Fifteen #3
“Certainly,” I said quickly. “Lemme give you the address.”
“I have it. The man is my client, after all.”
“Yessir.”
“Knock it off.”
I smiled wide and realized, as usual, that just talking to him brought up this bubbly feeling in me. I had family after all—he was it. “You want me to wait outside?”
“Yes, Jory, stand outside and freeze your ass off.”
I laughed, and people looked at me as I hung up and sat back down on the couch beside Bette.
“You’re going to stay?”
“My boss is coming to get me, so I’ll stay a little longer.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to meet Dad’s architect,” Cretia squeaked out. “He speaks so highly of him.”
“Jory, may I speak to you?” Trip called to me from the kitchen.
I got up, and when the door swung closed behind me, I saw him leaning against the counter, ankles crossed, arms crossed, waiting.
“Yes?”
“That was stupid, what I said before, and your concern for my dad is actually really refreshing.” The corner of his mouth curled with a trace of a smile. “So I’m asking again—may I please take you out?”
I looked at him, trying to decide whether I liked him or not.
Aesthetically there was no reason to say no.
The man was very nice to look at. With clear hazel eyes, thick dark brown hair and a lean, muscular frame, he was definitely my type.
The problem was he had “player” written all over him, and I wasn’t trying to be another notch in anyone’s bedpost.
“I don’t think so.” I said it slowly because it wasn’t what I really wanted to say. It was the smart thing to do, though. “I think you’re outta my league, Doctor Ward.”
He nodded and pushed off the counter, walking toward me. “If I promise to just feed you, not even try and kiss you? How ’bout then?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I grinned lazily.
He bit his bottom lip. “Listen, Jory, how ’bout you take me out? You name the place and I’ll be there. You can pay and everything.”
I squinted at him, and his smile lit his face. “How is that a good deal for me?”
He reached out and grabbed the lapel of my coat as he had earlier, drawing me close.
“C’mon, I’m sorry already. Jesus, I never work this hard.”
I arched a brow for him.
“And you know you’re gorgeous, so you can treat me like this,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.
I just stared back.
“You want me to beg?” he asked. My eyes narrowed. “God, you are beautiful. Say yes.”
“I’ll meet you at seven for drinks at the Arbor, over there off Halsted.”
He nodded and smiled, undoing the buttons on my coat, his hands slipping inside to my sweater as he stepped closer to me.
“I was thinking it could be tonight. A friend of mine is having a party—I’d love to take you.
” Slowly, he stroked the backs of his fingers up the front of my sweater, over my abdomen.
“Tomorrow,” I said.
We both heard the doorbell ring, and I wondered absently where the button was outside. Bette called for me, and when I turned to go, Trip caught me with an arm around my neck.
“Don’t blow me off, okay? I want to see you.”
I smiled and let my head fall forward as his lips brushed over the back of my neck.
He felt good, there was no denying that. “Okay.”
“Jory, are you sure I can’t take you home?”
But the door opened and he was instantly off me. Cretia poked her head in and told me my boss was standing in the living room, waiting for me. I saw how big her eyes were.
“He’s gorgeous, right?” I teased her.
“Ohmygod, Jory, that’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life,” she gushed.
I chuckled and followed her out with Trip trailing after me.
Dane stood with Truman, glancing around the room in response to what the other man was pointing out.
I realized that not one pair of eyes in the room was not on the two of them or, more precisely, on Dane.
Easy to understand the fascination, as in his black Prada suit with the black dress shirt underneath and black cashmere topcoat, he looked like he had just walked off the cover of a magazine.
The short jet-black hair and the steel-gray eyes, his sharp, chiseled features, his height, the width of his shoulders, his chest, and just the way everything fit…
He was breathtaking. The air of cool detachment, the absence of a smile, the way he oozed confidence…
His presence in a room was palpable; he charged the air around him.
I used to think I was romanticizing him, but after five years of being his assistant, after being with him when he met people, seeing their reactions, I knew it was simple truth.
The man was riveting, and there was no way not to notice.
I walked over to him, and he tossed me his digital camera.
“What am I doing with this?”
“Look at the woman in the fifth picture.”
I flipped through the photos as he was offered a drink that he graciously declined.
“Who is that?” he asked me, leaning in close, pointing at the screen.
I turned and looked up into his eyes. “That’s Sabine Farnsworth.”
The completely vacant look I got in return made me laugh.
“Who?”
“You went on, like, three dates with her,” I informed him.
“When?”
“Late July.”
He scowled at me.
“What?”
“Are you sure?”
“Am I sure of what? That you dated her?”
“Yes.”
I wasn’t positive whether he was kidding or not. I almost laughed.
“Jory, are you—”
“You’re not kidding.” I was in awe. “Holy shit.”
“Watch your language,” he snapped at me, shaking his head before he pointed at Truman. “Go thank him for his hospitality so we can go.”
I did as I was directed and hugged Truman, then Bette again before I caught up with my boss.
His hand went where it always did, to the back of my neck, as he steered me out of the house.
I would have walked into the side of the car, as I was looking at the rest of the pictures, but he grabbed the collar of my coat and yanked me to a stop.
“So what happened?” I probed, looking up at his profile.
“Get in,” he said flatly, holding open the door of his Mercedes for me. I liked this one better than the Lexus; it was bigger inside and had more bells and whistles.
I got in, leaned over, and opened his door before putting my seat belt on, still flipping through the photos. The camera was really nice, and from the looks of it, Jude’s new loft in River North was stunning.
“What’s he got? Like, two stories or something?” I asked when he got in.
“Yes.”
“It’s really nice.”
“Yes, it is.”
I waited until we were on our way before I asked again what had happened.
“Wait,” he said suddenly, pulling over to get out and take off his suit jacket and lay it over his topcoat in the back seat. When he got back in and pulled away from the curb, I asked him again what he’d done. There was no answer.
“Boss?”
“You know what?” He exhaled quickly. “Stop saying that, all right?”
I looked at his profile. “Stop saying what?”
“Boss.”
“Boss?”
“Yes, don’t—it’s not us anymore.”
This was news. “So what should I—”
“Just use my name. Just Dane, all right?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really,” he snapped at me.
“Okay.”
“Excellent.” He sighed, long and loud.
“So…fess up. What’d you say to Sabine?”
He cleared his throat.
“I’m waiting.”
Something was muttered under his breath that I didn’t catch.
“Sorry?”
“I told her it was a pleasure to meet her,” he grumbled.
I gasped.
“It’s not that bad,” her replied defensively.
My eyes widened as I stared at him.
He finally glanced at me and then rolled his eyes.
“You did not,” I said, utterly aghast.
“Shut up.”
“Oh shit,” I breathed out. “What’d she say?”
“She slapped me and left.”
I almost laughed, but I covered it with a lot of coughing.
“It’s not funny.”
“No, it’s really not.” I agreed wholeheartedly. “Jesus.”
“You’re not helping.”
I flipped through the pictures again.
“Say something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Should I say oh shit? ’Cause I’m thinking oh shit.”
“Jory—”
“Oh shit,” I breathed out again, my mouth falling open.
“It happens.”
“No,” I assured him, shaking my head.
“It does.”
“Again, no. That’s so bad.”
“Enough.”
“Christ, Dane, maybe it’s time to slow down, huh? Holy crap.”
“I truly had no idea who she was.”
“Holy crap,” I repeated.
“Stop saying that.”
“I can’t help it. She must have been so humiliated. I mean…I never really liked her, she didn’t eat deep dish and that was just weird, but damn, at least I remember who she is.”
He made a noise of disgust.
I raked my fingers through my hair. “Poor Sabine. She’s gotta be horrified.”
“I would imagine so.”
“Holy shit.”
He growled and told me to knock it off.
“She was the one with the great wine cellar, remember? I recall you mentioning that.”
Clearly, from the vacant look on his face, even with prodding, he had no idea.
“Well, I can tell you that she called for two weeks after you broke up with her.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“Because once you break up with them, I’m on deck.” I cracked a grin. “I handle cleanup.”
He looked at me hard.
“What?”
“You do a lot for me.”
“You pay me well to do so,” I teased him.
He grunted and leaned back, getting comfortable in the seat as he drove. “I turned down the food offer for you. Mr. Ward’s wife wanted to make you a doggy bag.”
“Oh, that would’ve been nice.”
“No,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t do charity.”
Which made no sense. “It’s a common form of kindness here on earth to give people food to take home with them when they leave. We even have special receptacles to carry the food in. It’s called Tupperware.”
He grunted again, and I settled back in my seat, watching the streetlights go by.
“I hate leftovers.”
We had been silent for several miles, and so his voice, coupled with the fact that he was still following the same train of thought, surprised me.
“What?”
“Leftovers,” he repeated. “I hate them. It’s never as good as you remember.”
“Uh-huh.” I smiled slowly. “You think maybe you’re overanalyzing this a little?”
He cleared his throat.
I waited, and when he remained silent, I was going to just start talking about something, anything, some random topic, but as I opened my mouth, he began.