Chapter Thirteen
Bethany eyed her figure in the full-length mirror in her bedroom, fighting a feeling of déjà vu. What were the chances Hank would bother to show up this time? And what did one wear to dinner with a television star anyway?
She stripped off the offensive yellow dress.
The plunging neckline was a bit too revealing.
Besides, yellow was a happy color, and it looked like lemons, and she sorta smelled like them after spending a good portion of the day baking lemon cookies.
She didn’t want to smell like food or seem too nice.
She wanted to appear businesslike. That’s what this was about.
Collecting the lease agreement and maintaining her business.
Getting Hank Haverill to agree to let her and Travis repurchase the building from him once they had the money.
She yanked a purple dress from the closet and pulled it over her head.
The dress fit her curvy figure without being too snug. No boobs in sight. Plus, purple was the color of royalty, which ought to count for something. She smoothed a hand through her hair. Now to tackle her mop of dark curls.
A knock sounded on the door. “Are you decent?”
Bethany grabbed a hairbrush from the vanity and hollered, “Yeah, c’mon in.”
Travis entered, moved a small pile of discarded clothes on her bed, and sat. “You don’t need to go out with him. I don’t care if he is our landlord. I’ll tell him where to go.”
Bethany ran the brush through her hair. “He’s not a bad person, Travis. He plans to fix up the building and rent to us for at least a few months. Why not humor him—it’ll cost a couple hours of time?” She squinted at her reflection in the mirror. “And I get a free meal.”
“It’s cool he’s Apollo and all, but why’s he hanging around, bothering us?”
She shrugged and found a lightweight sweater. “I suspect he’s bored. He broke up with his girlfriend. His show’s been canceled. He doesn’t have anything better to do. Does it matter? One dinner and we’re done.”
Travis flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Where’s he taking you?”
Bethany frowned at her reflection and pulled a headband that matched her dress over her hair. “I don’t know. He didn’t say, and I forgot to ask. Somewhere posh, I suspect. Do you think this is professional enough?”
Travis propped himself on his arms. “Sure. How do you know where to go?”
“He’s picking me up.”
“You think that’s smart?”
Bethany raised her eyebrows. “It’s not like he’s going to kidnap me.”
Travis sat up, his brows drawing together. “You don’t know what he’s capable of. He’s unpredictable like that scumbag, Desmond. This morning, he tried to pass himself off as a maintenance guy. Bought a toolbox from Doug’s Hardware. Who knows what he’s got in there?”
“A famous television star is unlikely to be a serial killer.”
A car pulled up in the driveway, causing goosebumps to travel down Bethany’s spine.
Her eyes met Travis’s in the mirror. Regardless of the bravado she pretended, the truth was Hank Haverill was about the scariest thing she’d dealt with since she had discovered their empty bank account after Desmond left town.
And not because she thought he was a serial killer.
But she had promised dinner in exchange for his cooperation, and Bethany planned to keep her end of the bargain.
She turned with a quick smile. “He’s here. Listen, I’ll text you my location as soon as I know what it is.”
Travis stood and gave her a quick hug. “If you want to come home early, I’ll come get you.”
Bethany thought about it for a moment. If the evening went south, she would be dependent on Hank for a lift. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“Text me. Even if you’re just uncomfortable, I’ll be right there.”
Bethany blinked away tears. She and Travis only had one another and their restaurant, which was why they looked out for each other. “Thanks, Travis. You’re the best brother ever.”
The doorbell rang, and Travis followed her to the front door, which she opened. She blinked at the short, balding man standing in the entrance. He was dressed in black pants and a blue dress shirt. A long black limo took up half the driveway.
“Oh, hi.”
“Hello, ma’am. I’m Louis, Mr. Haverill’s driver. I’m here to collect you.”
Bethany peered around him, but there was no one else outside. “Hank’s not here?”
The man smiled with a shake of his head. “No, he asked me to take you to your destination.”
“And where is that?”
“I believe he preferred it to be a surprise.”
“I’m not fond of surprises.” She shot the driver a cool look.
Louis did not hesitate. Used to Hank’s shenanigans, most likely.
“Understandable, ma’am. Mr. Haverill did say you might object to not having an address. Here it is.”
He handed a piece of paper to her.
“Edgewater Drive,” Bethany read.
Travis peered over her shoulder. “Looks like a private residence.”
“That it is, sir.”
“He must have rented a house,” Bethany said. “He didn’t mention that.”
“I believe he rented it today. As you might imagine, there is no guarantee of privacy in a public restaurant, so Hank thought dinner at home would be best.” Louis smiled and gestured toward the limo. “Are you ready, ma’am? I have instructions to get you there by seven.”
Bethany nodded. “Call me Bethany, please.” She turned to Travis with a smile she hoped looked reassuring and handed him the slip of paper. “Pick me up by midnight, unless you hear from me sooner . . . Cinderella and all that.”
“I’ll be there.” Travis’s gray-green eyes—so much like their dad’s—darkened with concern.
She gave him a swift hug. “Love you. I’ll be fine.”
Louis opened the door to the limo and waited for her to enter before shutting it. Bethany settled inside, air bubbles flitting around her stomach. She plastered on a smile to make sure Travis knew she was okay.
And then they were pulling out of the drive, and she was waving goodbye, and Bethany was certain she had just strapped herself into a roller coaster, and the first hill would be a doozie.
Hank lifted the lid on the shiny copper frying pan and took a whiff. The smell of carrots and chicken cooking in soy sauce mixed with garlic and sweet and sour hit his nostrils in a pungent burst. His stomach rumbled in anticipation. Other than the donut this morning, he had eaten little.
He picked up a big wooden spoon and stirred the concoction with one hand, then turned the burner off under a pot of rice with the other. He glanced at the time on the microwave at the same moment he heard the car in the drive.
Hank wiped his hands on a dish towel and went to open the door. A flicker of excitement darted through his veins. When was the last time he’d had this feeling of anticipation? He searched his memories, but nothing came to him.
He checked his appearance in the giant hall mirror to make sure nothing was stuck in his teeth. His hair was a bit messy, but his light blue shirt and white shorts weren’t stained.
He grabbed the door handle. Crap, he was losing it. Why the heck did the thought of Bethany spying a bit of carrot in his mouth or dirty clothes cause his heart to beat out of his chest?
He shook his head at his foolishness and turned the handle. He’d entertained plenty of women before. This shouldn’t be any different. But it is.
Hank plastered on his best Apollo smile and opened the door.
There she stood, stunning in a purple number that contrasted dramatically with her dark curly hair.
The evening sun cast a golden shadow across her face, and that, in combination with the dress, gave her a magical air.
Her large eyes, more gray than green at the moment, looked at him as if she’d never seen him before.
He stood a little taller in his loafers. His Apollo smile faded, and his heart thumped fast, reminding him of the first time he’d stood in front of a camera. Beads of moisture formed on his forehead. The words of welcome on the tip of his tongue disappeared in a mountain of mush.
“Umm, can I come in?”
The scent of lemons and sugar surrounding her stunned his senses.
The humidity this close to the lake caused her hair to look curlier than it did when he’d seen her at the restaurant.
A strand of it blew across her cheek, and without thinking, he reached out to brush it from her eyes.
She flinched as if he had struck her, and her cheeks turned pink.
He dropped his hand. “Yeah, sorry. I was . . . uh . . .” Pull yourself together, man. “In the kitchen.”
Never had he wanted to impress a girl as much as he wanted to at that moment. “C’mon in.”
Bethany hesitated, then crossed the threshold, and Hank fought an urge to scoop her up caveman style and carry her away. He would beat his chest and yell mine all mine to any who tried to take her from his arms.
He smiled at his foolishness and shut the door. His wild attraction to Bethany was the mood of a moment—here today and gone the next. How else to explain why rational thought deserted him in her presence?
“Something smells good. You’re cooking?” She stood there looking sweet and innocent and as tempting as any of his leading ladies. Except this was not the effect of makeup, costume, and millions of dollars in plastic surgery. She was as real as it got.
“I told you I’d make you dinner.” He presented her with a casual smile, which he hoped hid his thoughts. “Why do you persist in your disbelief, woman?”
He didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, he led her into the kitchen. “Follow me.”