Читать книгу Just 4 Play - Cindi Myers - Страница 10

MITCH WAS FIVE MINUTES LATE to meet Lana, but he wasn’t worried, because she was guaranteed to be ten minutes late. It was one of the things that annoyed him about her. That and her tendency to be arrogant, but he supposed that came from always being at the top of the social heap.

Still, in any relationship, you had to overlook certain things. Lana had other qualities he admired: she was attractive, well-dressed, intelligent and elegant. And she had the kind of connections he needed to establish himself as a businessman in this town. Not that he’d ever date a woman solely for her social status, but it was an added plus when you were trying to get ahead.

She breezed through the double doors of the bank lobby right on schedule, at ten after. Mitch rose from his chair and went to meet her, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Careful,” she cautioned, pushing him back. “I just had my hair done.”

Why that should make any difference, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if he was going to run his fingers all through her hair in the course of a hello kiss. Not that he could anyway, she kept it so firmly pinned in place.

“Lana, darling, you look lovely as ever.” Morton Montgomery emerged from his office to greet them. He patted his daughter’s shoulder and shook Mitch’s hand. “I’ve got all the paperwork ready for you. Why don’t you come right in and we’ll go over it all.”

Mitch followed Lana and her father into an office whose predominant theme was dead animals. Mounts of bighorn sheep, deer, elk, moose and even a mountain lion occupied most of the wall space. Mitch took a chair with his back to the lion and smothered an expression of distaste.

“So have you had a chance to check out the property yet?” Mort asked as he settled into a full-grained leather executive chair.

“I was over there this afternoon. I must say, it’s not at all what I thought it would be.”

Mort pursed his lips and nodded. “Still, not the sort of place you’d want your name associated with.”

“What sort of place is it?” Lana looked at him, a pleasant expression on her perfectly made-up face.

Mort cleared his throat. Mitch resented the warning. He’d already agreed Lana didn’t need to know the nature of the business he’d inherited. “Nothing special.” He waved away the question. “A restaurant will do much better in that location, I’m convinced.” His throat tightened only a little at the lie. He had been convinced a restaurant was a better financial venture until he’d seen the books at Just 4 Play. So convinced he’d sold most of his other real estate around town in order to put everything into this new enterprise. But who would have thought there could be so much money in sex?

“We’ve already had an appraisal done.” Mort handed across a folder. “And here’s the preliminary paperwork for the construction loan. You’ll have no problem qualifying for the funds you need. All we’re waiting on now are the architectural plans and the permits from the city.”

“I should have everything ready in thirty days.” He closed the folder and returned it to the banker.

“Excellent. I think this is going to be an excellent investment, Mitch. Something we can all be proud of.” Mort grinned. “So do you two have plans for the evening?”

“We have reservations at the Boulderado.” Lana picked up her purse and stood. “We need to leave now, or we’ll be late.”

On the way to the restaurant, Mitch only half listened to Lana’s account of an annoying client who’d visited her CPA firm that day. He was replaying the conversation in Mort’s office. Why did it bother him that Mort had said the restaurant was something they could “all” be proud of? Wasn’t Mitch the one who was doing all the work? Wasn’t he the one who’d earned the right to be proud—or not? Or did Mort think a simple business loan gave him control over the project—and over Mitch?

The maître d’ at the Boulderado welcomed them with a smile and escorted them to their favorite table in the atrium. “Should I have the wine steward bring your usual?” he asked.

“Yes, James, that will be fine,” Lana said as she settled into her chair.

James started to leave, but Mitch stopped him. “Wait. Instead of the merlot, let’s have a chianti.”

James and Lana both stared at him. “But we always have the merlot,” Lana said.

He nodded and spread his napkin across his lap. “Tonight, I’d like something different.”

“Yes, sir.” James hurried away.

Lana regarded him with a half smile on her lips. “Feeling feisty tonight, are we?”

“Something wrong with that?” He kept his voice light, but there was no mistaking the challenge in the words.

“No. It’s just not like you to be so…different.”

The truth of her words wounded him. Maybe Uncle Grif had been right. Maybe he was a stick in the mud. Well, that didn’t mean he had to stay that way. People changed. He could change without sacrificing his integrity in the process.

He started by ordering broiled trout for dinner instead of his usual prime rib. Lana compressed her lips into a thin line, but said nothing. Mitch sipped the excellent wine and regarded her over the rim of the glass. Her dark hair was drawn back from her face and gathered in a low knot, the kind ballerinas wore. He supposed people would say she had a classical beauty—fine features, with deep-set green eyes and a Roman nose.

“Is something wrong?” She looked puzzled.

He shook his head and picked up his fork. “No, nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why were you staring at me?”

He forced a pleasant smile to his lips. “Maybe I simply enjoy looking at you.”

She dismissed the compliment with a frown and began cutting up her prime rib with the precision of a surgeon. “I saw Jerry Brenham at lunch today. He says the Canterbury Apartments are going on the market next week. If you call him now, you could make a bid before anyone else.”

“Actually, I’m thinking of getting out of the rental market altogether.”

She raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow in question. “But why? The Boulder rental market is one of the most profitable in the country.”

“Yes, but I’m tired of being a landlord.” At least with his own restaurant, he wouldn’t have tenants calling him up in the middle of the night to complain about a lack of hot water or the noisy neighbors.

“You should hire a management company. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with tenants.”

“I like being personally involved in a business. That’s why I decided to open a restaurant.”

She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin, careful not to smear her lipstick. “I can’t imagine why. Half the fun of having money is being able to delegate the work to someone else.” She stabbed at a piece of beef. “Then you can go out and make more money.”

It always came back to money with Lana, didn’t it? he thought. They’d met at an investment seminar. He’d been attracted to her from the first because she was so different from him. She had a grace and ease in social situations he wanted to emulate, and a cool reserve he felt could help him keep a tighter reign on his own sometimes tumultuous passions.

The fact that she was the kind of woman who would have never looked at him twice when he was a struggling scholarship student in college made the challenge of winning her that much more exciting. And now here they were, if not engaged, then certainly “in a relationship.” But a relationship based on what—business?

They had dinner every Wednesday at the Boulderado, and attended the theater or a concert every Friday. He usually stayed at her condo two nights a week. She never stayed at his place; she said she couldn’t be comfortable there.

Why hadn’t he realized before how boring and predictable his life had become? He looked at his plate. Right down to the same New York cheesecake every Wednesday night for dessert.

“Mitch, why are you so quiet? Haven’t you been paying attention to a word I’ve said?” Did he imagine a note of annoyance in her voice?

He pushed his plate away. “I don’t want to talk about business tonight.”

She frowned. “Then what do you want to talk about?”

He leaned back in his chair and studied her across the table. “Why don’t we talk about us?”

Her eyes widened and she looked away. She balanced her knife and fork precisely in the center of her plate and folded her napkin neatly beside it. “I’m listening.”

And what did he have to say? How could he describe this restlessness he felt? “Lana, do you ever think about doing things differently?” he asked.

“Doing what things differently?” She sipped her coffee.

Decaf, extra cream, no sugar, Mitch thought.

“Anything. Everything.” He leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “For instance, sex.”

Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean—do you ever think about…experimenting. Dressing up in sexy clothes or using some massage oil or…something.”

By this time her cheeks were the color of ripe apples and her lips had almost disappeared as she compressed her mouth into a thin line. “Really, Mitch. Why would you want to do any of that?”

“I don’t know…because it might be fun. Because maybe we’ve both been a little too…repressed.”

She stared at him. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing’s gotten into me. I just think my life has grown a little…boring. I don’t see what’s wrong with wanting to try something different.”

“I’m sorry if you think I’m…repressed.” She jerked her napkin from her lap and deposited it on the table.

“Lana, I didn’t mean you—”

“I think I’d better leave now.” She stood and clutched her purse to her chest.

“Lana, I—” The apology froze on his lips. He couldn’t say he was sorry, because he wasn’t. What was wrong with a couple talking about these things?

“Don’t bother to get up. I’ll call a taxi.” She gave him a last wounded look and hurried past him.

He told himself he should go after her. That’s probably what she wanted. But why should he pursue her? If Lana wasn’t even willing to listen to his point of view, what did that say about their relationship? He’d thought the safe, orderly routine they’d fallen into was what he wanted, but he realized that wasn’t enough anymore.

So no, he wouldn’t go after her. Actually it was a nice change sitting here alone, sipping his wine and thinking.

Mostly he thought of Jill. How different she was from Lana. Or from any other woman he knew. She was frank without being crass, funny without being phony. She looked like the girl next door and dressed like an erotic temptress. He’d only met her this afternoon but he already felt like she knew more about him than most people. She’d picked up right away on the reason he wanted to close Just 4 Play, and hadn’t been the least bit impressed with his position or power. She hadn’t cared if he owned a whole city block of businesses or if he was a scholarship student at the university.

He smiled, remembering the way she’d asked “What’s your fantasy?”

But his smile faded as her other words came back to him. Was she right? Was he too uptight? Had he forgotten how to have fun?

She couldn’t know how little room in his life there’d been for fun. From the time he was seventeen, he’d been looking after his mother and little sister, Meg. He’d worked and gone to school, and been there for every band concert and school program of Meg’s. Now that Meg was a premed student, she didn’t need him so much—except to pay the bills. And that meant he had to devote himself to business. To meeting the right people, making the right investments. He’d worked hard to develop a certain reputation. For Meg’s sake, as well as his own, he couldn’t let something like owning a sex toy shop cast a shadow over everything he’d worked for. People judged you more harshly when they knew you came from nothing. If too many people thought that way, you could end up with nothing again.

He’d have time for fun later. Right now he had to take care of his responsibilities.

Which brought him back to Jill. She was one of his responsibilities now too. And Sid. He would let them know he’d treat them fairly. He’d give them a generous severance package and help them find other jobs. Maybe he’d even offer Jill a job in his new restaurant. It would be nice having her around. Maybe one day, she’d even come to think of him as a friend.

JILL WAS SURPRISED TO FIND Mitch hard at work in Grif’s office when she arrived at Just 4 Play the next morning. At least, from the looks of the papers spread out on the desk in front of him, he’d been working; when she knocked on the door frame and stepped through the open door, he was staring into space.

When she came into the room, he glanced at her, then straightened. “Good morning, Jill.”

“Good morning. I see you’re here early.”

“I’ve been here since nine. That’s not exactly early.”

“It is around here. We do most of our business in the evening, though the lunch hour is good, too. People like to pop in and pick up a few things.”

“That gives a whole new slant on the idea of a quickie.”

The remark startled a laugh out of her. Yesterday, Mitch hadn’t struck her as a man with much of a sense of humor. Which just went to show, first impressions aren’t always accurate. “Finding anything interesting?” She nodded at the paperwork on his desk.

He glanced down at the folder in front of him, then closed it. “Tell me, what did you think of Grif?” he asked.

“Grif?” The question surprised her. Why was he interested in her opinion of his uncle? “I liked him,” she said. “He was a fun guy.”

“That’s it? A fun guy?”

“Yeah. I mean, he knew how to enjoy life.” Unlike some uptight people I could name. She leaned against the desk. “I’ll bet he was your favorite uncle, huh?”

Was the hurt that flashed across his face grief, or something else? He pushed the file away. “Did you need something?”

So much for getting to know each other better. Good thing she wasn’t the type to give up easily. She flashed him her most dazzling smile. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday.” She moved around to sit on the edge of the desk. Her skirt rose up on her thigh, not an indecent amount, but enough that she was sure he noticed. She’d purposely dressed more conservatively today, in a simple skirt and sleeveless knit top. Sometimes what a man couldn’t see was more enticing than what was right out in the open.

His color heightened as he glanced at her, then he jerked his gaze away. “What in particular were you thinking about?”

“What you said about most people being more interested in Kung Pao than the Kama Sutra.”

“Oh?”

With one syllable, he lobbed the conversation back to her. But that one word told her a lot. He was interested all right, but determined not to show it. “I think, in general, people do tend to think about food more than sex, but maybe that’s because we eat three times a day. I mean, food is always there, practically right in front of us.”

“But most people don’t have sex three times a day.”

She smiled. “No, I think it’s safe to say most people don’t have sex nearly that often.”

He nodded, still somber as a judge, though she thought she caught a hint of amusement in his voice. “If they did, it would severely interfere with work.”

“In that case, it would probably be outlawed altogether. We mustn’t let anything get in the way of the economy.”

He laughed, and she counted that a minor victory. “So what are you trying to say?”

She picked up a pencil and smoothed her fingers along its length. “That sex is more special than food. That we shouldn’t take it for granted. And if dressing up or playing with toys or using other things makes sex special for people, then that’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

He sat back, leaning away from her, his pose casual, but the tension in his shoulders letting her know he was aware of her in the way a man is aware of an attractive woman. “What’s wrong with the old-fashioned way? A man and a woman, no props?”

She looked directly at him for the first time since she’d come into the office, her expression serious, chasing the mirth from his eyes. She wet her lips, her voice low, seductive. “With the right man and woman, that can be wonderful.”

He held her gaze, not flinching. “Then they don’t really need places like this.”

“No.” She leaned closer. The spicy scent of Aramis sent a warm tickle through her midsection. “Do you like cake?”

He blinked. “Cake? I guess so. It depends on the cake.”

“Chocolate cake. Devil’s food. With so much chocolate, it’s almost black. Sinful.” She wet her lips. “With chocolate buttercream icing an inch thick.”

He swallowed. “And your point is?”

“Just 4 Play is like the icing on that cake. The cake is good without the icing, but it’s so much better with it.” She dropped her gaze to his lips. All this talk of sweet indulgences made her wonder what it would be like to kiss him.

Apparently she wouldn’t find out today. “That doesn’t mean I have to be the one to sell the cake.” He sat forward again, his voice firm, the spell between them broken. “Or the icing. Or sex toys and lingerie.”

She frowned. “You’d rather sell Chinese food. Something people can get at half a dozen other places in town.”

“But not this Chinese food. I have a five-star chef who’s going to create a special menu. We’re not talking your average dollar-a-scoop buffet.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and swung one leg impatiently against the desk. “It’s still something ordinary. Expected.” Why did it disappoint her so much that he’d settle for something anyone could do?

“Men have built fortunes providing people with ordinary services,” he said.

She leaned forward, pinning him to the chair with her gaze. “But it’s the risk-takers who’ve really made a difference in this world. Besides, you’d have more of a chance of making a fortune sticking with Just 4 Play. But of course, that wouldn’t be respectable.”

He frowned. “You say that like it’s a bad word.”

“Only if you’re willing to settle for the ordinary, instead of the extraordinary.”

“So you’re saying Just 4 Play is extraordinary?”

“It could be. How are you going to know if you don’t stick around and find out?”

“I guess I’ll take that chance.”

She slid off the desk and looked down at him. “I think you’ve forgotten what it means to really take chances,” she said. “If you ever knew.”

She turned and left, but not before glimpsing the hurt that flashed through his eyes at her parting words. Good. She’d made at least one point. And planted the seeds for further victories. She would convince Mitch Landry to see things her way. And maybe she’d show him what he’d been missing living his safe, conventional life.