Читать книгу Getting It Now! - Rhonda Nelson - Страница 10

AT PRECISELY FOUR MINUTES after six, Philip covertly watched Carrie weave her way through the throng of tables to the one he’d been shown to in the back. Though she appeared completely oblivious to the attention her entrance garnered, he knew she couldn’t be. Heads turned as she walked past. Flickering looks of interest from men—envy from women—followed her as she cut a path through the crowded restaurant.

How did she stand it? Philip wondered absently. That constant attention? It had to be bloody nerve-racking.

Wearing a cool pale yellow sheath dress, long hair hanging like a silvery-blonde curtain down her back, and a pair of strappy sandals on her feet, Carrie looked classically gorgeous. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup—in fact, the tip of her nose had that squeaky clean glow—odd that he should find that adorable—and other than being naturally sexy, no traces of her Negligee persona were evident.

Once again he was struck by the difference. The change was unbelievably dramatic, the perfectly rare combination of wholesome and sexy. For reasons he couldn’t explain, his breath quickened, his palms grew clammy and a line of gooseflesh raced up his back. He’d experienced these unwanted symptoms before when he’d watched her show, but seeing her in the flesh compounded them significantly.

He stood—to his chagrin, somewhat shakily—when she neared their table. “Is this spot all right?” he asked. “It was the closest thing to private available.”

Carrie nodded, seated herself in the chair he’d pulled out for her. “Sure. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.”

“No,” he said. “I’ve, uh…I’ve only been here a few minutes. Just long enough to peruse the menu.”

She looked up and her violet gaze tangled with his, causing a curious whirling sensation behind his navel. “You’ve never been here before?”

Trying hard not to be mesmerized, Philip shook his head. “Er…no. I can’t say that I’ve enjoyed the pleasure.”

Her lips formed an enchanting smile. “Oh, then you’re in for a treat. Personally, I always have the jambalaya. It’s some of the best in the area.”

“I’ll take your recommendation then,” Philip told her, offering her a smile. Best to soften her up with pleasantries before he proceeded with the mandates, he decided. Provided he’d even remember them. Once again he could feel his brain turning to mush and his dick thickening in her glowing presence.

Thankfully once the waiter had supplied drinks and taken their order, he’d regained a modicum of his composure. “Have you had a chance to look at the breakdowns yet?” he asked.

Carrie nodded, bent down and withdrew them from her purse. “I have. I noticed in keeping with the ‘sizzling’ theme, there are several spicy dishes. Are there any that you object to? Anything you want to tweak or change?”

“No,” Philip said. He paused, blew out a breath. “Look, before we go any further, do you mind if I’m completely honest with you, Carrie?”

The smallest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Who wouldn’t prefer the truth to a lie?”

Philip hesitated. He’d been rehearsing this spiel for the past couple of hours and yet now that the time had come to make good his delivery, he was having a hard time keeping to the diplomatic but hard-assed approach. He leaned forward. “I’m sure that you’ve heard that I wasn’t particularly keen to do this special.”

Her eyes sparkled with wry humor. “I might have heard mention of it once or twice.”

Again that charming humor, he thought. “Did you happen to hear mention of why?”

The bane of his recent existence calmly sipped her drink and pulled a light shrug. “Just an unconfirmed rumor.”

“Well, let me give you the official version. The last time I did a ‘special’ my female co-host hijacked my show.” His voice inexplicably hardened. “Don’t take it personally, but I have no intention of letting that happen again.”

The faintest hint of irritation tightened her otherwise serene features.

“I’m the one with the most experience here,” he continued, “and if it’s all the same to you, rather than being equal partners per se, I’d prefer that you think of yourself as an assistant.”

Her compelling eyes widened fractionally. “An assistant?” she repeated tightly.

“Sort of like my Vanna White,” Philip said, giving her an analogy he hoped she’d understand. He’d grown quite fond of The Wheel of Fortune since moving to New Orleans. Fascinating game, really.

“I’m not a letter-turner on a game show—I’m a chef,” Carrie said, her smooth voice slightly strangled with what Philip belatedly realized was anger. “As for being your assistant, if it’s all the same to you,” she said, patronizingly throwing his phrasing back at him, “I’d just as soon stick to the format.”

Philip winced. Frankly, he hadn’t really expected her to argue with him. His was the voice of experience after all. But he could tell by the somewhat mulish set of her jaw and the white circle around her supremely sexy mouth that she was heartily displeased. What? he wondered. Did she not like Vanna?

“I’ve insulted you,” he said.

“Now that’s insightful,” she replied sarcastically.

Hmm, Philip thought with a mental wince. That was bad…because he really hadn’t gotten to the part where he’d assumed he’d offend her. But there was no way around it, and he was a firm believer in speaking his mind. Fewer misunderstandings that way. Besides, after the Sophie debacle he didn’t appreciate subterfuge.

“I won’t argue the point that you’re a chef, and a damned fine one to boot,” he said. “I’ve watched your show, have even eaten at Chez Martin’s several times before you joined the network. It’s not your ability that I’m concerned with,” he told her. He leaned back in his seat and regarded her moodily. “Frankly, it’s your attire. I’ve asked the producers to let you wear clothes during our special, but they’ve said no.” His lips quirked. “Evidently your audience expects you to be naked,” he drawled.