Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
O n Saturday night, Flo wore a flirty black cocktail number that emphasized her trim waist, something she’d supposedly whipped out in a day, though Michaela was sure she’d been working on it long before that. Which meant her mother had known about this date days before she’d told Michaela.
Don’t think about it . She’d kept secrets, too, like that first amazing kiss on the boat.
When Walter Braedon pulled up in front of the townhouse, Flo rushed out the door, not even waiting for him to get out of the car and ring the bell.
Obviously, her mother thought Michaela would grill him like a dad sending his daughter off to the senior prom with a boy he’d never met. Michaela pulled aside the curtain on the long window beside the door and peeked out.
Good Lord, it was a limousine. And the handsome silver fox—Walter Braedon certainly qualified—climbed out and held the door open. He didn’t even let his driver do it. But he did hand Flo’s overnight case to the man, who put it in the limo’s trunk.
Then, oh my God, Walter Braedon kissed her. And it was no simple peck on the cheek.
All Michaela’s fevered mind could think was, Don’t let there be any tongue involved .
Okay, she was thinking like the prom queen’s dad.
Troy would be here in fifteen minutes. Michaela had dressed in leggings and a thin thigh-length sweater over a lacy camisole.
As well as lacy unmentionables. Which she had not told her mother about.
Michaela was no slouch when it came to cooking. Flo made all the meals now, since Michaela was working. But when Michaela was in middle school and high school, she’d prepared all the meals. Tonight, she’d made enchiladas from scratch, even guacamole, which was so much better than store-bought.
Troy arrived, wearing black jeans that hugged his magnificent tush and a tight long-sleeved T-shirt that showed off his pecs and washboard abs.
The man immediately blew all the air right out of her lungs. Michaela would have swooned if she’d been the swooning type.
He stepped inside, and when she thought he might kiss her, he merely bussed her on the cheek, even though she’d been hoping for more. He’d brought a bouquet of gorgeous red roses and a bottle of Cakebread chardonnay.
After she’d thanked him, he took in her simple townhome. She was almost embarrassed, considering how he must live.
The tiled foyer opened directly onto the living room.
When they’d moved in, Michaela had purchased a sofa with a lounger on one end, which was her favorite spot.
The two chairs flanking the other end of the sofa were mostly used only when they had guests.
A built-in cabinet on the opposite wall held the TV, stereo system, and a few knickknacks.
Troy scanned the décor with a nod. “Very nice. And tastefully decorated.” Then, as she led him into the kitchen, he asked, “Your mom’s already gone up to the city?”
She grimaced. “That’s a story. I’ll tell you over dinner.
It’s almost ready.” She’d laid two placemats and utensils on the table.
“I hope you don’t mind eating in the kitchen nook.
We don’t have a formal living room or dining room.
It seemed like a waste of space for the two of us.
” She felt as if she had to explain away what she’d always thought was perfect for her mom and her.
“I don’t mind at all,” he said, taking in the sunshine-yellow kitchen with its updated appliances and countertops. Since the cabinets had been in good condition, she’d kept them.
The timer dinged. “I’ll let the enchiladas rest for a couple of minutes.” When she removed the aluminum foil from the dish, the bubbling, lightly browned cheese was perfection.
“Anything I can do to help?”
He was so close and smelled so good, some all-male aftershave, that he made her a little jittery, and she decided to put him to work. “I’ll put the flowers in a vase if you’ll get the garlic bread out of the oven and put it in the basket. That would be great.”
As she fussed with the flowers, her thoughts immediately went to the meal—OMG, garlic bread . Stupid, stupid! She’d have to worry about garlic breath all night long.
But with two potholders and the tray in his hand, Troy bent to sniff the scented bread. “Delicious. I love homemade garlic bread.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t bake it, but I made the topping. And I added a bit of taco seasoning.”
He laughed. “You turned it into garlic ambrosia.” Then he pilfered a small end piece and tossed it in his mouth, making yummy noises as he chewed, his eyes on her.
Her breath wanted to explode out of her lungs all over again. Those sounds. That look. She couldn’t resist leaning close, swiping the other crust off the tray and popping it into her mouth.
Now they would both be garlicky. Maybe that’s what Troy had intended all along.
And maybe that meant he intended to kiss her at some point.
She wouldn’t be able to breathe properly until he did.
“Everything is perfection,” Troy said. Especially her. “I love enchiladas.”
She smiled and turned him inside out. “Thank you.”
He raised his glass. “To a brilliant matchmaker and a fabulous cook.”
Michaela laughed, the sound as delicious as the food. “It’s just enchiladas,” she drawled.
There was nothing just about it—not about her beauty, her exquisite body, her brilliant mind, or her scrumptious food.
She could never be just anything. She’d prepared enchiladas with a green salad and the garlic bread, serving it with the Cakebread chardonnay, even though they probably should have been drinking red. But he’d wanted to bring her favorite.
The vase of flowers was too big for the center of the table—he wouldn’t have been able to see her over them—so she’d set it to one side, the roses scenting the air. But even more seductive was the scent of her, something sweet, laced with pheromones.
“Tell me what’s got you in a tizzy about Flo.” He hadn’t forgotten that remark she’d made when he arrived.
His question brought another grimace to her kissable mouth. Then she leaned in to whisper, as if someone might overhear them, “She’s on a date.”
He wanted to laugh. Michaela sounded like it was the worst thing ever. “That’s nice.”
“An overnight date.” Each word succinct, with a hard T at the end.
Even better. Flo would be out all night. How could he be so lucky? “And that’s a bad thing?”
She shook her head, her gorgeous wavy hair cascading over her shoulders. “Not necessarily. She’s out to dinner and a show with Walter Braedon.” This time, she stressed Walter’s name as if that were a horrible thing. “And he’s a billionaire.”
Oh. The billionaire thing. It wasn’t just about Michaela; it was also about her mother.
“But Walter’s a great guy.”
She sipped her wine, then asked almost nonchalantly, as if his answer didn’t matter, “Do you know him well?”
“He’s had a lot more dealings with Dane than me, since Dane’s in the resort business.
But I know him well enough. And I’m considering that new deal with him, too, involving Matt Tremont.
Walter is very interested in the new exercise machine.
I talked to him about it the Monday after Gareth’s show.
” Walter had said how much he’d enjoyed meeting Flo and Michaela.
“But that’s business,” Michaela said. “This is personal. It’s my mother.”
He cocked his head, considering her. “Are you afraid she’s going to get hurt?”
She sighed and sipped her chardonnay, staring at her plate, worry lines creasing her pretty brow. Until finally she admitted, “Quite frankly, yes. Not that Walter would do anything intentionally, I’m sure. But my mother hasn’t been in the dating game since I was born.”
Troy felt his eyes widen. “Never?”
She shook her head, her beautiful eyes locked on his. “Never.”
“But she’s one of the loveliest ladies I’ve ever seen.” Michaela had inherited her beauty. “How could she not have guys hitting on her?”
“She’s very good at the cold shoulder.”
“But she didn’t give Walter the cold shoulder. In fact, they seemed very interested in each other at the gallery.”
Without a word, she shoved her plate aside and laid her head on the table.
Good God, was she crying? “I can have a talk with Walter. Ask him his intentions.” But they had an overnight date. “Are they staying in the same hotel room?”
Her hair muffled her voice. “It’s the penthouse suite in his San Francisco hotel. I think that means she’ll have her own room.”
At least there was that.
She sat up then, the imprint of the placemat on her cheek.
“I can’t believe I’m getting worked up because my mother has a date.
Do you know—” She pointed a finger at him as if he didn’t know.
“—I’ve been trying to match her for years .
I want her to be happy. And I’m letting my own fears get me worked up.
” When she paused, he felt a confession coming on.
“I might be a matchmaker, but I’ve kissed a lot of frogs.
That’s the matchmaker’s curse—they can match anyone else, but not themselves. ”
Thank God none of those frogs had turned into princes she could have fallen for. And that he wasn’t a frog. At least he hoped not.
“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. Because they’d met each other at just the right time.
She smoothed the placemat she’d mussed. “What I’d love for my mother is a modest, hardworking man who’s educated himself and made something of his life.”
He cocked his head. “But not a billionaire?”
She sighed. “Not a billionaire.”
“You think that someone from a relatively similar background—hardworking, with a good education—would fit better into your mother’s world?
” He understood they weren’t talking only about Flo, but about Michaela too.
But it was the other way around. Not that this fictional man would fit better into her world, but that she would fit better into his.
It came down to this: She didn’t think she was good enough for a billionaire.