Читать книгу Playing Her Cards Right - Jo Leigh - Страница 16

“TASTE THIS AND TELL ME if you think it needs more salt.” Rebecca stood back so that Lilly could try the soup.

She obliged and faked a cough.

“Funny.” After elbowing her aside, Rebecca saw her cousin standing at the door of the St. Mark’s basement kitchen. He wasn’t looking at her, or, she imagined, for her. His gaze was on Bree.

Laughter still clung to the steam that swirled over the industrial stove. Rebecca was making a giant pot of split pea soup, Lilly was cooking a Texas chili and even with those pots and the 350° oven, the basement remained chilly. It wouldn’t be for long, though, not if what she thought was going to happen happened.

It was difficult to look away from Charlie. He was as unguarded as she’d ever seen him. As an adult, at least. There was a keen awareness in his eyes, a concentration that spoke of a hunger that had nothing to do with pea soup.

One of his hands braced against the door frame, the other held papers. He looked elegant in his bespoke coat: dark navy, midcalf, styled perfectly. How Charlie it was.

The man knew what looked good on him, what he could get away with, and what would cause eyebrows to raise. Nothing was unintentional. Not online, in person, in a walk to the corner grocer. Seeing him blatantly wanting Bree was seeing him naked. Not that she had any personal experience with that, but she’d been with Charlie in family situations, private moments of grief, in trouble, in failure, in success, and this was new.

Rebecca grinned at her own brilliance. She was awesome. She’d known he would like Bree. And Bree would like him, but even Rebecca at her most conniving hadn’t guessed they would have come so far so fast.

She’d have high-fived herself if she could have, for being just that clever. No one in the family believed Charlie would ever fall. He’d always have women, but never one woman. Not Charlie. His merry-go-round hadn’t stopped spinning since puberty, and he got bored so quickly. Nothing could have suited her cousin quite as perfectly as this age of instant gratification. Charlie was born for it, breathed it, worked it. Everything lightning fast, and rest was for the weak and dull.

Bree wasn’t dull in the least.

Rebecca turned to her friend. They’d played phone tag all day, then arrived at the kitchen as Lilly had come in, so all Rebecca knew was that Bree had gone with Charlie to a big fancy party last night, a heck of a second date, and she’d written a firsthand account of the party that had been in this morning’s blog.

If that wasn’t testimony to Rebecca’s genius, she didn’t know what was.

Things got really interesting when Bree shifted and sighted the man standing in the doorway.

If only the door had been closer to the prep area. It was difficult to know where to look. Bree now was a living demonstration of Modern Woman In Full Lust Mode. Her back straightened, her breath caught, showing off her chest in the most positive light possible. The thrift-store cashmere sweater she wore cupped her boobs perfectly, and Rebecca knew Charlie was having a little heart attack at the view.

Then there was the flush that swept across Bree’s cheeks. Good lord, it couldn’t have been more artfully painted by Renoir. Her eyes got wide and her lips parted and her pheromones were positively dripping.

The only sounds were the slow gurgle of thick simmering from the stove, the hiss of the radiator. Even Lilly, who’d come tonight for the company and the after-cooking drinks, had caught on that Something Was Happening.

Rebecca turned to Charlie again, and he’d dropped his hand, taking a single step inside the kitchen. He seemed to be fighting a smile. It would start to form at the corners of his lips, then flatten, but a second later the grin would start again.

Back to Bree, and it was like the slowest tennis match ever, the invisible ball staying well within the boundaries, the lobs back and forth languid and electric at the same time.

Rebecca’s soup would burn in a minute if she didn’t stir the pot. “Charlie,” she said. “What’s up?”

Rebecca almost laughed at how he jerked at her voice. And when she glanced at Bree, the blush had spread over her cheeks and down her neck, and there was a great deal of blinking.

“I came to show Bree her blog.” He held up the papers as if proof had been required.

“Kind of hard for her to see it across the room.”

Charlie’s grin finally broke free as did his legs. He came inside, crossed the basement to Bree.

“That’s Charlie Winslow,” Lilly whispered, and Rebecca hadn’t heard her approach. Luckily, no one saw Rebecca jump because everybody’s gaze was on center stage. Even Lilly’s.

“Yes, it is.”

“Why is Charlie Winslow in the kitchen? With Bree?”

“Because she’s seeing him.”

“What?”

The word came out loud. Very loud. Loud enough that it halted the action.

Lilly smiled, gave a little wave. “Lilly Denton. Hey.”

“Charlie Winslow,” Charlie said. “Hey.”

The moment passed. Rebecca dragged Lilly to the stove, Charlie went back to mooning at Bree.

“She’s seeing him?” Lilly asked, her voice back down to a stage whisper. “Since when?”

“Not long.”

“How do you know this?”

“Obviously you don’t read his blog.”

“I do, but I’ve been too busy the past few days.” Lilly sneaked another peek. “That’ll teach me for putting work first.”

“Okay, it’s not because of his blog, I know because Charlie’s my cousin, and your chili is burning.”

Both of them took up spoons, the industrial-size ones, and stirred like the witches in Macbeth. “Seriously, what the hell?” Lilly said.

“I set them up.”

Lilly, who was something of a mystery to Rebecca, a friend in the making, but guarded, so very guarded, opened her mouth, then must have reconsidered. She did, however, step closer to Rebecca. “Explain. In detail, please. And remember, I have a large spoon in my hand, and I swear to God I’ll use it if you keep being cryptic.”

“I don’t usually set people up,” Rebecca replied. “Especially not Charlie because he’s got hot-and-cold running women in his life, but he and Bree … they fit.”

“Before the trading cards? During? Because if Charlie Winslow was a trading card then I want my money back.”

“You didn’t pay for anything.”

“Rebecca.”

“Right. He wasn’t a card. Technically.”

“I’ve been out with two trading cards. The first one was a wonderful guy, as long as you were willing to put up with his ardent love for his mother. The second guy’s card said he wanted a relationship, but his actions were completely one-night stand.”

“I know. My dates haven’t been life shattering, either, although I hear Paulie met someone fantastic, and that Tess’s one-night stand has turned into three.”

“Which still doesn’t explain Charlie Winslow,” Lilly said, frowning.

“It’s complicated, and we’ll discuss it more when we go for drinks, but if I’m talking to you, my eavesdropping sucks, so let’s keep stirring and shut the hell up.”

CHARLIE SWALLOWED, WONDERING for the fiftieth time what he was doing in the basement of a church kitchen fumbling around like a teenager on his first date. Bree was reading the blog pages he’d printed out, and she was kind enough not to mention that he hadn’t needed to come see her or print out the pages as the blog would be online first thing in the morning.

He’d asked her to do a little bio piece and tomorrow morning it would run. She’d already given a tease—her first sidebar about the Chelsea Piers party—and it could have ended right there. But blog hits had been up, and she’d gotten more than seven hundred comments on her column. Very encouraging.

So he’d moved forward. Tomorrow morning there would be more pictures of Bree, some from college days, one from here in New York in casual wear. He hoped it would start a dialogue.

His gaze went to Rebecca, whom he caught in mid-smirk, and he touched Bree’s arm, interrupting her reading. “I’ll be back in a few.”

She nodded, and he went over to Rebecca. He smiled at her friend, then turned to his cousin. “A minute? Outside?”

Her eyes narrowed, but she put down her spoon and walked with him to the door. Once they were outside, she shivered at the cold, but didn’t go back for her coat. “You can thank me now,” she said. “And later. I accept gifts, too. The more expensive the better.”

“We’re not dating.”

“I read NNY, you dope,” she said.

“You read what I write on NNY. And evidently you haven’t spoken to your friend since yesterday before lunch.”

“That’s true. We’re going out after the meals are in the freezer.”

As Charlie stuck his hands in his pockets, she grimaced. The bastard should have given her his coat. “Why did you set me up with her?” he asked.

“Why did you bring me out here to freeze to death?”

He rolled his eyes dramatically and took off his coat with a sigh that would have done a Broadway diva proud.

She curled herself into the heavy wool coat, the lining as luxurious as the tailoring. “Because she’s your type.”

“No, she’s not. She’s not vaguely my type. Do you even know me?”

“Yeah. I do. And those skeletons you go out with every night are a joke. I imagine you can count the ones you actually like on one hand.”

“It doesn’t matter if I like them.”

“You happen to be one of the only relatives I can stomach,” she said, “but Charlie, it’s time for you to move on. You’re what, thirty-two?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Over thirty. You’ve spent your entire working life giving your parents and our family the finger. It’s enough. You need to start living for you, and stop giving them all the power.”

He stared at her with his great big eyes, mouth open, as if the cold itself couldn’t penetrate his shock. “What the fuck are you talking about, Rebecca?”

“Naked New York. Your blog. Not the others, not the legit blogs. Yours. The one that runs every aspect of your life. If you want to call it a life.”

“I’m raking in millions.”

“You already had millions. Look, I have to get back to the cooking. Do what you have to do, but think about it, okay? What it would be like if your evenings were full of things you actually wanted to do? If you went out with people you actually liked?”

“You’re insane. The Winslow foundation has driven you around the bend.”

“Yeah, well, maybe. Oh, and remember. Don’t screw with Bree, Charlie. She may want to play in the fashion big league, but she’s a really decent person. She’s not used to people like us. Tread lightly.”

“I told you. We’re not dating.”

“The way you two look at each other? I give it three days. Four at the most.”

“It’s freezing, and I’m not listening to you anymore.” He brushed past her, and she followed, wondering how such a smart, smart man could be such an idiot.

BREE LOOKED UP FROM the blog page as Charlie came toward her. He looked cold, and she saw why as Rebecca followed him. He’d offered his cousin his coat. Another nice thing, but not in the same league as what she had been reading. “You hardly changed anything,” Bree said, when he stood in front of her.

“I didn’t need to. You wrote a great piece.”

“Wow.” She flipped through the few pages, stopped at her New York picture. “Why didn’t you say anything about my hair?”

“What?”

“It’s all … wrong.”

“You look gorgeous,” he said. “It was difficult to choose which picture to use. Each one was great.”

Okay, there was nice, and too nice.

Her suspicion must have shown because he touched her arm, making her look into his eyes. “I’m telling the truth.”

She didn’t speak for a while. Not that she didn’t have a lot to say, but it sounded mushy in her head, inappropriate for what they were now. There were questions, too, about why he’d come in person, what it meant, and why on earth did she keep imagining longing in his gaze when longing couldn’t be possible? “I have food in the oven,” she said.

“Okay,” he said, staring at her, waiting for …?

“After we put everything in containers and in the freezer, we’re going for drinks.”

“We?”

“Rebecca, Lilly, me. You?”

“That’s a big crowd. Maybe we could whittle it down?”

It was tempting; of course she wanted to be alone with him, but that he’d even suggested it made her thoughts even more confused. “We’ve been missing each other, what with parties and appointments and things. I can understand if you’d rather not join us.”

“No. I’d like to.”

Well, damn. Why would he want to join them for drinks? Rebecca! That had to be the reason. “Good. You can help us put up the food. It’ll go faster.”

“Swell,” he said, and she smiled at his put-upon tone. “Now that you know I make such great tea, you’ll want me in the kitchen forever.”

Bree’s laugh stuttered, and a flush hit Charlie’s face. She walked faster, so fast she had to look over her shoulder to say, “It won’t kill you. I promise.”

He’d come to a full stop. “I’m taking your word for it,” he said, going for humorous, but not succeeding.

She made herself focus on food prep, and not the jumble in her head.

THE BAR WASN’T FLASHY. Most of the patrons were in business wear like Bree and her friends. She’d be willing to wager every last one of them was asking themselves what the hell Charlie Winslow was doing in a less-than-swanky pickup bar on a Wednesday night.

If she read him correctly, he didn’t seem to mind. He had hailed their cab, insisted on paying for the short trip, then walked them inside as if this was the next stop on the Fashion Week tour.

The women in the place eyed him with undisguised hunger, the kind of looks that would make a statue blush, and all she could think was I was with him the other night. Naked.

She had to stop that right now.

They scored a booth in the back, and Charlie scooted in next to her, pressing against her from knee to shoulder. It would have been easier if he’d kept his coat on, but no, it was just him in his close-fitting white shirt, narrow black pants, and his hot body, clenching the muscles in his thighs and his biceps—

“Bree?”

“Hmm?”

“Drink?”

“Ah. Yes. Tequila Sunrise, please. Heavy on the sunrise.”

“Got it.” Charlie scooted out, and she instantly felt more relaxed. Jeez, didn’t the man understand personal space?

Lilly leaned across the table the moment he walked away. The music wasn’t deafening but it still made her have to shout. “Oh, my God, Bree, why didn’t you tell me you were dating Charlie Winslow?”

“I’m not. Not really.”

Lilly gave Rebecca a sharp look before she turned back to Bree. “I don’t understand.”

“The whole setup is a blog gimmick to get new readers. No big deal.”

“Yeah,” Lilly said slowly. “Tell it to someone who hasn’t seen him look at you.”

“Seriously, Lil? Come on. Would a guy like him honestly want to date a girl like me?”

“Yes!”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

Bree blinked at her friends. Of course they would say that. What was the alternative? “Yeah, you’re right. He could do so much better?” “Anyway,” she said, waving off the both of them, “it’s great. I get to go to Fashion Week parties, and he’s publishing some of my pieces, which will make my bosses sit up and notice. I take a giant step up the ladder to success. Everybody wins, especially me.”

Rebecca cleared her throat, and Bree reluctantly met her gaze. She did not seem pleased. “Why is Charlie here tonight?” she asked.

“Blog stuff.”

“Since it’s written for the internet, wouldn’t it have been easier for him to, I don’t know, send that stuff to you over the internet?”

Bree opened her mouth, but she had no answer.

EXCEPT FOR THAT WHOLE Psych 101 speech from Rebecca outside the church, Charlie had a great night. The food prep part he could have lived without, although no, that had been great, too. Rebecca was right about one thing—he hardly ever did normal stuff anymore. No grocery stores, no shopping in general, not when it was so easy to get everything delivered or picked up by his housekeeper.

He went to screenings or premieres, not movies. He was sent advance copies of books and films, invitations to parties from New York to Milan, Paris, London, Dubai, L.A. He didn’t barhop, and tonight had been the first time in ages he’d had drinks with real people in a regular bar instead of with celebrities behind some form of velvet rope.

He’d liked everything from the music on the jukebox to the raucous laughter from the après-work crowd. He’d been reminded of the old days when he was just starting out with his first blog. The only part that wasn’t great tonight had been at the end. Putting Bree in a taxi. Alone. And then hailing a cab for himself.

He consoled himself with the fact that tomorrow would be killer busy for his latest blog contributor. After a full eight hours at her day job, she’d be on the run with the stylist, then they had an art exhibit party to go to, which didn’t begin until ten. She’d be lucky to get four hours sleep, and because he was a selfish bastard, he’d kept her out too late tonight.

He hadn’t wanted it to end. But end it had, as all things did, and in a week, give or take, his time with Bree would be a memory. If it worked out, he’d use her for the odd column, and they’d run into each other at cocktail parties and openings. But he’d move on. That’s what he did. What was for the best.

He thought again about what Rebecca had said. That his family felt slapped by what he did for a living was their problem, not his. He’d told them all the way back in high school that he wasn’t going to fall into line. The idea of him going into politics had been ridiculous. They should have known that without him having to smear it in their faces. But they’d only seen what they wanted to see.

His answer might have appeared radical to anyone outside the family. Getting arrested in a public scandal his senior year in college was, he’d admit, a dramatic move. But Rebecca, of all people, should have understood. He’d done what was necessary. His success had been a matter of skill, planning and yes, luck. Why wouldn’t he want to continue to thrive? It would have been nice to be with Bree. He couldn’t deny the attraction. But she didn’t fit. Not as anything except a temporary gimmick, a sidebar, a tweak on the blog.

And his bed. Good Christ, she’d fit there.

He stared at the window as the cab pulled up to his building. Life was about choices. Some tougher than others. Hell, she was just a girl. He’d learned long ago not to romanticize sex.