Chapter Nine
Color Zoey not surprised that Archer was in the kitchen bright and early on Tuesday morning when she staggered out of her room wanting coffee.
All of this reminded her of the old days, when her family never went anywhere without a chauffeur and a bodyguard.
Even now, her dad still employed two regular bodyguards, but it was nothing like it was back when he was getting death threats.
In a throwback to her childhood, she now had her own chauffeur—her handsome, brooding, very Italian chauffeur.
If life were a romance novel, she’d quickly fall into bed with said man, immediately fall in love and, after a few obstacles, live happily ever after with him.
Or, if her life was a cozy mystery novel, she’d find him dead in the kitchen, a knife sticking out of his back.
Then she’d have to solve the mystery with the help of her gardener.
Neither of those scenarios was going to happen, but sooner or later she would solve the mystery of Archer Rossi. Last night, he’d watched TV with her and had not once complained about her choices. They hadn’t discussed the hospital situation again, and she thought it best that way. For now.
This morning, she found him dressed in his usual uniform of black slacks that fit him like a glove, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a tie.
“I made a coffee run,” he said, and handed her a cup from Ava Del Toro’s café, The Bean. “Here’s your pumpkin spice latte.”
Zoey rubbed her eyes and accepted it. “Thank you.”
He pointed to her Styrofoam cup. “I don’t know how you and my sisters can drink that stuff.”
“Because it’s divine and it only happens once a year, and we need to celebrate the little things.”
Honestly, Zoey would bathe in pumpkin spice if she could. It was a crime that it was only available once a year, but then again, it made her appreciate it that much more.
“I don’t suppose you thought of breakfast while you were out,” Zoey said. “The most important meal of the day.”
“I never eat breakfast.” He shook his head.
“You never…you never eat breakfast?” She stuck her hand on her hip. “Did you mother let you get away with that?”
“I got away with a lot, being the only son.”
Zoey snorted. “No doubt.”
She could not imagine what her father would have done with a son.
Zoey’s mother could not have any more children, but at one time, she had confided in Zoey that she’d worried about a son having to live up to his father’s legacy.
No thoughts as to how a daughter would do the same. Kind of old-school, her parents.
“Well, we are not leaving until we both have some protein in our system.” She reached for her blender and some protein powder. “The only way I used to get away without breakfast was with a power shake.”
Zoey would take care of this man or die trying. She scooped in the powder, almond milk, frozen strawberries and a handful of kale. After blending the ingredients together, she poured the beverage into two travel mugs and handed one to him.
“We can drink breakfast on the way.”
* * *
This morning, Archer had kale in his breakfast. He was working incognito at a boutique.
If only his friends could see him now! He and Zoey had decided the other day that he would pretend to work at the shop.
He’d rather have pretended to be her boyfriend, because pretending was as far as he’d ever get with someone like her.
But no, here he was, faux consultant to fashion choices.
He couldn’t have been further out of his wheelhouse.
The woman in front of him held two dresses against her. “Be honest. Which do you think would look best on me? The blue or the black?”
“I don’t feel qualified to say,” Archer said. “Why not ask Zoey? I am here giving advice to men.”
“And there are no men here now,” she said, and pointed to Zoey. “She said you would help. I actually need a man’s opinion.”
He scowled and caught Zoey’s eye. She simply grinned.
“C’mon, what do you think?” She held up and jiggled one dress in one hand and then the other.
“Well.” He tugged on his tie, not having a clue. “I’d say the black one.”
She took a better look at the dress, draped it against her body. “Here’s a better look at the dress on me. Still think black is good for my complexion?”
“Black is always good,” he insisted.
“Is that because it’s all you ever wear?” She canted her head.
“It suits my mood,” he said between clenched teeth.
“I don’t know, I like color,” she said.
“It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”
This was taking him back to the good old days when he’d had girlfriends who would ask him for advice without really wanting it. All they ever wanted was for him to say, “Looks good.” The eternal question was why anyone would ask him and not want the truth?
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, putting the black one back. “I have made up my mind.”
“How about some jewelry with that?” Zoey appeared behind the counter. “You’re going to need some bling.” Zoey held up a sapphire blue necklace. “This piece I just got in and it’s truly one of a kind.”
“That’s gorgeous!” The woman held a hand to her chest. “But what does he think?”
Both women turned to him expectantly and he felt his jaw tighten into crush mode.
“Yes, what do you think?” Zoey batted her eyelashes comically. “We need a man’s opinion.”
He wanted to say, “You don’t need a man’s opinion…you’re just having fun torturing me!”
Instead, he nodded. “Very attractive.”
“I’ll take it!”
The woman grabbed the necklace, thankfully without asking him what he thought of it against her neck. Finally, she was off, carrying her purchases with a wave.
“Thank you! That was a good sale.” Zoey appeared at his elbow. “You are turning out to be quite a gem, pun intended.”
He was far more like a rock, but when she set her chocolate brown eyes on him, he did feel, if not shiny and bright, maybe a little bit less…broken.
He caught himself staring at her a little too long and cleared his throat. “I notice you don’t have many men coming in.”
“That’s true, but I do carry an assortment of men’s ties and accessories, as well as some beautiful leather jackets, because women like to shop for their men.” She walked toward a sumptuous brown leather jacket and slid her hand down the lapel. “Once in a while, I do get a male customer.”
“It makes my job easier not to have random men in here, and I’ll know to look out for the few brave souls that show up.”
“You had better not chase any men out of here.” She shook her finger. “I need the business.”
Then she said something that struck fear in his heart.
“This jacket would look good on you. It looks like your size.”
“No. It won’t fit, and anyway, I don’t do leather.” He shrugged. “Well, not anymore.”
“Then you’re missing out because women love a man in leather. It’s so sexy.”
“What? Why?” This was a sincere question but she laughed.
“A man in leather is confident, self-assured. Sometimes, though not always, they drive a motorcycle.”
She landed on the word motorcycle as if it was a simile for orgasm.
“I hope you don’t have any plans to hop on a motorcycle anytime soon, because I will have to torpedo those plans.”
“No, I don’t, and you are starting to sound like my father.” She took the leather jacket off its hanger. “Here, just try it on.”
“Um, no. Thanks, but no.” He straightened. Let her see he meant no.
“Please?”
He tugged on his tie, the lilt in her voice unnerving him. “Look, over there. I think you have a customer.”
She didn’t bother looking. “I do, and it’s you. I’m going to get you to relax and unwind if it’s the last thing I do.”
“And you think leather is going to help?”
“It can’t hurt.” She now held the jacket in her hands by the shoulders, shaking it, threatening him with it.
“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “I am not going to unwind on the job, but sure. Why not? Give me the stupid jacket if it will get you to stop talking about it.”
He tried to take it from her but she held it out, and after rolling down his shirtsleeves, she slipped it on one arm and then the other.
It went on easily so she’d guessed correctly on size.
But as he expected, he didn’t feel any differently because it was leather.
The jacket had nothing to do with the way he felt.
If he had relaxed at all, it had everything to do with Zoey.
It had to do with the way she smiled, with a mix of acceptance and heated desire.
And, as if she’d seen exactly what she wanted…and it was him.
Or the jacket.
Archer whipped out of his trance when the doorbell chimed.
A man had just walked into the shop. He didn’t look much like a threat, wearing jeans and an unassuming polo shirt, but Archer knew far better than to judge a book by its cover.
He turned to Zoey, to gauge her reaction, and a shot of alarm coursed through him.
Her eyes had opened wide; she was clearly shocked to see this man.
But this was not Scott—Archer had seen enough photos to know.
He turned to block the strange man’s approach.
“Can I help you?” Archer said putting his body between them.
Zoey came around him. “Peter? What are you doing here?”
Peter. Wait, who the hell was Peter? Archer had not been told of anyone named Peter.
“You know this man?” Archer asked, glad he hadn’t tackled him. That would be tough to excuse twice.
“Yes,” Zoey said. “I know him.”
There was no fear in her tone, but he thought he detected a hint of apprehension. He would need to know more about this man, and soon.
“It’s been a while,” Peter said. “A long while.”