Читать книгу Have Me - Jo Leigh - Страница 8

REBECCA ARRIVED AT HER building just before 6:00 a.m. She needed coffee and lots of it. Facing her to-do list was not something she was looking forward to but there was no getting around it.

Her suite on 33rd was a behemoth. The size itself wasn’t the issue—it was the fussy ostentation that got to her, the image that nearly outweighed their purpose. There was an enormous fresh-flower display next to the huge mahogany reception desk. Warren, the receptionist, wouldn’t be in until eight-thirty, and Rebecca’s personal assistant, Dani, had been coming in at eight lately, an hour earlier than she had to. It was very, very still with no one else on the floor, but then that wasn’t unusual. The air of gravitas was nurtured like a living thing in this fortress.

Rebecca didn’t make a sound on the plush burgundy carpeting in the long hallway that led to her office. She swiped her key card, put her briefcase on her desk, her purse in her credenza drawer, and went to the small private room—the truest symbol of how much the founders had prized their creature comforts. She headed straight for the coffeemaker.

Once she’d finished with the prep and pressed the button for the machine to start brewing, she turned and leaned on the counter. There was a huge LED television mounted on the wall across from the deep and supremely comfortable leather chairs, museum-worthy paintings on the muted walls and a couch with such deep bottom cushions that it was more suitable to napping than sitting. Fresh flowers were here as well, replaced weekly by a service that understood decorum while making a point that when it came to the details, no expense was spared. It was as ridiculous as it was sacrosanct.

She was the first woman to ever run the foundation, and her ideas about modeling their business plan after the great philanthropic organizations like the Rockefeller Trust or the Carnegie Group continued to be an uphill war. Picking her battles had been one of her first and most important lessons.

That’s why she tried hard not to resent the time and money being spent on the donor dinner. The guest list included most of the Forbes top-fifty richest people in the world. They gave millions so that after all these years, their endowments were in the billions. She needed to remember that and just do the job.

Preparing her coffee in her favorite mug soothed her, letting her prioritize the next few unencumbered hours. It wasn’t until she took her first sip that her thoughts turned to Jake. And there was a problem.

Not her excitement, that was a pleasure and a rush. It wasn’t like her to want a man purely for sex. She was, in theory, at least to quote her mother, above that sort of thing.

Guess not, Mom.

When she returned to her desk, instead of clicking on her email, she got her purse from the credenza and took out Jake’s trading card.

Oh, yeah. She wasn’t at all sure why, but looking at him made her clench all kinds of important muscles. She hadn’t even met him and his face started a chemical spike inside her. The exact same reaction had occurred each time she’d sneaked a peek at his photograph. She refused to acknowledge how often that had been.

The problem was, with this level of excitement over the two-dimensional image, how on earth was the very three-dimensional living man going to measure up?

It was all about narrowing her expectations. She could do that. It wasn’t as if she wanted to fall in love with Jake or for him to love her. She hoped to like him, though, because she knew from experience that if he was a complete jerk, her attraction would vanish in an instant.

They were going to meet for drinks and that was to her advantage. She didn’t normally indulge to the point of feeling buzzed, but when she did, she became more forgiving. And, if it came down to it, she could probably get him to not talk at all.

She put his card away, determined not to look at it again until after work. Not only was she slammed for time, but she needed to get home early enough to go the extra mile with grooming. Oh, the joys and pains of getting naked with someone new.

She clicked on her email icon, and the sheer number of new messages was enough to chase away any thoughts of sweaty sex. Especially when the first of the emails was from her father. That never ended well.

THE MORNING COFFEE WAS already made by the time Jake limped his way down the stairs. It was freezing outside. Sitting in the kitchen, his father was bundled up in a thick wool sweater and had a lap blanket tucked around his lower half as he warmed his hands on his old NYPD coffee mug.

“The weatherman says we’re in for a cold one tonight.”

Jake nodded as he fixed his mug. Two sugars, half and half. He didn’t drink until he slid onto the banquette in the breakfast nook. He needed to do something about the cushion covers. They were almost as old as he was and the regular washings had made them threadbare and pale. “I’m going to the city.”

“Yeah?” his dad asked.

“Yeah.”

“Date?”

Jake drank some coffee, sighing in satisfaction as it warmed him. “Yeah.”

“I’ll get Liam to spend the night, then?”

“Already cleared it with him. He’s bringing over DVDs.”

“Ah, shit,” his father said, putting his mug down on the counter, then turning his wheelchair a few degrees so he faced Jake. “That means another goddamn Bruce Willis festival. Swear to Christ, Liam has, a whatchamacallit, a bromance, going with that guy.”

“What’s it matter? Pete’s got a hard-on for his car.”

“Yeah.” Mike picked up his cup again. “Everybody’s got something. Except you. What do you got a hard-on for, Jake?”

“What the hell kind of a question is that?”

“Watch the tone. I’m still your father. I’m wondering, that’s all. You spent a lot of time wanting to be in vice, then all those years doing undercover work. I’m thinking there’s gotta be something else now. Something, please God, more interesting than Bruce Willis movies.”

Jake drank some more coffee, not sure how to answer the question. If he should answer at all. But no, he would. He and his dad had spent a lot of years being distant. What with the work, then with Mom dying of cancer, and Jake having to be so hush-hush about everything. He’d decided to fix up the house by himself because he wanted to know his old man. Wanted someone to know him in return. Now was not the time to back off. “I don’t know, Dad. I got nothing. Just the house.”

“That’s not gonna last forever.”

“Nope. But it’s something to do while I learn how to be a civilian.”

“I hear that.”

Jake nodded in tandem with his father. It wasn’t easy, this talking thing. But dying alone in a warehouse filled with drug dealers wasn’t easy, either. He could do this. The worst that would happen? He’d look like an idiot. He already did that without trying. “I’ve got a date tonight,” he said. “She a looker.”

“Good for you,” Mike said. “Nice woman?”

“Never met her. Comes highly recommended, though.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s a Winslow.”

“Those Winslows?” His dad settled his cup snugly on his lap as he wheeled over to the nook. “What the hell does one of those Winslows want with you?”

Jake laughed. “No idea. Looking forward to finding out.”

“Probably heard who your old man was. Couldn’t resist.”

“You keep telling yourself that. See what happens.”

Mike awkwardly put the cup on the table, and Jake held back his wince. It was getting harder for his father to hold the damn mug at all, as his fingers twisted and bent. But there was no use crying about it. There wasn’t a cure, and the medicines and physical therapy could do only so much. Retrofitting the house was what Jake could do, was doing.

“You know Sally Quayle? Three doors down, her husband was killed in Afghanistan last year?”

“Oh, no, Dad. Come on. We talked about this.”

“We did, and we agreed.”

“I’m not goddamn Santa and I’m not the neighborhood fixer. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m also busy.”

“There’s always time to do right. She’s worried about being alone. Thinking of buying a gun.”

“Ah, crap. You want me to go talk to her.”

“I do. We all do. She needs to know how dangerous that could be. Go over her house security. Make sure she’s safe, yeah?”

Jake sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go over this week. After I get a good start on the new shower.” Why was it the only time Jake sounded like he was from Brooklyn was when he was home? He’d had the accent scared out of him at St. Francis Xavier high school, but it always came back the moment he was in the neighborhood.

“This week is fine. And don’t start anything too big on the shower this afternoon. You need to look your best tonight.”

“I what?”

Mike sniffed. “You’re my only son. And a certified hero. She should know who she’s dealing with, this Winslow woman.”

What could Jake say? “Sure thing, Dad. I’ll shave and everything.”

REBECCA PAID THE CAB DRIVER, then got out on East 50th Street at the entrance to the Kimberly Hotel. She’d chosen it because the rooftop bar had spectacular views of Midtown. Also she liked the way they made their gimlets here with a very unique lime cordial. It didn’t hurt that their luxury suites were gorgeous, the feather beds to die for. Even if magic didn’t happen between her and Jake, she’d enjoy staying the night by herself, and if that happened, she already decided she’d be utterly decadent with room service.

With that in mind, she went inside, her gaze lingering on the lobby’s beautiful grandfather clock as she went to the front desk. She handed them her overnight bag and her coat to put in her room. Registration took no time at all and once her key card was in her purse, she went to the lobby restroom. She had to remind herself that whatever happened would be fine, that if he was an ass, she’d lose nothing but a fantasy. Still, she wanted that fantasy, so she freshened her lipstick, fluffed her hair, checked her breath and let her heart pump and her hopes soar as she caught the next ride up.

It was the express to the roof, not giving her much time to think, which was good. There were only three men in business attire aboard, none of them speaking, although she had the feeling they’d been in the same meeting. They all looked as though they’d been to the battlefield and lost and that drinks at the penthouse bar would be a just reward.

Her nerves hit what she hoped was their peak as they reached the thirtieth floor. It was all she could do not to take Jake’s trading card out of her purse and hold on to it like a talisman. Not that she wouldn’t recognize him. She’d practically memorized his face. He’d look good on the roof with the blue and white fairy lights under the glass domed ceiling, with the city skyline behind him.

Frankly, he’d look good in a crumbling boiler room. But as long as she was making this into some kind of romantic one-night dream date, she might as well have the proper setting.

Another thing she liked about Upstairs at the Kimberly was that the music wasn’t deafening. They catered to a more mature crowd and had some respect for eardrums. It was a bar made for getting to know a person.

The elevator opened at one minute past seven. There were several areas where Jake could be. On the main floor, at one of the tables, at the light-bedazzled bar itself or on one of the leather couches to either side of the bar. She ran her hands down her black sheath dress as she walked into the middle of the room. She glanced to her right, and there he was. He’d scored a hell of a table, one close to the window that looked out at the Chrysler building.

It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but she could tell he looked pretty much as advertised. Dark scruffy hair, broad shoulders with a well-fitting jacket, a light button-down shirt tucked into dark trousers. He saw her and stood, and yep, he had slim hips and long legs. Even at this distance, he was hotter than hell, and please, please, let this not crash and burn in the first five minutes.

She hoped he would be equally impressed as she crossed over to him. He took a few steps himself, careful to keep close enough to the table to prevent poaching. It wasn’t until the third step that she noticed his limp.

Katy hadn’t said anything. Meaning she didn’t deem it noteworthy. Rebecca had no problem with that. It was an interesting detail, something to discover by layers.

“Rebecca,” he said, and goodness, yes, that was a great voice. Deep and mellow and she thought about one of her recent not-so-wonderful blind dates that hadn’t been helped by Sam’s unfortunately high and sadly nasal tone.

“Jake,” she replied as she took his hand. It was warm and large, and the shake just firm enough. He also knew when to let go. Big plus. He almost touched the small of her back as he held her seat, giving her the best view.

He sat across from her. The candles on the table gave a hint of his eye color, but she’d need real lights for that. Later. Now was for talking. And drinking because her heart was pounding a bit too hard for her to ignore.

Before they had a chance to start the opening volley, a waitress came to the table. Rebecca ordered her vodka gimlet and Jake ordered a bourbon and water. Nice. Traditional. Masculine.

The second they were alone, he leaned a little toward her. “I’m never great with openings,” he said. “I’ve always thought there should be rules, a standard pattern that all blind dates have to follow. Like school uniforms or meeting the queen. It would make things so much simpler.”

She thought about her trading card, and how that had helped, and wondered if Jake knew he was on a card, if he’d approve. She thought, yes. “You’re right. It’s an excellent idea and should be implemented immediately. What say we start with the basics. The front page of the questionnaire. I’m Rebecca Thorpe, I live in Manhattan and work in the East Village. I’m an attorney although I don’t practice, and I was born and raised here in the city. I’ve known Katy for over a year, and she’s terrific, so I trusted her when she told me we might hit it off. I’m not looking for love, or for more than an interesting evening, which I hope is what you’re after, and … well. That’s about it.”

His laughter suited her down to her toes. It was genuine, easy, relaxed. His smile was even more delicious than his picture had implied. So far, so good. But now, it was his turn.

“I’m Jake Donnelly, I’m currently living in Windsor Terrace in Brooklyn, in the house where I was born. I’m staying with my dad doing some remodeling work. I come from a long line of cops, all the way back to when the Donnellys crossed over from Ireland. I’ve been with the police department since I graduated college. Well, until earlier this year. I have no idea what I’m going to do after I finish the renovations.”

He leaned back as their drinks were placed on the table, then sought her eyes again. “And it appears we’re both looking for a night to remember. How’d I do?”

“Great,” she said, then she lifted her glass and clicked it against his. Jake was totally unlike anyone she’d ever dated. He was from Brooklyn, but he’d given up the accent for something far easier on her admittedly snobbish ears. She knew absolutely nothing about being a cop, about Windsor Terrace, about renovations. She was incredibly curious to know if his limp and no longer being a policeman were connected. And she couldn’t imagine, not for the life of her, staying with her own family for more than about three hours. She and Jake were worlds apart, completely unsuited in every way but one.

He was perfect.

JAKE DRANK A LITTLE AS HE tried not to look as if he was scoping her out from head to toe. But screw it, he was. At least, as much as he could, given she was sitting.

Rebecca Thorpe was, to put it bluntly, off the charts hot. Her hair was golden and shiny in the glitter of the bar, her eyes smoky and intense. She was tall and slender, but the way her dress hugged her breasts made him say a prayer this night would end with him learning a lot more.

No mention of the Winslow name or the foundation she headed. Why not? Being careful? Probably, although why she would assume he didn’t recognize her was a little baffling. Everyone who lived in New York knew of her family. They were like the Kennedys. Politicians, judges, private jets, private clubs, more money than sense if you asked him, but nobody did, and that seemed fair. He wouldn’t know what the hell to do in a room full of Winslows, but being right here, right now with this one? It was his lucky day.

“I don’t know where to start with questions,” Rebecca said. “Do you miss being a cop?”

He’d left himself open for whatever with that intro, but he still wished she’d begun somewhere else. He shouldn’t complain. At least she hadn’t opened with the limp.

He was still self-conscious about the scars. Odd how the shoulder looked so much worse. The leg was no picnic, either. But it hadn’t made anyone run screaming. Yet. What the hell, if it freaked her out, there was nothing he could do about that. He’d just get on home and read up on shower installations. “Yeah, I miss it,” he said. “Hard not to, when it’s the only thing I’ve ever done. I could have taken a desk assignment, but that wasn’t me.”

“Ah, so you were hurt on the job?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Shot in the thigh and the shoulder.

They’re not pretty, but I was lucky. Either one could have killed me, so …”

“I can’t imagine. God, shot twice?” She shuddered, winced. “That’s horrible. I’m always astonished at how vulnerable the human body can be, while at the same time astoundingly strong. I had a friend once who slipped on a leaf. Fell. Hit her head. She was twenty-four, and she died that night. You were shot twice, and you not only survived, but it looks from here as if you’re thriving.”

“It is a mystery. I tell people it must not have been my time, but that’s just something easy to say. I’m not a religious man, or one who believes in fate. Nothing mystical or predestined. I guess I’m a pragmatist. I was in a dangerous profession, in a risky situation. It’s no big surprise I was wounded. I lived because they got to me in time, got me to the right doctors. Thriving? Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m learning to accept my limitations. Oddly, there are fewer than I expected, with the notable exception of losing my career.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but she did lean in. She didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t staring, wasn’t taking his measure. “A pragmatist,” she said eventually. “That’s helpful, living in this city. This world.”

“It is. What about you?” he asked. “What do you believe in?”

She smiled, leaned back in her chair. Her bangs were a bit in her eyes and he wanted to push them back to see her better. Not complaining, just sorta wishing.

“Boy, you don’t fool around, do you?”

“Guess not. We can always talk about this damn cold front, if you’d prefer.”

“I’m good,” she said. “I like the tough questions.”

“I didn’t even ask, would you like something to eat? I haven’t looked at the menu, but I know they serve food here. Or we could go somewhere else for dinner.”

“Oh, food. I’m not starving, but I could eat something. How about you?”

“I could do with more than the bologna sandwich I had around four. Busy day.”

“I happen to know the menu here is excellent. Why don’t you see if anything suits your fancy. Meanwhile I’ll consider my answer to your very provocative question and finish my drink.”

He nodded, grabbed the menu from the center of the table. Not much he didn’t like. When he looked up again, she was still staring at him. He should have been unsettled. He wasn’t used to undisguised interest. In fact, his life had depended on his blending in, fading into the background. Even the dark wasn’t enough to hide behind, but instead of getting that crawling itch to run, he wanted her to look her fill. And he wanted her to like what she saw.

He passed her the menu, then finished his bourbon, signaling the waitress when he caught her eye. “There’s nothing on there I wouldn’t eat,” he said to Rebecca. “Could live without the foie gras, but I like the meat and the fish selections. I think you should pick us out a few, and we’ll have ourselves a small buffet while we go at least one step beyond the surface. How does that sound?”

“Fantastic.”

Their order was taken, fresh drinks requested, and they were alone once more. It was all he could do not to call back the lovely girl and ask her to add a room with a king-size bed to the tab.

“I’m a mutt,” Rebecca said, folding her hands on the shiny table. “Philosophically. I lean toward Buddhism, but I’ve got some roots in the church from when I was a kid. I mostly try to make a difference. Walk the walk, not just talk about it. I tend to connect to people who do the same.”

That could have been a crock of bull, but his instincts said no. She was telling him the truth. It fit with her job, but that wasn’t what he thought she was talking about. Another skill from his vice days was how to listen for the truth. Of course, in this instance, he had to factor in how badly he wanted to take Rebecca Thorpe to bed.

Which was really damn bad.