Table for Two (8 page)

"Don't hello me," she ordered. "What happened?"

Cassie feigned innocence. "Where?"

"You know where. Did he say anything to you?"

Cassie touched her wet hair and sighed, saddened that her fantasy night had to be ruined by such realities. "The man is obviously very shy about asking you out so he's gathering his courage by asking me out first. Could you wait a moment? I need to get changed."

She laid the phone down, changed into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and returned to the phone.

"That makes no sense," Adriana said when Cassie returned to the line.

She plumped up a pillow and fell into the cushions of her couch. It was old but comfortable. "It makes perfect sense." Cassie drew up her knees to her chest. "It's sort of like those Hollywood stars who marry very ordinary women until they can afford trophy wives."

"Drake's not like that," Adriana argued. "He honestly likes you."

She rested her chin on her knees, her voice lowering. "Yes, his kiss would suggest that."

Adriana pounced on the statement. "He kissed you?"

"Yes."

"On the mouth? You know the forehead doesn't count."

Cassie stretched out her legs. "It was on the mouth."

"I just knew he had it bad." Her friend sounded triumphant. "Cassie, I am so happy for you."

Cassie stared up at the ceiling, exasperated. Why didn't anyone understand what was truly going on? "Adriana, please listen carefully He doesn't know what he wants. He flirted with me, then you, now me again."

"He was never attracted to me."

"He was trying to feel your leg. How more attracted can you be?"

"Wait, you've got it all wrong. He—"

A sudden beep interrupted the line. "One minute, I've got another call." She switched over. "Hello?"

"Hello, Cassie." Her ex-husband's smooth voice oozed over the line like an oily vinaigrette. It made her stomach turn.

She rested her head back and groaned. "What do you want, Timothy?"

"Did you get the flowers?"

"Unfortunately." She lifted her head. "Timothy, perhaps because you've never been divorced before you don't understand the protocol, but you're not supposed to send roses to your ex-wife with a note that says 'I love you.'"

"You do if you want her back. I love you and I miss you."

"Uh-huh." She didn't believe him. Timothy was a consummate actor when he wanted to be. Cassie wiggled her toes, wondering what new shade of nail polish she should use.

"I just want—no need—a chance to talk."

A nice mauve. She tucked her feet underneath her. "How's Debra?"

"Who?"

"Oh, dear. Is she out of the picture already? I thought that since you put so much effort into hiding her from me, the relationship was serious."

"We broke up," he said abruptly. "But that's not important. I—"

"Of course it's not important," she agreed in a sweet tone. "Don't worry, you'll find another. In the interim try to catch a disease or something." She switched back to Adriana.

"Who was that?" Adriana demanded.

Cassie tugged on her wet hair and stared at a soggy strand. She had better condition and blow-dry it before it turned into cornhusk. "The jerk."

"I think you should tell Drake about him."

At the sound of his name, Cassie let the strands fall and slap her on the cheek. She would have to think of how she would handle him tomorrow. "He doesn't need to know about my personal life. Besides, he likes you."

"Cassie, he knew you were under the table."

She felt blood leave her face. "He knew?"

"Yes."

"How would he know that?"

"Probably because I pointed to the table when he asked where you were."

"You didn't."

"I did."

He had known she was under the table. He knew that his leg had been brushing against her. Oh, God. Her face burned with embarrassment and guilty pleasure. What was she going to do with him?

"So what is your plan for tomorrow?" Adriana asked.

"After killing you? I'm not sure."

"Come on, Cassie. I did it for your own good."

"Said the vet to the neutered dog."

"Give the guy a break."

Cassie grasped a strand of hair again. "Right leg or left?"

Adriana sighed. "Try to be serious."

"All right. I'll seriously see you tomorrow." She hung up.

* * *

Eric slammed shut the ledgers he was reviewing and glared at his brother. "What's wrong?"

Drake didn't look up, too absorbed by the papers in front of him. "Nothing. Why? "

They were in the back office of the Blue Mango, one of Drake's older restaurants. The light from the morning sun shone on the cool gray elegance of the room.

Eric narrowed his eyes. "Because you're in an extremely good mood today."

Drake was unable to control a quick grin as he ran his fingers down a list of items. "How can you tell?"

"You haven't scowled at anyone yet. You actually said good morning to a busboy. It makes me nervous. What is going on? Discover a new recipe? Was Elizabeth extra kind to you?"

Drake rested his chin on his fist and looked up. "I kissed her."

Eric fell forward. "You kissed your stove?"

"No. Cassie. I kissed her last night and she liked it."

"How did that happen? Did you track her down?"

"I didn't have to. She's teaching a class I'm taking."

"What class?"

His gaze shifted to the window. "Social graces."

"Amazing." Eric sat back. "It could almost make one believe in fate. When are you going to see her again?"

"Tonight. But there's one little problem."

"What?"

"She thinks I'm attracted to her friend."

Eric lifted a brow. "You consider that a little problem?"

"She's just misinformed. Sure I said hello to Adriana in class and talked to her awhile, but I wasn't flirting. Cassie thinks that I'm practicing on her. Something to do with being shy as a child."

Eric shook his head. "A psychology major, beware."

Drake grinned. "I'm not worried. I know a little psychology myself."

"I'd wish you luck, but you already seem to have it. Oh, by the way, I spoke to Patrick the other day. He said you shot down his latest brilliant idea."

Patrick was the manager of Drake’s other restaurant, the Red Hut. "I don't shoot down brilliant ideas, only illogical ones."

"He's beginning to feel undervalued and restless. He might leave."

Drake shrugged, unconcerned. "That's his choice."

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in."

Lance, his manager, poked his head inside. He ran an agitated hand through his thick brown hair; his green eyes offered pity. "That girl is back."

Drake rested his arms on the table. "You mean that annoying one with the short hair, big eyes, and huge gold earrings?"

Lance nodded. "That's the one."

"Don't know her."

A tall, dark-skinned girl pushed her way into the room. Her manner didn't seem to fit her appearance. She had a few more years to grow into her body and her hair was cut into a chic bob, emphasizing her brown eyes. She wore a tailor-made white shirt and blue trousers and looked as if she'd stepped off a movie set as a boarding school extra. "I just need five minutes of your precious time, Mr. Henson."

Drake sat back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the desk. The girl was aggravating, but he had to admire her tenacity. "Three minutes starting now."

"Mr. Henson, please let me work at the Blue Mango. I will work for free if necessary. I know you said that you don't have any positions available, but I'll make one up. I'm very creative, you know, and you'll be so pleased with me you'll wish you had thought of it yourself. I love your restaurant and I had such a wonderful time when you let my cooking class tour here. I want to follow in your footsteps. I notice that occasionally you allow students to intern here and I would do anything to seize that opportunity."

"Pamela, I'm sorry but I can't help you. Try the Docks. I'll get the phone number for you."

Pamela shook her head, her large earrings hitting her cheeks. "Don't bother. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Pity."

He
 
stood and escorted her to the front door and held it open.

She stopped and stared at him. "You may be tough, but you're fair. I'm not giving up on you yet." She sauntered out.

"Why don't you just give her a chance?" Eric asked as Drake watched Pamela race across the street.

"Because I'm already mentoring a kid."

They heard the sound of shattering glass.

Eric grinned at Drake's groan. "And that would be him right now."

They both went into the back dining hall, where they saw Cedric Diaz sweeping up glass. His ponytail was held back by a red rubber band, his trousers were wrinkled, and his off-white shirt was beginning to resemble his olive skin. He looked particularly uninterested in what he was doing. Lance came up to them, followed by his assistant manager, Trent.

"He has to go," Lance said under his breath.

Drake rubbed his chin. "He needs time."

Lance ran a hand through his hair, staring at the mess. "I know you're trying to help him, but he doesn't care about the job. He comes in late, argues when corrected, and doesn't uphold the image we are trying to reflect. Just look at him."

Drake didn't want to. Cedric had a real attitude problem that wasn't going to take him far, but he didn't have a father and his busy mother was terrified that either gangs or death would take her son. Drake knew the fates of some former classmates who never reached adulthood and others who were spending their time in jail. He realized Cedric's life would never be easy, but he wanted to give him an opportunity he never had.

He patted Lance on the shoulder, appreciative of his patience. "Just give him a little more time. He'll straighten out."

Trent spoke up. "He doesn't deserve to be here. We weren't hired to be baby-sitters."

"No one is asking you to baby-sit."

"I am not being paid to excuse the mistakes of some overgrown kid with an attitude problem. This is a restaurant, not a job corps for delinquents."

Drake's voice was soft. "If you don't like your job you can leave it."

There was a terse silence. Then Trent said, "Fine." And stormed out back.

"I'll try to talk to him," Lance said.

Drake waved his hand. "Forget it. I don't like staff that argues with me in public. Continue working."

Lance sighed and left. Eric shook his head. "You should have tried to reason with him."

"Why?"

"Because he’s good. The reason restaurants run well, are a direct result of our managers. Besides, he has a point."

"So?"

"You could have explained—"

"No. If people don't understand why I do something, that's their problem. I didn't get to where I am by explaining every action I make."

"Just don't lose people based on ideals. If Cedric doesn't shape up, you'll have to get rid of him. And that will be his fault, not yours." He patted his brother on the back, unable to stop a smug grin. "And now I'll leave
you
to find a new assistant manager since that is your fault and not mine."

* * *

He was a silhouette in blue jeans. Cassie watched Drake enter the restaurant, oblivious to the eyes of appreciation that followed him as he approached the large round table. He seemed to move in rhythm to the soft music that floated around them. She watched him walk up to the man who sat next to her studiously checking his notes. He said in a low voice, "There's a chair over there waiting for you. It includes a free drink," and slipped the man a five.

The man pushed the money in the pocket of his plaid shirt, gathered his notes, and stood. "It's all yours, buddy."

Drake sat down and smiled at Cassie's stunned expression. "Well, that was bold!" she said.

He scooted his chair closer, brushing his leg against hers. "I always take the advice of my instructors, especially if it works."

"I suppose you're aiming to be my most improved student."

He searched her eyes. "No, I'm aiming much higher than that."

Unable to think of a satisfactory response, Cassie began the discussion. However, keeping her mind focused proved difficult. She knew Drake wasn't trying to drive her mentally insane on purpose, but the fact could not be ignored. He was distracting. Just his voice made her lose track of her notes any time he asked a question. She was too aware of how he watched her, how his arm brushed hers when he moved, how his scent seemed to draw her to him, how his face remained serious when everyone else was laughing.

She silently breathed a sigh of relief when the remainder of the class arrived. She placed the group into couples to interact. After fifteen minutes, she told them to switch partners.

The exercise helped people relax in a social atmosphere, learn to conduct small talk, and utilize body language. Cassie tried to remain impartial, going around to all of the couples, listening and observing them, but her eyes somehow always found where Drake sat and strayed to whoever he was talking to. When the exercise was over, some students left
 
while others continued their discussion. Cassie was invited to join a group for a meal, but she declined and gathered her things.

Cassie overheard two women who had been paired with Drake.

"Oh, my God," one groaned, buffing her nails. "The man is so stuck-up."

The other slipped into a bright sweater with embroidered giraffes. "Stuck-up? He's so boring he makes grass growing look good. Yesterday, you'd have thought he was some sort of seducer. What a disappointment."

"So true. All I know is that I never want to be paired with him again."

Cassie was amazed and too curious to keep her mouth shut. She came up to them. "Are you talking about Drake?"

The woman briefly stopped buffing. "You mean Drake the fake?" She laughed at her own wit. "He certainly fooled me."

"What happened?"

The first woman put her buffer away. "You mean besides him sitting like a statue?"

"Or talking about the benefits of tomatoes?" the other added.