them. Every time he visits a new city or country, he makes it a point to find a gorgeous wine bottle, something unique, to add to his collection. He’s got killer stories about every one of them.”
Kenzie wanted to ask more, but fear of saying the wrong thing again kept her from diving into the conversation. She wanted to do playful banter and get her job done at the same time. Was that too much to ask? “They’re very pretty.”
Scott shrugged. “Are you going to have any calamari?”
She shook her head.
“You’re not allergic are you? You should have said something.”
“I’m not allergic.”
He nodded toward a side window. It faced an alley lined with cars. Several plant boxes decorated the bottom of the plate glass, diluting the ugliness on the other side.
“Do you like the flowers?” he asked.
What was he doing? “They’re flowers. They’re pretty enough.”
Her lack of input didn’t seem to deter him. “The fuchsia ones only bloom for about a week, and always this time of year. They’ve always been one of my favorites. Bright and vibrant and not afraid to take a stand when it’s time, fading back when it’s someone else’s turn.”
She studied his face, looking for some sort of hint that he was trying to tell her something, but his blank expression stared back. Still, she was mildly impressed he knew what fuchsia was. She nodded toward a different box of flowers. “I like the violets better.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up. “I’m not surprised.”
Presumptuous ass. “Oh?”
He speared another piece of calamari and dipped it in sauce, but didn’t eat it. “They match your purse. In fact, every time I’ve seen you, you’ve been wearing something that color, even if it was just the elastic you held back your ponytail with.”
He had noticed? She couldn’t deny the flutter in her chest. Maybe that was his problem then. He was so resistant to change because he was gay and couldn’t admit it to himself or something. Memories
of the day before taunted her—his strong hands sliding over her curves, the way he kissed her … she flushed. No she was pretty sure he was straight.
He leaned across the table, holding out the fork. “Just take one bite?”
She accepted with the warmth inside growing as he fed her.
“Well?” He watched her hopefully.
She made a presentation of chewing and swallowing, washing it down with a sip of wine. “It’s really good,” she admitted begrudgingly. Like, really good. She wasn’t used to her seafood being prepared so well. She grabbed her own fork and took another bite.
His foot brushed her shin under the table, and he winked at her. “Careful, your professionally crafted mask is slipping.”
She overlooked the subtle jab in favor of concentrating on the brief, teasing contact. “I did some research on you last night.”
He twirled his straw in his drink, ice clinking against the glass. “Sounds like a boring read.”
“Actually, it was really interesting. Two kids barely in their twenties find the funding to make it big in the software industry, only to have it ripped away by a spiteful ex-girlfriend and a vicious competitor. And then to come back and do it a second time before you were thirty. I’m impressed.”
His focus stayed on his glass. “It was something I believed in, so I made it happen.”
Was he actually embarrassed? She was starting to wonder if he was capable. “It is a big deal. It reads like a high-stakes fairytale. But one thing did make me curious.”
He looked straight at her, dark eyes searching for something. “All that and only one thing stood out?”
He wasn’t embarrassed, he was proud. And those eyes, she forced her gaze away. “Fair enough. A lot of things stood out. But you don’t seem to publicly exist before your first company became a name. Like no yearbook photos, no college, no anything. Is there a reason your past is hidden?”
He shrugged. “It’s not. My parents divorced a few years ago. It was messy and I’d never been fond of my father anyway, so I legally changed my last name to my mother’s maiden name. My entire childhood is probably still out there.”
That wasn’t nearly as interesting as she’d expected. At least some of his surprises weren’t bad. “So what’s your old name?”
“Lunch,” Tanya interrupted, setting a plate in front of her.
“Thanks.” Scott flashed the waitress a smile.
Kenzie’s shoulders slumped, and she sank back in her chair. Things were about to get loud again. There was no way he’d even listen if she tried to shush him now. Except he kept his voice low and the conversation brief. She hid her smile behind her glass as she took another sip of wine.
Waitress gone, he turned his full attention back to her. “So, clothes shopping, really?”
She laughed at his feigned disgust. “I promise to try and keep it from being boring.”
“Not possible. Did you have a destination in mind?”
Finally, something she knew that he didn’t. It was a small thing, but she’d take her victories where she could find them. “It’s a surprise.”
“Give me a hint?” His smile never wavered.
“It’s not Hot Topic.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Glad to hear it.”
She pushed her half-finished wine aside and grabbed her ice water instead.
He brushed her shin with his foot again, lingering longer this time. “Not to turn the tables on you or anything, but I’m tired of talking about me. Tell me about yourself. I already know you’re from here. Just the one sister?”
He didn’t miss a lot, and it made her smile to know he’d remembered such small details from previous conversations. She took a small bite of the food, considering her answer. It was as good as the appetizer had been, and her stomach grumbled in appreciation. “Yes. No brothers.”
“Older or younger?”
Did he really care? The sincerity in his eyes said yes. The revelation added to her lilting mood. “Older by five minutes.”
“Twins.” He raised an eyebrow. “Identical?”
“Physically.”
“Right.” His attention was completely on her, his lunch untouched. “So she’s the one who usually picks up strangers, does the one-night-stand thing, the irresponsible stuff.”
“I—” She paused, not sure if she was about to defend herself or Riley. “As you’re so fond of pointing out, I approached you.”
He stared back in disbelief, his familiar crooked smile in place. “And you’ve also confessed it was completely out of character for you.”
“Does it matter if I’d ever done it before?”
“It does to me.” He picked at his vegetables. “I like thinking I was your first for something. It’s good for a guy’s ego, right?”
How did he always manage to make conversation so easy? She laughed at the teasing. “Like your ego needs help.”
“Sometimes it does.” His eyes grew wide, his feigned hurt ruined by the twitch of his mouth. “I’m a delicate flower.”
“Why are you always so direct?” She had asked him the question once before, but she wanted more of an answer.
His gaze raked over her face as if he was trying to peer into her thoughts. “Chicks dig honesty, right?”
“No,” she corrected him. “Chicks only think they dig honesty until it includes something they don’t want to hear.”
“It worked on you.”
Arrogant ass. The thought didn’t have any malice in it. “You got lucky.”
He snorted. “Damn straight. And I wouldn’t mind getting lucky again.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but couldn’t lose her smile. “Seriously, it has to be counterproductive most the time.”
“I’ll answer your question if you tell me something. Where do you usually meet guys?”
She stared back, confused about the gentle curve in the conversation. “Why?”
He pushed his barely touched plate aside. “Let’s see … probably not business meetings, that would be inappropriate. And I can’t see you spending much time in bars. We can add coffee shops to the list.”
“You were the only one.”
His grin spread. “I knew it.”
She slapped his hand playfully. “Yes, fine. You were a first. Happy?”
“Immensely.” He meant it. “Where did you meet your last boyfriend? The bookstore or something?”
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she ducked her head. It had been a lucky guess, that was all.
He laughed. “I was kidding. I’m right, seriously?”
“Yes, I met my last boyfriend at the bookstore.”
“The relationship section?”
She twisted her mouth in irritation and just glared at him. “Fiction and literature.”
“Bronte?” he asked.
“Vonnegut.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So what was the first thing he said to you?”
Why were they having this conversation? Not that she minded, but she was still trying to figure out his random tangents. “I don’t remember.”
“You’re lying.” There was no accusation in the words, it was a simple statement.
She looked at him, eyes wide. How had he known that? “It was something about how Vonnegut had nothing on William Gibson when it came to the cynical but not completely fatalistic future of the planet. And I told him that wasn’t a fair comparison because Kurt Vonnegut was absolutely a fatalistic literary genius and William Gibson was some sciency guy.”
His jaw dropped. “You called the father of cyber punk a sciency guy? I mean, I guess technically you’re right, but you said that?”
Finally she had caught him off-guard. “And his reaction was a lot like yours. Don’t get me wrong, William Gibson is fantastic, but it’s still like comparing Apples and Windows.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d tossed the reference in to mangle the cliché. It wasn’t like she cared if he knew she had any sort of geek cred.
“Nice.”
His shock faded back into amusement. “And you went out with him after that.”
“For a while.” She didn’t want to get into the details. She was over the guy, but there was no reason to divulge she’d dumped him because he was boring in bed.
“So, last guy you didn’t go out with—the most recent one you’ve turned down. What was the first thing he said to you?”
“Like I remember. Maybe, do those legs go all the way up?” The background noise had faded as the lunchtime crowd thinned, and she was grateful she didn’t have anywhere else to be.
“But you let the guy who asked you about your honeyed walls give you a lift home.”
And she realized what he was doing—trying to point out to her why it was wrong to try and change him for the sake of appearance. He seemed fond of the object lesson rather than the direct answer. “Yes. Because you were sincere, and the guy in the bookstore was sincere—both of you inflammatory—but still sincere, and those assholes with the lines were just saying what they thought I wanted to hear.”
“I’ve made my point?” He didn’t look smug.
“Yes.” She took another drink. “But I’m still going to teach you to behave in public. You’re not learning to pick up women. You’re learning to keep your investors happy.”
He leaned in, voice low. “I already know the legs go all the way because how awkward would that be if they didn’t?” An underlying current ran through his words. “But if I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you forget this mission of yours?”
“You mean my job?” The way he’d twisted the otherwise horrid line added to her enjoyment, and the underlying compliment warmed her more than the wine had. “No. But don’t let that stop you from trying.”
“You’ve really read William Gibson.” He switched gears without pause.
“I prefer Philip K. Dick, but Neuromancer has a special place on my bookshelf. I was in a really weird frame of mind the first time I read it, it kind of screwed with my head, and I haven’t been able to forget it since.”
The rough canvas of a High Top traced up the back of her calf, sending a pleasant chill through her. His expression softened, eyes pulling up at the corners. “I know the feeling.”
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