“Nicer than her date who was twenty minutes late,” Harvey added. “Good thing I was there to keep her company or it would have been really uncomfortable.”
Cracking open the box of chocolates, he extended it to Alma, tempting her to take one. “But something tells me he made it up to you.” When she refused to take one, he flagrantly popped a truffle in his mouth and munched on it with a smirk.
Instead, she glared at him, wondering what game he expected her to play.
“It was nicer than our first date,” she finally shot back, seeking to turn the tables back on him. “When you made me ride the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier to take my mind off my swelling face after feeding me deep fried shrimp, and I ended up vomiting all over the people below us.”
“Ahhh…” Harvey sighed, like he loved that memory. “At least I helped figure out you’re allergic to shellfish. I’ll admit hanging out in the ER on a first date isn’t as classy as rendezvousing at some swanky bar at the top of the world, but it sure tests how much you like a girl.”
There was no mockery in his voice—only genuine nostalgia. Their eyes locked and it briefly drew her in. She noted his freshly ironed blue shirt that accentuated the color of his eyes. An image of him, shirtless and gleefully humming near the ironing board, flashed through her mind. She hated ironing and he hated wrinkles, and more than once during their marriage, she came home to find all of her laundry—including her underwear, bras, and socks—had been freshly ironed, folded, and put away in her dresser, still warm to the touch.
“Think you’ll see him again?” he prodded.
Alma’s father huffed from the opposite side of the shop where he was polishing silverware, pretending not to eavesdrop.
“I don’t know, Harvey. Are you actually jealous?” she countered, irritated that he was forcing her to have a conversation about her love life in front of her father. Her irritation simmered into a scowl across her face.
Lifting a ridiculously oversize lollipop out of his rear pocket, he unwrapped it, then sucked on it with the innocence of a school boy. “Not jealous. Just wondering if maybe we should double date?”
Conchita, she thought, suddenly recognizing the origin of the sucker and the box of chocolates. Of course. He’d talked to Conchita, which meant nothing but trouble.
“Why? Are all your Amazon women nothing more than giant eye candy, but incredibly boring conversationalists?”
“Worse than boring,” he confirmed with a long drawn out lick. “They actually agree with me most of the time. It’s like medieval torture. I much prefer our conversations, which are akin to having my shins kicked—repeatedly. Painful and merciless, but never ever boring. Especially the ones that end with you convincing me that I’m a greedy soulless jerk.”
He was a greedy soulless jerk, but she didn’t have the time or energy to care anymore about whether or not he intended to change.
“I’m your ex, Harvey, which means I’m just supposed to pretend to be civil to you.”
“Ugh, that sounds like misery,” he whined. “Because that kind of civility, coming from you, is gonna drive me insane.”
He brazenly pulled out his phone and checked his messages.
Her back pocket chimed.
“Gonna get that?” Harvey nodded down to the ping in her pants. “Sounds like a booty call to me.”
He stared at her, eyes twinkling, daring her to check it in front of him. She crossed her arms and challenged him back. Jealous or not, he had no right to waltz in there and make a play-by-play commentary of her dating life.
“You do realize that if you don’t check it, you might miss your opportunity for some hotline bling tonight on account of me.”
Alma held his gaze, pretending there was absolutely no merit to anything he said, despite secretly wanting nothing more than to check her messages and loudly recite whatever steamy, inappropriate text was waiting there for her.
“Okay, don’t worry…” Harvey finally said, giving in first. “I’ll be right over here, inviting your dad to a Sox game. Enrique? What are you doing this Friday? I’ve got nosebleed seats right behind the batter’s cage. Your favorite.”
When he had meandered a safe distance away from her, she slipped out her phone and quickly swiped open her messages.
Making me wait for your response will only give me plenty of time to imagine all the dirty ways I plan to punish you for it.
She sighed. It was his standard flirtatious threat, and now she knew he had the power and prowess to make good on it.
Sorry…I’m in the middle of helping a customer.
That sounds kinky, he shot back without a beat. Unless it’s another man, in which case, I’m insanely jealous.
Alma glanced up at Harvey, who was reviewing batting averages of various players on his phone with her father.
If I were a cruel woman, I would let you believe you had competition.
Well, I know from last night that you’re far from cruel, and in fact, I verified that you’re much sweeter than you pretend to be.
Alma closed her eyes and let his sexual innuendo pervade every part of her body.
So no competition, huh?
She glanced back at Harvey—in his tight jeans and cowboy boots, licking his oversized lollipop, bantering back and forth with her father like they were best friends. She coolly texted back, as if she were trying to convince herself of its truth.
None.
“Ouch!” Harvey suddenly roared.
Startled, Alma shot him a glare.
“Looks like the home team needs to bring their A game,” he cried out through cupped hands.
Tuning Harvey out, she scanned her phone for his reply: Good, then there’s no reason to punish you. See you tonight at the Palmer House.
“Enrique,” Harvey brashly announced. “I forgot to mention something. I plan to remove eleven stained-glass windows from my property at the riverfront parcel before the train depot is demolished later today. And I intend to hire you and your daughter to represent them at auction.”
Stunned, Enrique glanced over at Alma, then back at Harvey. “Yes, of course, Harvey. Whatever you would like…”
“But there’s only one problem,” Harvey said. “There’s a missing window that will require the services of an expert because I think it could be a very rare, very valuable Tiffany.”
“What missing window?” Alma stood up from her workbench.
“Well, I wish I knew exactly,” Harvey replied. “That’s what I expect you to help me find.”
Was he mocking her? Her interest drooped into a frown. He meant renewing their pursuit of the Eternal Love. She had given up on yesterday’s possibility that they had found something worth searching for, and now, the last thing she wanted was to renew false hope. “No, Harvey. You were right yesterday. I was wrong. It all was just a waste of time.”
“A waste of time?” Harvey crowed. “Dumber words have never been spoken, especially by such a greedy soulless jerk.” He flashed her a self-deprecating smile. “So c’mon…let’s just consider today a new day with a fresh start, and since I’m a gambling man, I’m willing to pay the only person in the city who knows enough about stained-glass windows to help me figure out where to find the next clue in the treasure hunt. Enrique…does fifty thousand dollars for a couple hours of Alma’s time sound like a decent hourly rate?”
Enrique’s mouth fell open, speechless.
In contrast, Alma snorted, unable to contain herself. “Wow, Harvey. The civility between us really is driving you insane.”
“Completely bonkers,” he agreed, as if her snarky comebacks invigorated him. “Better up it to one hundred thousand.”
Alma’s father made a sound like he was having a heart attack.
“No, Harvey,” she protested, recognizing the serious edge beneath his offer. “It was something that I never should have started, and now I regret it.”
“Regret it?” He angled his chin, like he heard something uncomfortably familiar. Why?”
“Because it’s not a fearless quest. It’s a foolish fantasy. And I’m tired of being a hopeless romantic.”
“Ahhh, I see…well, it’s a good thing that’s one of the things I still love about you.”
She stared at him, letting the dramatic phrase play back in her mind, listening for the flippant sarcasm in his tone, conveying he meant the exact opposite of what he said. But it never came. He only gazed at her with a disarming resolve that tested her own.
“Then you should also know that I can’t be bought,” she said softly.
“That’s true,” he conceded. “And I also expect you to be completely uncooperative. Another thing that I find strangely charming about you. So, let’s make a deal. You’re a world-renowned Tiffany expert. I think I have a Tiffany that needs to be found. I want to pay you to be my consultant for the next…two hours. But you refuse to accept payment for your services. So…don’t accept my money, but still come with me, and we’ll just consider it…” He paused before taking the leap. “A date.”
“A what?” Alma shook her head and grimaced like he was offering her a lick of his contorted, discolored lollipop.
“A date,” Harvey repeated, as if it was the most natural suggestion in the world.
Cold silence fell between them until Enrique whistled a famous tune to a death march.
Harvey eyed him. “Gee…thanks for that vote of confidence.”
Alma’s father shook his head like he was about to witness a man being shot by a firing squad. “Call me about the twelve windows, Harvey, and I’ll be more than willing to help you. The rest of this conversation…” his voice ominously faded away as he disappeared into the rear workshop “…is a young man’s game of risk. And I am an old ailing man.”
When they were left alone, Alma peered at Harvey and his blue and yellow sucker-stained lips.
“I am not going on a date with you.”
“Okay, fine. Then come with me as a Tiffany expert and I’ll send your father the check.”
“No you won’t. You’ll send bags of cash to our doorstep, just to irk me.”
“Probably. But only because you refused my truce.”
She heaved in exasperation. “We’re divorced, Harvey. Divorced couples don’t date.”
“When have we ever done anything like a normal couple? Or even two remotely normal people? Well, okay…one extremely handsome quasi-normal man, and one slightly quirkier woman with a crucifixion fetish.” He cocked his head and looked down at her restoration work of a small ecclesiastical stained-glass window of Jesus nailed to the cross. “By the way, I’m pretty sure if you leave him like that, he’s not going to get any worse while you’re away with me.” Leaning into her workspace, he flipped the cleaning rag over Jesus’ missing loincloth, and nodded with certainty that his improvement had truly fixed everything.
But that was so Harvey. Simply buy a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates and assume everything had been magically fixed.
“I don’t want to come with you,” she finally uttered, stating the pure unemotional truth.
The look on his face slowly absorbed the fact that she was serious, but in typical billionaire-Harvey-Zale-fashion, he persisted anyway. “You’re telling me there’s not a single thing I can possibly do to make you want to come with me? Wax my chest hair? Trim my nose hairs? Brush my teeth—and floss? How about this… I promise that whatever we find together, I’ll let you be the one to claim it in the name of preservation?”
“The Harvey Zale I know wouldn’t do that,” she countered.
“The Brazilian-waxed, nasal-trimmed, minty fresh Harvey Zale promises that he will…and if you know one thing about me, it’s that I never break my promises.”
But she resisted, hesitating about whether or not to admit her reason.
“C’mon,” he pressed her. “We’ll take my speedboat to Navy Pier. It’s only a few hours and it might even be fun—”
She shook her head, interrupting him. “Harvey…I have a date tonight at The Palmer House and I want enough time to go home and get ready. I don’t want to go with you to Navy Pier now. I’m sorry.”
He held her gaze and slowly chewed on her words. “The Palmer House, huh?”
She fully expected him to finally get it and give up whatever weird, jealous agenda he was pursuing by pursuing her. But the only thing she could expect from him was the unexpected. “He must really know you well. That’s one of your favorite buildings. Looks like I better splurge on cotton candy and caramel corn on our date.”
He held her gaze again. He wasn’t going to give up and he wanted her to know it.
“Just for the record,” she replied, “you’re the one who likes that bright carcinogen blue cotton candy, not me.” She couldn’t help it. He always assumed he was buying it for her, and she secretly hated it.
“Yeah, that’s what you always say, sweetheart…before you end up eating half of it. So, does that mean you’re coming with me to finish what we’ve started or not?”
Extending his hand, his cocky smile dared her to take it, enticing her to believe in something she knew would ultimately only lead to disappointment. But the mischievous glint in his eyes and the way his mouth was stained blue like he had just eaten a Smurf made the whole thing seem juvenile and ridiculous.
“Okay, fine. Fine! But only for two hours and only because I know you’ll never leave me alone unless I say yes. But not because I want you to pay me any money, and not because this is in any way, shape, or form…a date.”
“A date?” he repeated, echoing her sentiment that it was the most absurd suggestion in the whole wide world. “Of course it’s not a date. We’re divorced. Duh.”
Chapter Sixteen
Now that he had her there, what the hell did he intend to do with her?
His insistence on resuming their hunt for Tiffany’s Eternal Love was a complete ruse. He didn’t believe there was any long lost window, and even if there was, he certainly didn’t expect to find anything there that would illuminate where it was or how to find it. It was all just an elaborate excuse to spend time with her. And she bought it…
Well, sort of, he thought, following as she led the charge down the interior corridors of Navy Pier on their way to the stained glass gallery. It was a given that Alma wouldn’t accept his offer to pay for her time, but her refusal to label their time together as a “date” bruised his ego more than he wanted to admit. And despite surrendering her ultimate trust to a complete “stranger” during last night’s blindfolded sexcapade, Harvey found it more than ironic that she barely trusted him to keep his promise to return her to the shop before sundown.
She knew better than to fully trust him. Even throughout their marriage, she always challenged his motivations. Spare change into the Salvation Army bucket? He really just hated the jangle of loose change in his pants, and she always called him out on it. Free coffee and donuts to every cop in the vicinity of one of his buildings? She knew he did it just so he wouldn’t get a ticket for parking his Ferrari in the fire lane. In fact, every time her judgmental brown eyes peered at him with skepticism rather than affection, it roused his latent conscience and ignited his need to be a better man. Yes, he had his flaws, but there was at least one redeeming value hidden within his opportunistic heart: he was a man of his word and when he made a promise he always kept it. Always.
Now…getting him to make a promise wasn’t always easy and as far as he could remember, he was the kind of man who passed through life, rarely feeling obligated to make promises to anyone. Until he met her.
It had been the biggest promise of his life—his decision to marry her. So when he uttered those vows—his promise to love, honor, and cherish her—forever—he did so with every intention of fulfilling them. And although he may have failed her in other ways by surrendering his youthful pursuit of civic justice in favor of big money and corporate greed, he never faltered in wanting to be the man to share the simple, happy pleasures in life with her—feeding her donuts in bed; licki
ng the crumbs off her legs; serenading her with sappy renditions of love songs in his open convertible; catching fireflies in his bare hands because he knew she loved their enchanting glow; making love on a blanket in the dark while stargazing in the park…
And if he was honest with himself, returning to the Tiffany stained glass gallery at Navy Pier was hard to bear. The place where he had proposed to her. He hadn’t said it and she hadn’t acknowledged it. Neither of them needed the reminder and it wasn’t exactly a coincidence that yesterday’s pursuit ended with her decision not to come there with him. But it was on his mind with every step that drew them closer to the gallery.
His sentimental side would have drowned itself in a downward spiral of melancholy and nostalgia if it hadn’t been for the interruption of his phone, vibrating in his back pocket.
I’m trying to decide between the red or the white panties for tonight…
He ran his hand through his hair and re-read the message. Just down the corridor, a few steps ahead of him, Alma strolled along in her baggy overalls, red-framed glasses, and mousy ponytail, simultaneously drafting steamy texts to Romero.
Red has an open cage-style, ribbon ass, locked with a lace bow. White is a crotchless thong with a peekaboo ruffled skirt.
Harvey’s eyes almost rolled back into his head. Did his ex-wife really just text him about her crotchless white panties?
From afar, she looked like she was casually checking her phone, barely aware of anything around her. But as he scanned her texts, trying to keep his swelling cock from impairing his judgment, he intended to make sure she didn’t get away with it.
That’s an obvious choice. No panties.
He eyed Alma as she paced in an aimless circle.
You’re really going to pass up the opportunity of seeing me in one or the other?
Harvey rubbed his face, trying to maintain his composure.
I can’t wait that long. Send me a picture. Now. I dare you.
It was a dirty, devious request, but she deserved it for tempting him to keep up the ruse of their affair, right there in front of her.
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