“Why do you do what you do?”
“Are you asking if I’m passionate about working at the bureau?” I lift my cappuccino to my lips, nervous he knows the truth. As a woman who came from a high-powered corporate environment, I’m grossly overqualified for the position at CRBI.
“You seemed plenty passionate when you came to my site.”
“You broke a rule.”
“Bent,” he corrects. “There are a lot of ethical gray areas in life.”
“And you operate from several of them.”
“The sooner the site is complete, the sooner wide-eyed, passionate entrepreneurs can move in.” He sounds slightly defensive. “I provide a place where they can thrive. That’s worthy. More worthy than words printed on papers that haven’t been looked at closely in decades. Bureaucracy has its shortcomings.”
“So does seeing oneself as a saint.”
His firm mouth shifts to one side, a ghost of smile playing on his lips. “You were hell-bent on shutting me down. Why?”
“That’s my job.” I shrug.
He shakes his head, not accepting my answer. “That was Gary’s job. That is Daniel’s job. You wanted to shut me down for another reason entirely.”
“I don’t like cheaters,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
“Thanks to an old boyfriend?” he guesses wrong.
He’s fishing but using the wrong bait. “Sure.”
The check arrives and we lock eyes for a good, long while. He pays while I finish my cappuccino.
“You weren’t going to halt construction at Grand Marin no matter what I said or did, were you, Mr. Owen?” I ask. But I know the answer.
He shakes his head, content to be honest. “There’s always a way to smooth out rough patches during construction, Ms. Vandemark. This isn’t my first rodeo. I have an important job to do. A reputation to uphold.”
“A reputation for finishing early, I heard.” I grin.
“Maybe someday you’ll find out.” His answering grin is honey-smooth. “As you now know,” he says, serious, “my reputation involves more than me. It’s the Owens I protect and serve.”
I consider his loyalty and feel the pang of jealousy again. He has a family. A good one.
“Is Daniel worth fighting for?” he asks of my boss.
“What’s right is worth fighting for,” I hedge. “You can’t do whatever you want just because of your family’s last name.” A lesson I have learned over and over again.
“Is this your own rotten-grapes experience speaking or are you envious of the haves?”
The waiter returns and Nate signs the receipt with a flourish. When he tucks the slip into the black book, he sits back in his seat and waits for my answer.
I don’t give him one. “Dinner was lovely. Thank you.”
“I wanted you to see how the other side lives. We’re not so bad after all, are we?”
We have a mini standoff. He had to have noticed the chilled veal wasn’t a new experience for me. Noticed how I viewed the braised winter chicories, duck confit and tartare with parsley root as commonplace a meal as they come.
“It’s what I expected,” I say. “A lot of show for a little food. Expensive wine and cheap table linens.” The truth is the food was exquisite, the company enthralling, and the table linens not cheap at all.
“Not impressed then?” he asks, but he’s smiling like he knows I’m lying.
“Were you trying to impress me?” I’m unable to keep from bantering with him further.
His smile gives nothing away. We’re embattled in some sort of warped foreplay that I can’t allow to wind up in the bedroom.
Pity.
“I’ll walk you to your car.” He stands. When I turn, a broad, warm hand touches the small of my back.
I give my ticket to the valet who scampers off to retrieve my car.
“Until next time.” Nate lifts my hand and kisses a space between the knuckles of my index and middle fingers. It’s unexpectedly erotic. Before I accuse him of acting debonair to work an angle, he floors me with more of his signature eye contact.
He’s close, his head angled. Electric awareness zaps between us. I want to kiss him. Push to my toes and taste his firm, full mouth. Smash my nose against his crooked one and rub up against him.
I shouldn’t want that. I can’t afford to be close to anyone. Not after my entire life fell apart. My car arrives and I take a step away from him, the moment lost. Nate rounds my Hyundai and opens the driver’s side door. Is that disappointment in his eyes? Or challenge?
“See you around,” he says before he closes the door.
I pull away from the curb and smile.
Definitely challenge.
Chapter Eight
Vivian
I’m having lunch with Amber at a sidewalk cafe downtown. The homemade croissants on the chicken salad sandwiches could give Villa Moneta’s fancy-pants menu a run for its money. I finish half and debate the other buttery half before diving in, carbs be damned.
Amber has been chattering nonstop since we sat down. I don’t mind. Changing my name made me a good listener. When I speak I have to be vague, so she’s saving me the trouble.
“Enough about me and my life-woes,” she says suddenly. Her woes are adorable. I don’t mean that disrespectfully. I complained about my mom and dad too, before Steele-Gate. Back when we were a normal family who wasn’t under investigation by the FBI. “Did you go to dinner with Nathaniel Owen yet?”
So she did hear him ask.
“You’ve kept quiet about that until now,” I tease as I reach for my iced tea.
“You’re not the kind of woman who appreciates a prying friend.”
I wince. Amber’s and my relationship is surface, and she just pointed a finger at that obvious fact. Marnie and I have no boundaries. There’s no need for them since she knows the truth.
“I went to dinner with him last week,” I tell Amber. No reason not to tell her about it. Nothing happened. I feel a smidge of disappointment as I consider that fact.
“He’s incredibly good-looking. How did I not know that?”
“It wasn’t like Daniel and Gary came into the office swooning over how hot Nate is.”
“Nate, huh?” Her eyebrows jump. I throw her a bone.
“At first I took Daniel at his word and assumed Owen was another powerful rich guy trying to take more of what he doesn’t deserve. I suspect our dinner was mostly about Nate staying in my good graces, but I have to admit, I think he actually believes in what he’s doing.”
He sounded passionate about his construction project, and almost humble when it came to the Owens.
“Those shoes seemed more like he was trying to wedge his way into your skirt, not your good graces.”
She’s usually not this frank. It’s refreshing. Am I intimidating? I smile sadly. Maybe I overcorrected when I tried to be aloof.
“I’m not interested in Nate.” More like I refuse to be interested in him.
“Really?” Her frown is genuine. “Not to be presumptuous, but you don’t think he’d be fun?”
I laugh instead of envisioning how fun sleeping with him would be. If our banter over dinner, the gentle way he slipped my shoes onto my feet, and the combustible energy between us when he didn’t kiss me was anything to go by, we’d bring down the house if we slept together. I shiver at the thought and adjust myself in my seat to cover for it.