Like that was a surprise? He sat back, folded his arms. She definitely had something going on
up front
. “No kidding? Like in you cannot tell a lie?”
She smiled enigmatically. “Trick question. If I was lying but said yes, how would you know?”
That was a challenge, if he ever heard one. But he’d save that one for later, when his stomach wasn’t competing with his brain for attention. “Too heavy for me right now. Let’s order.” He glanced up and a waiter appeared out of nowhere. Shortly thereafter, their drinks showed up.
He sipped his mojito, trying to wrap his brain around her statement. Her candor intimidated yet intrigued him. Actually, everything about her this evening intrigued him, starting with the way she looked in that killer dress with the plunging neckline and moving on to the ease with which she’d settled into the repartee. “Isn’t it dangerous for me to know about your thing with honesty?”
She took a swallow of her margarita. “How so?”
“It’s like that Truth or Dare game, minus the Dare part.”
Her eyes fluttered briefly. “Good analogy.”
Her agreeing cut short any fantasies about dares he could have subjected her to, but the honesty thing was too much to resist. “Let’s check it out.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Instead of Truth or Dare, we’ll play Twenty Questions.”
She sat forward. “Wait! I didn’t agree to an interrogation.”
He’d caught her off guard. He liked having the edge on her. “Too late. But, if I’m satisfied you really are telling the truth, I’ll settle for three. For now, anyhow. You’ll owe me the rest.”
She shook her head. “Three. That’s all. I’m not promising more.”
They’d see about that. “Why did you become a chef?”
Her eyes twinkled, reflecting the sparkling candlelight. “Would you believe I liked how I looked in the white jacket?”
He rolled his eyes. “Beep! You do look mighty good in chef’s garb, but I doubt that’s the reason you took up the culinary arts. Doesn’t sound like you.” He leaned forward and pointed an index finger at her. “On the other hand, for someone who’s so big on telling the truth, you’ve already fibbed.”
A vapid expression appeared on her face. “I simply asked ‘would you believe?’”
“Try again.”
She finished nursing her drink, then set it neatly to the side of her water glass. “Short version. I was an awkward teen struggling to deal with my parents’ divorce until I discovered cooking. My dad was a country singer with one big mega-hit. After his death, I used my inheritance from his royalties to pay for cooking school.”
“Would I recognize him?”
“My dad was Jerry Dunbar. He wrote ‘Make My Future.’ And that’s Question Two.”
It just kept getting better. “I love that song.” The irony hit him. “What poetic justice.”
She narrowed her eyes, not following.
“You said his big hit was ‘Make My Future.’ It certainly made yours.”
Releasing what sounded like a sigh, she said, “True, but I wish it had been his future that benefited instead of mine. He came so close.” She looked away, but before she did, he caught sight of the moisture pooling in her eyes.
Well, hell. He hadn’t intended for this conversation to get serious, but now that they were there, he wanted to know more. Since he never knew his own father, this was all new territory for him.”
She turned back to him, any evidence of tears gone. “I saw him three days before he dropped over from an aneurism in the middle of rehearsal. Even if I’d been there, he died immediately, without a chance to say good-bye.”
Fortunately, their dinner arrived at that moment, dispelling the somber tone that had taken over. They ate in silence for a while, each sampling, savoring their meal. At last, having finished over a third of his, Nick licked his lips and said, “Not bad.”
“Mine too. Quite tasty for
arroz con pollo
. The chicken is moist, the rice done right. But there’s no excitement to it, nothing different that shouts unique, the kind of fare that draws rave reviews.”
Tough lady to please. He sampled more of his entree. “You’re right. No A-plus here either. So much for Ocho’s.”
A puzzled expression came over her face. “Are you ready to leave already?”
“Not yet. I get one more question.”
She blinked. “You’re kidding. I thought you were just playing me.”
Was she playing him with that comment? “No way. You’ll know when I’m playing you.” He raised his brows and dipped his head slightly to emphasize his claim.
She stared back at him, a question in her eyes. Maybe she did get into that dare part.
“Question three: why did you really take this job?”
“Uh—”
A female voice just beyond their table gushed, “Aren’t you Nick Coltrane?”
Damn! He assumed his best celebrity smile and turned toward the questioner. “Guilty.” Autograph seekers. He recognized the look. Plaintive, hopeful. But they were his bread and butter. Couldn’t turn them away. He reached inside his jacket for a pen.
Two fortyish women came up to the table, a taller female friend behind the woman who’d spoken. “I saw you on Broadway a few years ago in that drawing room mystery…”
Damn again. He’d assumed they were fans of the show. The last thing he needed was for Reese to find out he was an actor. Too late now. And he couldn’t afford to offend his audience. “Blood on the Piazza,” he supplied. “But that was at least seven years ago. I’m surprised you remembered.”
“How could I forget?” the woman cooed. She nodded toward her friend. “Della and I saw it together. Isn’t that something that we’d be having dinner together tonight and see you again?”
“Amazing.”
“Where have you been keeping yourself? We’d like to see you on stage again,” Della, the friend, put in.
“I’m afraid I’ve moved on to a new passion. Food. Ever seen
And He Cooks Too
?”
The women exchanged looks, then shook their heads. “That’s a shame. You made such a wonderful rogue in that play.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as Nick finished signing his name, the women grabbed their treasure and hurried back to their table, calling behind them, “Thanks so much, Mr. Coltrane, uh, Nick,” and “Can’t wait to see your next show.”
“
Wonderful rogue
? I think your fans have you pegged.”
How did he get out of this? Better work fast on damage control. “My dirty little secret. I was on the stage in a former life.”
Reese set down her fork and studied him. “Not really so secret, thanks to the Internet. I checked you out before I accepted this job.”
“You knew?” he asked, his voice catching.
She gave him a Mona Lisa type smile. “I do my research, Nick.”
The spicy beef dish he’d just consumed seemed to congeal in his stomach. Had she checked out his cooking credentials also?
“I can see you on the stage.” She laughed. “Maybe more than behind the stove.”
Lady, you don’t know how right you are.
“Ah, well, cooking’s my new love.”
“Where did you do your training? The Internet didn’t mention that.”
Great. She had him. The only way he could think of to deflect this conversation was to play dumb. “Huh?”
She leaned in, revealing more décolletage. “Cooking school. Which one did you attend?”
He struggled to come up with a response, but his mind was elsewhere. Mesmerized, he watched as she played a finger around the rim of her margarita glass, picking up stray salt particles. How was a guy supposed to think up a plausible story to explain his origins when his brain was otherwise engaged?
She touched her fingertip to her lips. Nick couldn’t speak. His eyes locked on her lips as other parts of his anatomy were unlocked. Was she coming on to him?
Somewhere in a far corner of the restaurant, a mariachi troupe began what sounded like a love song. With a flourish of high notes dipping quickly into the lower octaves, the melody of the violins suggested a torrid love affair.
Nick couldn’t take his eyes off her. Breathing had suddenly become a chore.
“Reese?” He said her name in a rasp and reached for her hand. Just as he was about to touch her, his cell phone rang. Now? Who would have the audacity to interrupt this moment? “Sorry,” he gulped, reaching for the offending device. “I thought I’d turned it off.”
She raised a questioning brow.
On the other end of the line, Leonie said, “I need you to come to my apartment right now.”
“I’m, uh, not able to do that at the moment. I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
“I’m sure once you hear about this, you’ll agree it’s more important than whatever you’re doing.”
What was she up to? Leonie rarely called let alone saw him on weekends after their Saturday morning briefing. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Reese shifting away from him so as not to intrude. “I’m having dinner right now with someone.” Back to Reese, he said, “Please, excuse me.” He rose and slammed out to the lobby.
“Okay, Leonie. I left the table so I could talk more openly. Now, tell me what’s so important you would have me be rude to my dinner guest.”
“I have to show you, dear. I’m working on a major change for the show and need your input before tomorrow morning, when I have to make my decision.”
“Can’t Jasper help? That’s more his kind of thing.”
“He’s coming too. But I need your perspective. You’ll see when you get here. Please, Nick. This won’t take long.”
Nick checked his watch. Eight-thirty. At least an hour for him to get to Leonie’s, stay a few minutes, and return to the restaurant. He couldn’t ask Reese to stick around that long. Maybe he could take her with him. Right. That would go over big with his aunt. He felt like a jerk for what he was about to do, but Leonie had that coaxing, can’t-get-along-without-you edge to her voice. He’d better not take it lightly.
He slipped the phone in his jacket pocket and returned to his table, motioning for the waiter to bring him the check. To Reese, he said, “Something’s come up with my aunt. I have to get over there right away. I’m sorry.”
Reese’s forehead creased in concern. “Is she okay?”
He could have invented some ailment for Leonie, but Reese had said she wanted the truth from people. “No emergency, but she’s working on something for the show that needs immediate input. She gets like this sometimes. I’ve found it best just to humor her.”
At the mention of the word “humor,” Reese screwed up her face, as if she hadn’t heard him correctly.
“Family members are sometimes demanding without realizing it.” He handed the waiter several bills. To Reese he said, “The restaurant will take care of your cab fare. We can, uh, finish our review next week.” Then he raced for the door, reproaching himself yet again for not standing up to Leonie.
For a Saturday night, traffic was light and Nick made it across town to Leonie’s apartment in eighteen minutes. Leonie’s housekeeper answered the door and led him to the drawing room, where he found Leonie and Jasper leaning over what appeared to be a small dollhouse on the coffee table. As he moved closer, the object took on the shape of their set.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Leonie placed a hand on his arm. “Nick. I’m so glad you came. This decision just couldn’t wait any longer.”
Nick took a second glance at the mock-up. “Tell me you didn’t pull me away from a delicious dinner just to have me pick a paint color.”
Leonie sought out Jasper, who rolled his eyes, then glanced away. “Of course, not, dear. This change is much more involved than that. I’ve noticed how your new wardrobe fades on camera. That’s totally unacceptable. The whole point of the new clothes is to make you stand out.”
“Excuse the cliché, Leonie,” Jasper said, inserting himself into the discussion, “but clothes don’t make the man. Nick’s camera presence and the way he makes his cooking look so easy week after week count for much more than whatever shirt he’s wearing.”
Leonie shot a look to the ceiling. “Of course, Jasper. I don’t disagree. But every little detail matters right now, when we’re on the brink of network recognition.”
Not that again. He waited for Jasper’s response. However, instead of his usual warning not to take the network too seriously, Jasper threw up his hands and walked away.
Undeterred, Leonie pulled a folder from the table and retrieved what appeared to be several large color samples. Each had a sort of oblong shape cut into one side. “I couldn’t judge how well these colors would work with your complexion from just your headshots. That’s why I needed you here tonight. The painters start tomorrow morning, so they can be done before we tape next week.”
“You’re not serious?” Nick asked, incredulous. This had better not get back to Reese. What an insult to learn her dinner companion had left her for a color check.
“Bend down,” Leonie ordered.
“Huh?” But he complied.
She selected one of the samples and placed it over his head, tiara-style. “What do you think, Jasper? How does this one go with his face and hair?”
Nick jerked upright, the flimsy card stock caving in but still circling his head. “Get this off me! I must look ridiculous.”
Jasper returned from where he’d been taking cover on the side of the room, a hand across his mouth in a lame attempt to conceal his grin. He stood back from Nick, one elbow resting on his other palm, his free index finger stuck in his chin. “I don’t know, Nick. This one definitely brings out the midnight blue of your eyes.”
“Cut the crap, Jasper,” Nick growled, snatching the paper from his head.
Leonie quickly replaced the rejected color sample with another. “Try this.”
Jasper moved to one side of Nick, then to the other. “Makes him appear too sallow.”
Nick locked eyes with the man. “This little palette party had better never be mentioned again.”
“Were you serious about the
sallow
part, Jasper, or just having fun with my nephew?”
“I didn’t see any difference between the first and the second,” Jasper replied. “Pick something and put Nick out of his misery.”