Читать книгу If He Only Knew... - Debbi Rawlins, Debbi Rawlins - Страница 6

A T SEVEN-FIFTEEN, Cody slowly got out of the cab in front of Café Tu Tu Tango. He knew this was the right restaurant. Unlikely he’d have gotten both the name and location wrong, and the driver had known exactly where to go. But this definitely wasn’t the type of restaurant he’d had in mind. Nor would he have guessed it was the kind of place that met with Sara’s taste.

But then again, what did he really know about the woman? Other than she couldn’t be more wrong for him and had a wide smile that made him behave like a stupid prepubescent teen. In his saner moments he’d wondered about her many contradictions. She’d sublet a fifth-floor walk-up in Manhattan that was the size of a postage stamp, and she didn’t go with the rest of the staff to their daily lunches, preferring to eat alone in the park or at her desk from the same brown paper bag. Yet she wore really expensive shoes and, according to his sources, her purse cost a bundle, and it wasn’t a knockoff.

Nothing wrong with desiring the finer things. He settled for nothing less. But he knew how much money she made as a temporary office worker. Something didn’t add up. And that should have made him nervous. Not intrigued.

In fact, he almost hoped that he’d find out she was one of those women. The kind that lived in dives and spent all their money on expensive accessories and hung out at ritzy bars in the hope of finding a rich husband.

A couple of law school friends had been taken to the cleaners by women of that ilk, but he’d been lucky to avoid the trap himself. Actually, luck had nothing to do with it. He was careful. Selective. Although he had no political ambitions at this point, he had no intention of screwing up his career or any future options.

He looked again at the colorful restaurant sign. Café Tu Tu Tango? Maybe it was a Southern thing.

Taking a deep breath, he looked at his watch. One week. That’s all he’d be in Atlanta for. He’d probably have dinner with Sara a couple of times. Maybe even invite her back to his hotel for one discreet night. Then he’d head back to New York. How much trouble could he get into?

He headed for the door of the restaurant, his step quickening at the thought of seeing Sara. If he didn’t like the place, he’d persuade her to come back to the hotel with him, to the Atlanta Grill.

Just as he opened the door, a couple stumbled out. He quickly moved back, but the woman’s stiff blue spiked hair scraped across his chin, the heavy smell of gin assaulting his nostrils.

“’Scuse us,” the young man with an unfortunate tattoo scrawled around his neck said, and then guided his partner down the sidewalk.

Cody adjusted his right cuff. This obviously was not a good idea. Stepping inside the restaurant further convinced him. Not only was the place packed with people, but the room itself was a dizzying avalanche of color. And noise. God almighty.

There were paintings everywhere, on practically every surface. Everything from contemporary oils to copies of masterpieces. There was a rather loud three-piece band on a second-story stage, and dancers with big blue twirling skirts.

“Hi, do you have a reservation?” A pretty blonde, or she might have been had she not had both her nose and left eyebrow pierced and bolted, approached him.

“I don’t think so.” He glanced around, hoping Sara had also arrived early.

“Oops.” Sighing, the blonde consulted a list, using the tip of a bright pink fingernail that matched her short tight spandex dress. “We’re full up tonight.”

“Thank you, anyway.” He’d wait outside and give Sara the bad news. Meanwhile, he’d get them another reservation.

“Were you meeting someone?”

He’d already started to leave and withdrawn his cell phone to call the hotel concierge. “Yes, but that’s all right.”

“What’s the name?”

“Sara Wells.”

“Ah, yes. Chloe made a reservation for the two of you. The lady’s not here yet, though.” The woman smiled, and Cody caught a flash of a silver stud embedded in her tongue. “You can wait at the table or the bar.”

Damn. He jammed his cell phone back inside his suit jacket. “The table, thank you.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the door, futilely hoping to see Sara, and then followed the blonde to a table in the back of the restaurant.

Although the patrons were an odd assortment of yuppies and bohemian types, none appeared to be financially lacking. Judging by the abundance of Louis Vuitton and Chanel purses sitting on tables, and the gold Rolexes encircling many a wrist. Of course the accessories could all be knockoffs, or then again, supporting evidence of social climbing.

God, he didn’t want to think that about Sara. But he wasn’t going to be taken for a fool, either.

He sat down, taking the seat that faced the entry, and was promptly approached by a waitress who took his scotch order. While he waited, he glanced around and noticed that a young man was actually painting on a canvas while three others at his table watched. The abstract he worked on was actually pretty good. He couldn’t say the same for the acoustics. The music was too loud, and so was the laughter and chatter all around him. He’d wanted a nice, quiet dinner. One where he and Sara could talk.

The waitress returned with his drink, but before he could ask her anything, he saw Sara heading toward him. A simple, sleeveless cream-colored blouse was tucked into the slim waist of her jeans, and her blond hair seemed slightly wilder than he remembered her wearing it. Longer, too, skimming her shoulders. She looked so beautiful.

He started to rise but she waved for him to stay seated. To his amazement, his heart beat faster the closer she got to him. That hadn’t happened since he was twenty. In court, at times, while awaiting a verdict. But he hadn’t been this attracted to a woman since…

Since that damn kiss.

“Traffic was brutal,” she said as she pulled out a chair and gracefully sat down. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

“Just got here. And I’m early.” He’d forgotten how much he liked her lilting Southern accent. Not too pronounced. Soothing. Which was odd, because accents generally annoyed him.

She glanced at her watch, frowned and then promptly lowered her wrist and smiled. “Interesting place, huh?”

“That’s an understatement.”

She looked past him, her gaze narrowing as it flitted around.

“It’s got a lot of energy.” He caught their waitress’s eye as she served drinks at another table and she gave him a nod.

“I’ll say.”

“You seem surprised.”

She shifted, clearly uncomfortable, but only shrugged a shoulder. “I was getting my hair done when you called and I asked my hairdresser for a recommendation.”

“Ah. I like it.”

“What?”

“Your hair.”

“Oh.” She absently tugged at a curl that wound its way toward her cheek. “Not my usual.”

“No,” he agreed. At work she’d always worn her hair in a sleeker style, one he normally preferred on women. But this sexy tousled look suited her heart-shaped face and contradicted those clear, innocent blue eyes. “So where do you usually go?”

“Me?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

Sara gave a self-deprecating shake of her head, her lips curving. “I don’t go out much.”

He found that hard to believe. She had to have a lot of dates. “Really?”

She briefly met his eyes and then turned her attention to the waitress who’d finally shown up. Sara ordered white wine, and then changed her mind and asked for a frozen margarita. “Dakota got me hooked on those,” she said as the waitress walked away. “How is she, by the way?”

“Great. Busy as usual.”

Sara’s gaze narrowed. “So what are you doing in Atlanta?”

“Representing a client.”

“I didn’t think you ever left New York.”

He smiled. Basically, that was true.

“Seriously. I would’ve thought you’d have sent Matthew or Sterling.”

“Yes, well…” Of course he should have. Everyone in the office was probably wondering the same thing. Dakota had been the only one to call him on his decision to come himself. She’d even had the nerve to ask if Sara was the reason. As if he’d let his personal feelings influence a professional decision. “The guy I’m representing…his father is an important client and he’s called in a favor. His son’s gotten himself into a little trouble that’s become too public.”

She seemed to tense, her pink-tinted lips tightening as she leaned forward. “Anyone I would know?”

The local papers had already run the story so it wasn’t a matter of maintaining confidentiality. Her reaction, however, made him hesitate. He shook it off. What difference could it possibly make? “Harrison Manning Junior.”

“Ah.” She relaxed back in her chair. “I read something about him in the newspaper. He’ll never see the inside of a courtroom.”

“Not if I do my job,” he said, confused at the flash of anger in her eyes. “Do you know him?”

“He’s in the Journal a lot. This isn’t the first time he’s gotten himself in a mess.”

That was news to him. “Really?” Cody picked up his drink and took a sip while studying her over the rim, his curiosity piqued. This was supposed to be a slam dunk case.

She blushed a pretty pink, then shook her head. “I don’t really know. It’s just gossip.”

He decided he didn’t want to talk about Harrison Manning Junior. “What have you been doing?” he asked. “Since you got back.”

She looked down at her hands, then back at him. “Still temping.”

That surprised and annoyed him. She was too talented to still be drifting. “Dakota tells me you’ve taken some law classes…”

She nodded and then picked up one of the menus the hostess had left. “Have you had a look at this, yet?”

“She also told me that you’d caught a couple of significant errors in—”

She looked up, clearly flustered. “Are you trying to recruit me?”

“I thought I was making small talk.”

Sighing, she sank back. “Sorry. I had a bad day. Traffic. You know…”

“Well, since you brought it up, how would you like to assist me while I’m here? Thirty percent over whatever we paid you in New York.”

Her gaze met his, her blue eyes narrowing in alarm. Her lips, pink and glistening from a slow swipe of her tongue, parted slightly. “I already have a job this week.”

“Hey, that’s fine. That’s good. Just thought I’d…” He picked up his menu and pretended to read it. He had to stop staring at Sara before he said or did something stupid again. What if she’d accepted his ridiculous offer? Where had that come from, anyway? He’d always kept his social and professional life separate.

That was the problem. He didn’t know what he wanted from Sara. His whole attraction to her was weird. Sure she was gorgeous, but they basically had nothing in common. It wasn’t like college, where he felt free to pursue any woman at any time. Besides the fact that he wasn’t a kid anymore, his career was too important for him to not be discriminating.

“Cody, what are you really doing here?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts, her tone bordering on accusing, as if she’d read his mind.

He reluctantly looked up from the menu. “Excuse me?”

“Come on. Tell me.”

The challenge in her eyes made him smile. “I have a client—”

She tilted her head to the side. “I know why you’re here. I just don’t understand it.”

“Don’t understand what?”

“You barely gave me the time of day when I was in New York.”

“That’s not true.”

“And then that last night—” She briefly looked away, and then stared back with determination, leaning closer, the undersides of her breasts grazing the table. In a low voice, she asked, “What was that about?”

He felt his face flush in embarrassment. He turned to his menu and prayed for a waitress.

“Don’t be defensive. Please. I just don’t understand why you didn’t ask me out months ago.”

He looked up at the change in her tone. There was no accusation, just curiosity, and that he understood. “You were working for the firm.”

She looked him straight in the eyes. “Was that the only reason?”

He shook his head. “Man, I should’ve gone to a Braves’ game.”

“I assume that means I’m not going to get any more out of you, right? Well, that’s okay. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot. As for the Braves, they’re out of town, playing the Cubs. But they’ll be back on Wednesday.”

“You like baseball?”

Her eyes widened. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Uh, no. You go to the games?”

“Most of them. Are you a Mets’fan by any chance?”

Amazing. She was the only woman he knew who liked baseball. “Hell, yes.”

“I bet you have great season tickets.”

“I don’t have time to go to the games. I try to catch the scores on ESPN.”

“That’s sad,” she said earnestly. “The fun part of baseball is sitting in the stadium with all the noise and eating hot dogs and popcorn. Oh, and I love those big pretzels.”

He smiled at the rapture on her face, at the flash of memory from his college days. Before law school. Before life had gotten so damn complicated. “Don’t forget a tall frosty beer.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I can do without that.”

“Normally, I’d agree. But there’s something about a ball park dog and a cold beer that can’t be beat.”

Her lips curved in a mysterious smile before she obstructed it by taking a sip of her margarita.

The odd smile and her silence made his eyes narrow. “You know something I don’t?”

“Probably a lot of things.” Salt from the rim of the glass clung to her lower lip and she used the tip of her tongue to remove the small chunk. Slowly, as if she knew the act was driving him crazy.

He silently cleared his throat. “Is that right?”

She nodded, and then she went real still, staring at him as if she’d just now realized he was at the table. To say the look was unnerving was an understatement.

“What are you doing tomorrow night for dinner?” she asked.

The way she asked matched the gleam in her eyes, and he wasn’t sure if he should be thrilled or head back to New York on the next flight. “Why?”

“Here’s the thing.” She placed her clasped hands on the table and leaned forward with no hint of a smile. “This is my territory.”

“Meaning?”

“If you want to see me, it’ll be on my terms.”

Cody snorted. Who did she think she was talking to? He could have a date every night of the week if he wanted. With attractive Manhattan socialites. Prominent career women. Sara was a damn temp worker, and she thought she could dictate terms to him?

He drained his scotch. “What?” he asked, as he realized with a jolt that her terms might be very, very interesting. “What are your terms?”

“First, we’ll only—”

“Shelby?” A tall, balding man, wearing a well-tailored suit, approached the table. “I thought you were still in Europe.”

She blinked and her face paled. “Robert?” She shot out of her chair, glanced at Cody and said, “Would you excuse me?” before taking the man’s arm and steering him toward the front of the restaurant.

Cody watched until he couldn’t see her anymore, and then stared at the amber liquid at the bottom of his tumbler. Barely a taste of scotch remained. The man had called her Shelby, and she obviously knew him. She hadn’t been in Europe. She’d been living in New York. What the hell was going on?

Their waitress was taking orders at the next table, and Cody couldn’t decide if he should get another drink or disappear before Sara got back. What did he know about the woman, anyway?

Using a different name. Lying about going to Europe. Choosing a restaurant she’d never been to before.

It all spelled trouble.

He reached into his jacket for his wallet, anxious to pay his tab and get out, when he saw her heading back toward him, without the balding man. Long blond tendrils bounced as she walked and even from three table lengths away, he could see the sapphire blue of her eyes. But it was the slow wide smile and straight white teeth that got him. Right in the gut. And lower.

“Sorry,” she said in a breathy voice as she sat down. Her gaze briefly scanned the room behind him, before she met his eyes.

“What was that about?”

“He’s a family friend,” she said without blinking, without displaying any other sign she was lying.

“But he doesn’t know your name?”

Her eyebrows went up in challenge. “He mistook me for my sister.”

“Right.”

“Okay, here’s the deal.” She reached behind for the black leather purse she’d hung on the chair back. “As I said, my territory, my terms. This is nonnegotiable. I choose where we go, what we do. I’m leaving now. If you can deal with that, come with me. Otherwise, the best of luck on your case.”

He needed at least one more scotch. “Are you serious?”

She’d already gotten up and stopped only to give him a definitive nod before walking away.

Screw her. The woman was totally insane. His gaze stayed on the graceful sway of her slim hips, the way her jeans hugged the generous swell of her backside. Instead of getting his questions answered, he had a dozen more. She wasn’t just intriguing, she was infuriating. He should be grateful to get out of this so easily.

Shit.

He threw a couple of twenties on the table and then hurried after her.