Читать книгу A Dash of Temptation - Jo Leigh - Страница 9

TESS STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of Rags to Riches, her favorite resale shop, holding a vintage Chanel when it hit her again. In two days, she was going on a date with Dash.

Dash Black. Who made her legs turn to jelly, her heart palpitate, her mind go blank. It wasn’t just that he was famous. In her years in Manhattan, she’d met lots of famous people. Everyone from Robert De Niro to Trent Reznor. She’d been lucky. One of the first people she’d met in the city was an interior designer to the stars. Shelly had unbelievable contacts, and when Tess started her plant-care business, Shelly had used her influence to introduce Tess to the A-list.

At first, it had been overwhelming. Scary. She’d been intimidated and shy, which wasn’t her natural state of being. But walking into the luxurious penthouses of the incredibly rich and famous was enough to turn her into a little mouse.

Eventually, as she became more relaxed, she began to see the similarities instead of the differences. Even Academy Award winners had bathrooms.

Then, when Cole Darden of daytime drama fame had asked her out, she’d been introduced into yet another strata. The club scene. Not the clubs she would have been able to get into. These clubs had bouncers that made a hundred grand a year. It was heady and wild and she found herself knee-deep in celebrity gossip that never made the Post.

The downside was that she wasn’t in a financial position to be a player. It wasn’t the drinks or the dinners or the tips. She didn’t drink much, and her dates usually paid for the rest. It was the clothes. Damn those women on Sex and the City. They had to be millionaires to afford those wardrobes. Unfortunately for Tess, she didn’t have a studio behind her, and she sure as hell couldn’t pay for a Prada scarf. So it was resale shops, Goodwill, flea markets for her. It stretched her creativity, that’s for sure. But it also made her terribly aware that while she was allowed inside, she’d better not get too comfortable. She was on a guest pass, which could be revoked in ten hot seconds.

Not a good train of thought, given her situation. She still couldn’t figure out why he’d asked her to go with him. Pity, probably.

She could handle that.

She went back to the rack of dresses, most of which were here for a reason. Every once in a while, however, she found a gem. Please, let it be today. So much was riding on this one Saturday night, not the least of which was showing Brad that she didn’t miss him at all. That other men, fabulous men, wanted her.

Well, maybe not wanted her, but Brad didn’t have to know that. Dash would treat her like a queen. Because that’s how he treated every woman. She just prayed she wouldn’t turn into a frog. Do something stupid, say the wrong thing, act like a fool. Her usual.

“Well, if it isn’t fabulous Tess Norton.”

Tess grinned at the haughty voice behind her. It was Mary, her friend, neighbor, partner in crime. She turned and waggled her brows. “Mary Neal. I never.”

“Like hell, you never.”

“Such language.”

“I’m not even warmed up yet.”

Tess eyed Mary’s outfit du jour. Doc Martens, jeans that rode low on her impossibly slim hips, a sweater circa the 1960s, and a furry coat that might have belonged to Attila the Hun. On her, it worked. “I’m desperate, girlfriend.”

“Tell Aunt Mary all about it.”

The store, close packed, a little too warm, was one of their usual haunts, not just for the occasional finds, but because there was this great coffee shop next door that served the best apple strudel in the universe.

“I will. In aching detail. But first, I need something fabulous. Something transcendent. Something that will give every male above eighteen an instant erection.”

Mary glanced at the dress in her hand. “That won’t even get you a slap on the ass.” She spread the clothes on the rack like Moses parting the sea. “Let’s rock.”

Two hours later, after having tried on everything from Versace to Polo, Tess cried uncle. She grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her outside into the balmy spring air. Her gaze moved automatically toward the downtown skyline, and, as always, her breath hitched when she saw what was missing. Turning back to Mary, who had pulled out a compact and was busy dusting her perfect little nose, Tess pointed to the café, with the improbable name of Frog and Thistle. “Food. Now.”

“Okay. Jeez.” Mary slipped the cloisonné powder case into her Kate Spade pocketbook, then smiled. “But you have to tell me what this mad search is all about.”

“I will. Come on,” she said, dodging a guy on a skateboard as she headed toward the Frog. “I have to find a dress today. Tomorrow, latest. I need it by Saturday night.”

“Don’t keep me waiting. It’s mean.”

Tess slipped inside the café and told the scrumptious young man at the counter that she wanted a table for two. She followed his tightly clad butt across the crowded restaurant, past the tables with their gingham cloths and fresh carnations, to a snug booth in the back. Mary shrugged out of her coat, then sat down. “Well?”

“Okay, okay. No need to get all huffy.”

“Tess…”

Tess didn’t smile. She was pretty sure she didn’t look smug. And she kept her voice low, so only Mary would hear. “I have a date with Dash Black.”

Mary screamed so loudly a waiter dropped his tray, all chatter came to an immediate stop, and every eye in the place zeroed in on their booth. Mary finally closed her mouth, then seemed to realize they were the center of attention. She turned to the stunned restaurant patrons. “She has a date with Dash Black.”

Tess couldn’t hold back her grin as she saw utter understanding come over the mostly female crowd. Several women nodded. More than a few stared at her with awe. He was, after all, Dash Black. And he was hers, hers, hers for one whole night.

She felt like she might throw up.

WHEN DASH WALKED INTO HIS brother’s office, Patrick was already studying the glossy photos spread out before him. His expression was serious, his focus sharp. It was time to pick the September centerfold. Dash had made his choice. Although a whole editorial team helped narrow the field, the family—himself, Patrick and their father—had the final word.

Dash headed over to Patrick’s bookshelves and gave them a cursory glance. The only new entries were a James Patterson book, a biography of Napoleon, and the latest bestseller on business communication. Slim pickings.

With nothing to keep him occupied, he gave in and settled himself on one of Patrick’s leather chairs. Sprawled with legs out, he waited for his half brother to look at him, but clearly Patrick wasn’t going to budge until he was damn good and ready.

The office was too similar to his own to be of interest. Lots of square footage decorated in masculine colors, mostly hunter green, with bits and pieces of their various enterprises represented in knickknacks, photographs, logo promotions, and, inevitably, stacks of the magazine.

Noir’s circulation was at an all-time high. Millions of men bought the magazine each month, and some of them probably read the articles. His father had set out to make Noir a household name, and he’d succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. In the old days, Black had been the front man. Suave, sophisticated, charming as hell, he’d been the driving force behind Noir, but he was done now. Tired. He had every right to be. He’d worked his ass off most of his life. Dash had been his ace in the hole. He could hand over the keys to the kingdom with little fear. With every expectation that their success would continue, that the companies would grow. That Dash would be as enthusiastic and tireless as his father.

The flesh was willing, but the mind was weak. Dash stared at his future with a kind of stunned resolve. The world on a string, and he didn’t like yo-yos. He’d better damn well get to like yo-yos. There was no way he was going to spend the next thirty years dissatisfied and resentful.

Actually, that wasn’t fair. It’s not that he hated running the show, he simply wasn’t his father. Dash was a private man thrust into the spotlight. He envied Patrick, with his focus on the real guts of the operation. The money.

Dash jumped a bit when he realized he was staring at Patrick, and that his brother was staring back. “How long have you been watching me?”

Pat shrugged. “Long enough to wonder what’s bothering you.”

Dash waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing a lobotomy wouldn’t fix.”

“Ah, well. We do have that excellent health insurance plan. I’m sure we could work something out.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Come on, Dash. What’s up?”

“I like Marie, what’s her last name? Clymer? The redhead on the second row.”

Patrick looked at his proofs. “Yeah, that’s who I was leaning toward, but don’t change the subject. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Patrick’s right brow arched. “Fine. Have it your way. Why did you come to see me?”

“I’m going to that party in the Hamptons this weekend. I was thinking we should send a photographer out.”

“To the Nicklebys’ place?”

Dash nodded.

“Already taken care of.”

Now it was Dash’s turn to raise his eyebrow. “Efficient little sucker, aren’t you?”

“I strive for excellence in all areas.”

Dash gave him the old raspberry. “Excellence, my ass.”

“No wonder you’re the heir apparent,” Patrick said. “Your maturity and class are a shining example to all.”

Dash stood up, stretched his neck. “Hey, you know the plant lady?”

“Tess?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m taking her.”

“To the party?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because she needs a date, and I’m a goddamn prince of a fellow.” Dash headed for the door.

“Wait a minute. I don’t like it.”

He stopped. “Don’t like what?”

“She’s a nice girl, Dash. And she’s an employee.”

“So?”

“It’s not a good idea, that’s all.”

“What do you mean?”

Patrick shuffled some photos. “You know perfectly well what I mean. She’s not a toy.”

Dash went over to the edge of Patrick’s teak desk. He leaned forward, balancing on his flattened palms. “Are you interested in her?”

Patrick’s gaze shot to his. “No. I’m not. But I like her. She’s bright and ambitious, but she’s also young as hell, and she comes from the middle of nowhere. So don’t set her up for a fall. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’m taking her to a party, Patrick. Not to a wedding.”

“Yeah, well, women tend to fall in love with you. God knows why.”

“Yeah, I love you, too.” He straightened, fully aware Patrick was dead-on serious. “I’ll be good,” he said. “I promise.”

“Why aren’t I taking comfort from that statement?”

Dash shook his head as if he had no idea.

“Oh, get the hell out of my office. Some of us have to work for a living.”

Dash decided to let Patrick have the last word. He nodded once, then headed in the direction of his own office. His brother didn’t usually stick his nose in Dash’s business. It made Dash all the more intrigued with Tess. She had clearly made an impression on someone who wasn’t that impressionable.

Based on their history, Dash believed Patrick about not being interested in Tess, but still, there was some connection there. The two of them had clearly talked, which made sense. It was Patrick who’d originally hired her to do the plant maintenance in the Midtown offices. What was it about her that made his brother so protective?

Actually, what was it that made Dash so hot to trot? Maybe he shouldn’t have been so flippant with Patrick. Tess was a damsel in distress, and he was playing the role of knight. It wasn’t a good fit. He normally played the rake.

But for one night? Why not. He could be Lochinvar. Hell, most of his public life was all an act anyway. It would be a change of pace, and that was a plus. He remembered her curves, the way her breasts had looked in that T-shirt. Pity. But everything in life wasn’t sex. It only felt that way.

RED, ANKLE LENGTH, NO LABEL, no mars in the luxurious silk, fifty dollars. The dress was a gift from kind gods, and fit her as if designed with her in mind. Fifty dollars. Tess grinned madly as she paid the woman with the bad teeth, then hugged her package close as she made her way out of the small resale shop.

Tomorrow was the big day. Dash Black day. His secretary, Kelly, had called that morning to make all the arrangements. The car, which Tess knew was actually a limousine, would be at her apartment shortly after five. The drive to Amagansett took about three hours, what with the tolls and the traffic.

Three hours alone with him.

What would they talk about? Would they have champagne? Champagne gave her a headache. She’d suffer.

Dammit, she had to calm down. This wasn’t a real date. It was a mercy date, and she’d better remember it. Right. As if she hadn’t been writing, “Mrs. Dashiell Black” and “Mrs. Tess Black” on every napkin from the Brooklyn Deli to Capizio’s Pizza by the Slice. Mature, Tess. Real mature.

She made her way across Christopher Street, blinking into the late afternoon glare. She had major girly stuff to do tonight. Mud mask, fingernails, toenails, plucking, shaving, waxing. The fun never ends. Maybe Mary would come by. Or maybe Tess would just drown herself in her bathtub.

She walked two long blocks, forcing herself to ignore the three shoe store displays, staring, instead, directly in front of her. She didn’t have money for shoes. She’d wear her black strappy heels. So they were almost two years old. Who was going to look at her feet?

God, the dress! It caressed her curves…not her words; the lady with the teeth had been eloquent. But it was a knockout. And she felt pretty in it, which was even more important.

Why was it that she could be so self-assured about her business and her plans, but when it came to her private life her insecurities had insecurities? It didn’t seem fair. She wasn’t the rube from Texas anymore. She’d lived in the big, bad city long enough to have been mugged, evicted and dumped by some very high-class guys. Dash Black should be just another fascinating peek at New York, like the Rainbow Room or the bag ladies outside Central Park.

Uh-huh.

She got bumped twice on her way down the stairs to the subway, and some great galoot nearly crippled her when he stepped on her toe, but she made it to the train, and even got a seat, although she had to sit next to someone who used garlic as aftershave.

The ride was only twenty minutes to her stop, and then she’d have a quick five minute walk. She would stop at the market on the corner and pick up some salad for dinner.

Dash Black.

It had become her mantra. And like women who couldn’t get pregnant and saw babies everywhere, Tess had been deluged with pictures of her dream date.

He’d been on the cover of Esquire wearing the most scrumptious charcoal-gray shirt. The color made his hazel eyes look blue. His smile had been sly, as if he knew a secret, and maybe he’d tell her what it was.

He’d also been in Vogue, Cosmo, Mademoiselle and the National Enquirer. Not that she read that…she’d just been killing time in the checkout line.

Every picture had been beautiful, and she’d pasted each one, except for the tabloid, in a brand new scrap-book she kept hidden under her bed. It might look naive to save his pictures, but she’d be glad in twenty years when she wanted to show her grandchildren that granny had been a hottie.

Besides, she liked looking at him. His wide shoulders and slim hips. His dark hair that fell ever so provocatively across his forehead. That nose! Mary said it was big, and maybe it was, but it was strong and had much more character than one of the waspier models. And then, oh my, there were the lips. The bottom one in particular. Pouty, lush, perfect but not fem. Designed for kissing. The thought of that mouth on hers…

She shivered, and got a glare from Garlic Man.

Ignoring him, she opened her bag and took out her to-do list. Yep, she had everything she’d need. Sunday, she had to go to the flower mart, Monday, she’d start the new account over at Trump Plaza, and Tuesday was Eve’s Apple night, so she had to finish reading The Pearl, which she hadn’t even opened yet, but for tonight, she was good to go. She’d listen to some Linkin Park and maybe some Creed. Throw in a little Joni Mitchell for flavor. She even had that bottle of Merlot Brad had given her after he’d stood her up for the second night in a row. But that was then. This was now and tonight was going to be wonderful as long as she didn’t dwell on tomorrow. As long as her nerves held steady and her tummy didn’t go nuts. As long as she could pretend it was like any other night in a perfectly ordinary universe.

Uh-huh.