CHAPTER 7

“I have Mr. Adams on the phone, Miss West. He’s requesting a luncheon business meeting with you today.”

Dianna’s heart did a pirouette of joy. He called. Suddenly Tuesday was a bright and sunshiny spring day … and not the bright and sunshiny total bummer of a spring day it had been a moment ago. Sitting behind her desk, having just made arrangements for a fifty-six-year-old widower who wanted to ask his newly found, former high school sweetheart to marry him, Dianna managed to stare intelligently—and to cover her joy with a frown—at Mrs. Windhorst. “Mr. Adams? A lunch meeting?”

“Yes. Mr. Christopher Adams. But a lunch business meeting.”

“Business. Of course. What else?” Dianna looked at her watch, more as a stall tactic than anything else because she already knew what time it was. Yep. Eleven-thirty. Her stomach growled its vote, while her head told her that Mr. Christopher Adams should not be inviting women other than his intended fiancée to lunch. But her heart wasn’t standing for any rationality on this point. Hey, back off, it warned, adding that Mrs. Windhorst had said he specifically asked for a business luncheon, hello—any number of which she usually accepted. Dianna brightened. Hey, that’s true. Struggling to keep the excitement out of her voice, she soberly asked, “Did he say where?”

“Yes. Faidley’s.”

Oh, jeez, could he have chosen better to tempt her more? No. World’s best crab cakes, in her opinion. Huge. Smooth. Jumbo lumps. Made by the owner herself. Total nirvana. But Dianna just couldn’t. She really couldn’t. If nothing else, think of the traffic and the crowds. “Is he serious? Downtown at Lexington Market?”

Mrs. Windhorst raised her impressively arched eyebrows in question. “Unless there’s another one I don’t know about?”

“No. There’s only the one. But just hang on. Let me think about my workload a minute.”

Sorting through files and papers on her desk, though not actually allotting her workload one jot of think-time, Dianna took a poll of her conscience. Okay, while Chris might couch this invitation as business and really mean it (though she doubted it), she wasn’t certain of her own motivations. Meaning, could she accept solely on a business basis? Or was she hugely tempted to go for no other reason than she just wanted to see him again and revel in his handsomeness and the giddy way he made her feel, and then go away even more frustrated because she had no right to feel that way about a client and, after all, she was the one who had instituted the “no fraternizing with the clients” rule but still—

Whoa, girl. Wait a minute. Dianna focused on the patiently waiting Mrs. Windhorst. “No. Tell him I can’t make it. Tell him I’m booked solid with appointments.”

“Oh, dear. I’m afraid I can’t do that. He already knows differently.”

Disbelief had Dianna sitting back abruptly in her chair. “He does? How?”

Mrs. Windhorst’s faded blue eyes clouded. “Because I told him.”

“You told him?” Dianna narrowed her eyes, thinking, Mr. Adams certainly has a way with my secretary, now doesn’t he? “Why would you tell him my schedule?”

The woman looked anxious to gain Dianna’s understanding. “It’s a matter of course, Miss West. In the performance of my job, I have to review your schedule, looking for time and availability, when clients, such as Mr. Adams, or prospective clients call for appointments. I did just that and commented to him that you were free from now until two-thirty and when did he wish to come in? That was when he suggested a lunch meeting. And he now remains on hold while I ask you if that’s possible.”

This speech was not remarkable for Mrs. Windhorst, so Dianna merely glanced at the office phone. Sure enough, a blinking red light on line three. She was tempted to pick it up herself and tell him no. But she didn’t for fear the older woman, dressed in a two-piece lightweight pink suit, would reach over and smack her hand away. She was fiercely protective of what she perceived as her duties. “Exactly whose side are you on, Mrs. Windhorst?”

“I wasn’t aware we’d chosen sides, Miss West.”

She never won with this woman. Never. Dianna sat forward and fussed with rearranging manila files and notepads and pens and paper-clip holders atop her messy desk. “We haven’t. Never mind.”

“Did I do something wrong, Miss West?”

“No. Of course not.”

“But you’re obviously upset.”

Dianna met the woman’s gaze. “Yes. But more at myself than anything.”

“I see.” The older woman’s neck was suddenly stained a deepening red of impending emotion. “However, rest assured,” she said in a breaking voice, “that whatever your decision regarding this lunch, I will faithfully execute your wishes. My loyalty lies completely with you. I would never—”

“Okay, stop. Seriously. Whoa.” Dianna had a hand to her temple. “No need for all that. We’re fine here. Like I said, it’s me, not you.”

Mrs. Windhorst sniffed and nodded and raised her chin a proud notch. “I apologize for my outburst.”

“No problem.” Dianna quickly—before Mrs. Windhorst could get going again—began leafing through each file as if she were actually doing what she’d said; that is, making a mental assessment of the time required to deal with each one. But the truth was, she was hoping that Chris would get tired of being on terminal hold and would hang up and relieve her of having to make this decision.

“Excuse me for interrupting, Miss West, but might I pick up the phone line and tell Mr. Adams that we haven’t forgotten him?”

“No! God, no!” Well, that had certainly been a shriek. Dianna cleared her throat. “I mean, uh, I won’t be but another moment. Just hold on.”

But almost immediately, Dianna quit stalling with the excuse of the pile of files on her desk. What was the point? She knew right from wrong. She could recognize the difference between what she wanted to do as opposed to what she needed to do. Decision made easy.

She opened her mouth to speak—and saw two heads (one shoe-polish black and the other Woody Woodpecker red) dart in from opposite sides of the open door to her office, and just as quickly dart back out of sight. Split-second timing. Totally startling. Of course, Mrs. Windhorst hadn’t seen this because the door was behind her. But still … “Mrs. Windhorst, is something going on around here that I don’t know about?”

The older woman’s faded-blue eyes widened, yet she still managed to look guilty. “Going on? Why, no. I have no idea what you mean. What could possibly be going on? What made you think that?”

Hmm. Mrs. Windhorst babbling. Bobbing heads out in the foyer. Okay, something was definitely going on. Did it have anything to do with that patiently blinking red light on line three? One way to find out. Dianna purposely raised her voice, all the better to be heard, with her decision. “Tell Mr. Adams that I’m sorry, but I can’t make it today. If he wants—”

“Aw, man, come on, Dianna. Go.”

“Please? Faidley’s sounds wonderful. Such dreamy food.”

And suddenly her office was replete with employees. Paula and Melanie had popped in from their vantage points out in the foyer, and Mrs. Windhorst hadn’t looked around in surprise. Studying them, Dianna leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “What in the world is going on here? Would someone please tell me?”

Staring at her, the three women remained silent. Then, as if at some cue undetected by Dianna, they suddenly huddled and put their heads together. What followed could only be described as a silent movie. Lots of gesturing and face-making but no hearable words. Dianna watched this fascinating display with raised eyebrows. Finally, the three women broke, faced Dianna, but flanked Paula, obviously their elected spokeswoman.

Attired in a multicolored, horizontally striped dress that just screamed Fashions by Dr. Seuss, Paula shrugged her shoulders. “No big deal. We want you to go because he invited us, too.”

“What? He invited you, too?”

“Very good. Congratulations. You have just passed your hearing test.” Totally deadpan. “Yes, he invited us. As in—” Paula jerked her thumbs first toward Melanie and Mrs. Windhorst and then poked herself in her chest with those bony digits. “Us. The three amigos. The Three Stooges. The Three Musketeers. He’s paying, and we want to go. So you have to go.”

Did this just reek of manipulation on Chris’s part, or what? Suddenly stubborn, Dianna crossed her arms rigidly under her breasts. “No, actually, I don’t have to go. If you want to go … then go.” She raised her chin. “But I’m not going.”

“Oh, gracious me, I do declare.” Melanie abruptly put a pale, slender hand to her red, red lips and stared perfectly Shirley Temple wide-eyed at Dianna. She lowered her hand to her ample bosom, covered by a lacy, peach (Georgia peach) blouse, and said: “I for one certainly did not expect you to say that, Di.” She turned her perplexed expression on her coworkers. “Whatever shall we do now?”

Paula eyed Melanie as she always did … much as if she wondered if the woman was for real. “Well, Scarlett, you might want to hold off on that case of the vapors you’ve got working there. Because what we’re gonna do is go. Come on, ladies.”

At her signal, they turned away, apparently intent on doing just that.

Dianna’s jaw dropped open. She jerked forward in her chair and gripped the edge of her desk. “Hey, wait a minute. Didn’t you hear what I said?”

That stopped her employees on their collective way to the door. As one, they turned to face their boss. Dianna felt suddenly childish, like the kid who’d just been told to play fair or take her toys and go home. But still, this was a point of pride—hers, to be exact. “I’m sorry, but as I said, I don’t think we should go.”

“No,” Mrs. Windhorst corrected gently. “I believe you said you are not going, Miss West. And as Ms. Capland explained, Mr. Adams’s invitation was clearly extended to all of us. And I assume—though I’m certain I’d find backing under the law for this—that we remain free to accept since our time is our own on our lunch breaks. And our afternoon schedules are agreeable with an extended lunch period.”

Dianna joined Paula and Melanie in staring at the squarely built secretary who ran their professional lives. Paula was the first to recover. “Where in hell do you come up with shit like that, old girlfriend?”

Old girlfriend narrowed her eyes at her arch-nemesis. “I will not respond to your vulgarity, Ms. Capland.”

While this exchange was happening, Dianna glared at the interminably blinking red light on line three that represented Chris Adams. So he’d gone behind her back and invited her employees, as well as herself, to lunch—all to insure that she’d have to say yes, now hadn’t he? Obviously, he’d figured she’d say no. Well, his little tactic wasn’t going to work. And yet, she wondered what he was up to and why he wanted this meeting.

Too bad she’d never know because she wasn’t going. That decided, Dianna captured her employees’ attention by announcing: “All right. Mrs. Windhorst is right. Your lunch break is your own time.” Dianna raised her chin, showing how magnanimous she could be, even in the face of being supremely injured. You couldn’t have Joy West as a mother and not learn a thing or two about drama. “However, I don’t think this is a good idea at all, and for many reasons. But if you feel you absolutely must go, then I won’t stop you.”

Silence met this bravura performance. But it didn’t last.

“Okay. Cool. Come on, girls.” And the girls went, following on Paula’s heels. That redheaded little stinker threw a careless wave her boss’s way. “’Bye, Di, see you after lunch. We’ll probably be late getting back. And catch the phones, will you? We’re taking the loquacious Mrs. Windhorst with us.”

Dianna sat there, stunned, immobile, much as if her butt had been Super Glued to her chair. They’re going to go without me. But what about my great speech? Apparently, when faced with the stiff competition of being treated at Faidley’s, her eloquence held no sway. Dianna narrowed her eyes. They won’t really go. And yet, the women filed out of the office and into the foyer. Dianna, who could no longer see them, given the positioning of her desk in her office, jammed her lips together into a puckered line and concentrated on the conversation and actions going on out of her sight.

“Oh, my goodness, I am so sorry, but I’ve forgotten my reticule.” Archaic term for pocketbook or purse. How many times had Melanie told them?

“Well, go get it. Christ, Melanie, do you even know what century this is?” One downbeat of time passed before Paula added, “Jeez, I work with a bunch of freakin’ lunatics.” Then she called out: “Except for you, boss lady. Love you.”

Dianna absolutely refused to respond in any way. She remained injured and disbelieving and in her office by herself. They won’t go. They’re just teasing.

“Hey,” Paula called out again, this time to a more general audience who had apparently scattered, “in case anybody’s wondering, I’m driving, and for the same reason I said before: you two are lunatics. Come on, Mrs. Windhorst, get a move on there, lady. Tell Mr. Gorgeous Adams that we three are heading out. Oh, and make sure you bring that whoopee cushion you sit on all the time. That’s attractive.”

“It is not a … a whoopee cushion, Ms. Capland. It is an orthopedic donut prescribed for me by my doctor because of an old fracture to my coccyx.”

“Right. Whoopee cushion. But try not to say ‘coccyx’ in public, all right? It just sounds like something men need to keep covered with a pair of thick pants, if you know what I mean.”

They’re bluffing. They won’t leave me here. Dianna remained convinced of this, even when the red light on line three went solid—indicating Mrs. Windhorst had picked it up—and then a moment later blinked out. A few seconds after that, the women evidently were congregated out in the tiled foyer. Dianne heard their milling footsteps, much like a restive herd of mares. Then the front door opened … three beats on the clock tick-tocked by … the door closed … and all was silent.

They won’t go without me. Dianna pursed her lips. She drummed her fingers on her desktop. She looked around her office, waiting. They’ll come back. More silence. They didn’t come back. The pressure to peek out the picture window behind her, to see if they drove off, approached unbearable. But neither love nor money could have made her turn around and risk being seen by them in return. Dianna neatly folded her hands together in her lap … and sat quietly. She sniffed. Raised her chin. Looked around—

And then totally lost it. “Hey, wait a minute! Wait for me!”

She ripped open the side drawer in her desk, grabbed up her purse and the office keys, jumped up, skirted her desk, and flew out of her office, into the foyer. There, she remembered she had to turn the office phones over to the answering service. Shrieking, she ran back into her office, picked up the phone, went through all the mumbo jumbo of doing that, hung up, and then ran again for the foyer. She flipped the OPEN sign over to CLOSED, jerked the door open, stepped outside into the wonderful spring air—

And stopped dead. There were her employees in Paula’s big, red SUV, parked at the front curb, waiting for her. Totally embarrassed that they could read her so well—and yet very pleased that they hadn’t abandoned her—Dianna wanted to die. Or maybe kill them. They might fuss at each other all day long, but they always stuck together. Sure, mostly to goad her. But at least they cared. Just look at them—how could she not love them? There was Melanie, laughing and hanging out the open window in the front passenger’s seat, waving for Dianna to come on. On the other side of Melanie, in the driver’s seat, Paula beeped the car horn repeatedly and waved. Mrs. Windhorst, of course, sat primly in the back seat, like a hostage, staring straight ahead.

Trying her best not to look like the joke was on her, and failing miserably as her grin kept getting away from her, Dianna nodded her “okay, so you got me” nod and chuckled. All in her own good time now, she closed the front door, locked it, and dropped the keys into her purse. Then, she turned around and ever so slowly strolled across the verandah … took the wide steps one at a careful time … and casually walked down the sidewalk—all of this to the accompaniment of Melanie’s and Paula’s feminine catcalls and wolfette whistling. Mrs. Windhorst continued to look pained and abducted.

*   *   *

“I’m glad you could make it today.”

Swallowing a big, unladylike bite of her crab cake, Dianna eyed her host, who stood to her left at the long communal bar at Faidley’s. “Oh, as if.” She grinned to show she knew she’d been had but could still be a good sport. “I wasn’t given much choice in the matter.”

“How so?” Like her, Chris was practically yelling, even though he was less than a foot away from her. Simply put, they were surrounded by a tide of jabbering humanity intent on the cacophonous conduct of market business. Furthermore, if one were to stray away from the bar, he or she would be swept away, never to be seen again in the tide of humanity that ebbed and flowed up and down the market’s many enticing aisles.

“How so, you ask? Let’s just say I was outnumbered. Four to one.”

“Four?”

She laughed. “Stop trying to look so innocent. Yeah, four. My employees and you.”

Despite the amused gleam in his eye, Chris said, “I admit to nothing.”

“Why am I not surprised? So, anyway, Chris, why’d you call us all here today? You said it was business?”

“And it is.”

“But not business we could conduct at the office, I take it?”

He shrugged. “Sure we could. But this is more fun.”

“Agreed. So, Mr. Adams, what’s your business?”

“Computers. And how come you don’t have any in your office.”

“Awk, the big no-no word.” Dianna flapped her hands at Chris, trying to warn him off.

But the man didn’t get it. “Computers—a no-no word? Why is that a—”

“Shhh.” Acutely aware of her employees, who were to her right and ranged out along the bar’s length, Dianna leaned in toward Chris. “Don’t say that word out loud. Are you just trying to totally undermine my office harmony?”

“Dianna, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why are compu—”

“Shhh.” Giving up, she tugged him down to her level so she could whisper in his ear. Mistake. Could the man smell better? No. Could he be more ruggedly handsome with that classic jaw and straight nose, and those deep-chocolate eyes? No. God, he just looks like he can bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan—Stop. Focus, Dianna. Deep breath, now whisper. “There are no computers because Mrs. Windhorst won’t allow them. Melanie and Paula want them, and it’s a big battle every time the subject comes up.”

Chris pulled back, straightened up, stared at her, and then leaned in again toward her. “I’m not surprised. But are you serious? Mrs. Windhorst gets to not allow things?”

“Computers, she does. It’s practically in her employment contract. See, I told her I had no interest in installing computers, which I didn’t at the time, since we’re mostly a phone business. You know, calling restaurants, florists, and the like. So I pretty much promised her that as long as she worked for me, I wouldn’t force them on her.”

“Then don’t. Can’t everyone else at your office have one?”

Dianna shook her head. “No. They would impact Mrs. Windhorst’s job sooner or later. Appointments. Billing. Ordering supplies. All those things could be computerized, only she wouldn’t know how to access the info.”

“This is a tough one. Why doesn’t she just learn?”

“I think she tried.” Dianna shrugged. “Couldn’t get the hang of it. And, look, Chris, you have to remember what it’s like for someone who wasn’t raised with computers at every desk. To them this is Star Wars stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m pushing too hard.” He looked so disappointed. “So, she’s afraid of the technology. I know a lot of people, well, her age are.”

“That’s pretty much it, really.” Dianna found it was hard to concentrate on computers and technology while standing oh-so-close to the nicest, funniest, best-looking man she’d ever seen, one who set her nerve endings zinging, one she really, really liked and wanted to be around every day. Damn. Not good. Still, ever the female, Dianna figured that she had to be totally attractive right now, downing as she was—in a very messy fashion—a Faidley’s masterpiece. She watched as Chris’s gaze flitted from her face to her food and back to her face. That did it. She was a mess. She grabbed up a paper napkin and swiped it across her mouth.

“Do you mind my asking you all this, Dianna? I know your business’s inner workings are really none of my business.”

Since he’d just earned points for not commenting on the state of her face or the bar space in front of her, Dianna rushed to assure him. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. We’re here to talk business, right? In fact, the lack o’ computers is right now a sticking point. Our workload has grown to need a better information-storing system. And I now have the money to buy them. So ask me how many times a week my big brother accountant Edward tells me I need to get them.” She waved a hand at Chris. “Rhetorical question. No need to ask.”

“I gathered.”

“Anyway, I’d override my promise to her, but here’s the weird thing. If she quit, I’d be dead in the water. She’s totally efficient. Really knows her stuff and the functions of the business world. She’s also a real watchdog against wasteful practices, as she calls them. Edward adores her for that. And she has this filing system that only she understands. And she also orders the office supplies. You lose a pen, you answer to her. Nobody wants to do that.”

“So she’s made herself indispensable. And you’re afraid of her.”

“Exactly.” Without thinking, Dianna sucked at all ten of her crab-cake-coated fingers and offered up her gaze to the equally delicious man at her side. “There’s more if you want to hear it.”

He shrugged those football shoulders of his, right now covered by a stark white T-shirt that revealed every rippling muscle underneath. Likewise his faded jeans … every muscle outlined. His expression droll, Chris said, “I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if you didn’t tell me.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Dianna checked her watch. “And I have time, too. Good. Here’s the thing: Have you ever had to hire an executive secretary?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well, the competition is fierce.”

Chris peered around Dianna, curiously eyeing the older woman. “So there was fierce competition for Mrs. Windhorst?”

Dianna shook her head and leaned in again toward the man. Head rush—the commingled scents of his body’s heat, his aftershave, and the clean smell of his laundered T-shirt. “Hey, look at me. I don’t want her to know we’re talking about her.” When she had Chris’s attention, she continued. “And ‘no’ is the answer to that. There wasn’t any competition for her, which is why I felt sorry for her and hired her. But she also felt sorry for me.”

Chris appeared to be lost here. “You’ll have to explain that.”

“Okay. She was the only person to answer my ad in the paper. No surprise there because I couldn’t afford top salary a year ago for someone with her qualifications. Still can’t, but we’re growing. So, anyway, to me, she was a godsend, and I was thrilled to get her.”

“Ah. I think I’m seeing the picture now. She’d experienced a comedown. Not getting the big jobs and the big money. An age thing?”

Dianna weighed this, waggling her head and making a scrunched-up face that showed her ambivalence. “Yes and no. See, when the big company she worked for—this was years ago—went all computer, she was forced out because she couldn’t catch on or keep up or something. So now she blames computers.”

“That happens a lot.” Chris grimaced and scratched at his jaw. “I almost feel responsible.”

“You? Why? Oh, wait, I get it. You’re the dot-com guy. So, anyway, she’s a widow, no kids to fall back on, and no computer skills. She’s always had to support herself. Before my job offer came along, she’d been forced to take drudge jobs. So she’s pretty grateful to me. I think. But I know I’m grateful to her. End of story. And all that means the bottom line here is—”

“No computers. Shame. I still say that Internet thing, a Web presence, is your next step. I could do it all, Dianna. Set it up, do the heavy lifting, and even oversee it for you. You wouldn’t have to do anything but approve the design.”

“Chris, I would personally love that.” And she meant it, too. Him every day there at her office? That didn’t suck. But yes it did, too. Him every day there at the office? A bad thing. She’d just get more attached. And, too, there was that promise to Mrs. Windhorst not to put her out to pasture because of her fear of technology. “But you see my difficulties. Still, and again, thanks for the lunch. For all of us. That was nice.”

“Yeah, I am a nice guy, aren’t I?”

Dianna chuckled at his droll expression. “Who are you trying to convince?”

“Anyone who will listen.” That killer sexy grin of his was unrepentant. “Still, I think we’d work great together, you and I.”

Dianna arched her eyebrows—a fitting companion to her arch question. “Are we still talking business?”

He stared into her eyes, quirked up a corner of his mouth and stared at her. “Could be.”

Oh, God. Dianna’s hormones heard that. She inhaled deeply and held it a moment in an effort to restore calm to her feminine nether regions. “So, anyway, Chris, what’s this really all about? You don’t suddenly need the work, do you? Or are you just bored being a man of infinite means?”

“No to both. I’d do this for you for the sheer joy of it. And the love.”

Dianna swallowed. He absolutely had to quit saying such provocative things. Light and chirpy was called for here. “Sorry. Get your own reasons. Those are mine. I work for the joy and the love.”

“Exactly. That’s what makes your business unique. You literally do it for love. Or because of other peoples’ love for each other. That’s fascinating to me, and I’d work for you for free. Hard to say no to a deal like that.”

“Boy, no kidding.” But she just couldn’t give in. As attracted as she was to him on so many levels—the man was every bit as charming and witty and nice as he was good-looking and unavailable—she’d have her arm chewed off by the end of a week. And what was it about him, anyway? She wasn’t inexperienced. She’d had her share of boyfriends and dates, et cetera, just nothing that had ever led to the altar. She hadn’t worried unduly about that, really, because she was only twenty-six and had always told herself that surely the right man for her was just out there waiting to be found. And look—ta-da! Here he was. And he belonged to someone else. There was no hope, and life was cruel.

Dianna hid all this angst with a shake of her head no and used her fingers to pluck up the crab crumbs of her rotund eight-ounce cake. “I have to say no, Chris. No, no, no.”

He looked disappointed. “You mean Mrs. Windhorst?”

No, I mean you, big boy. Afraid she’d blurt that out loud, Dianna popped the crabmeat into her mouth and chewed. She swallowed and nodded. “Her, for one thing. If I even suggested computers, she’d probably find some way to sue me. And one lawsuit at a time is enough for me. Remember Lenny?”

“Like I do the chicken pox I had as a kid. But Lenny’s not going to sue you. I took care of that. Now, how about this: What if I offered to work one-on-one with Mrs. Windhorst until she got up to speed? Day in and day out. Just be there for her and explain things until she felt secure. I’ll bet she didn’t get that kind of help before. Besides, computers are a lot simpler now than they were years ago. She looks like a smart lady. I think with a little TLC and coaching, it wouldn’t take her long to catch on—”

“Wait just a doggone minute.” Dianna flapped a hand at Chris. “Go back to that Lenny thing. The part where you said he’s not going to sue me, and you took care of it.”

He chuckled. “Oh, you heard that? All right. After you left Sunday, I had a little talk with him and told him I’d be the one who’d kick his ass if he sued you. So, bottom line, he’s over that. Unfortunately, he still wants to be your client.”

She was so completely impressed with this man. Why couldn’t he be hers? “My God, you’ve been out there, a knight in shining armor, slaying my dragons, haven’t you?”

He shrugged off her glorifying him. “Not slaying, exactly. I pretty much just threatened to bitch-slap the dragon into behaving.”

“The result’s the same.” She could not be more thrilled with this man, and that made her tongue loose. “I could just kiss you, Chris Adams, do you know that?”

He enthusiastically pushed away from the counter and spread his arms wide. “Hey, damsel no longer in distress because of my heroic actions, go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

Dammit, he just kept making her laugh and making her like him even more. “Quit it! And get back over here before you knock into someone or get dragged off.” By me to a dark cave somewhere.

He was so adorable and attractive right now that in about one more second she would wrap herself, starfish-style, around his body and hold on forever. Probably not the smart thing to do right in the middle of the seafood section of Lexington Market. The people here were pretty much no-nonsense.

When Chris came back to the counter and rested his elbows on it, Dianna poked at his arm. “You didn’t eat all of your crab cake. How can you let it just sit there? I could eat ten of these in a row.”

“I thought you just had.”

“Ha. I’d be dead now. But it’d be worth it.” She popped another bite of the crabmeat into her mouth and closed her eyes, the better to savor the delicacy as she chewed. “God, that is divine.”

“From where I’m standing, too.”

His words, the sound of his voice, again sent the message straight to her erogenous zones, all of them. Dianna opened her eyes. Seeing the look on Chris’s face, she pronounced herself glad that Paula, Melanie, and Mrs. Windhorst were not paying attention to anything or anyone other than their lunch. Because now it was time for Dianna to say some serious, not-business things to Chris. For example: “I shouldn’t have said that about kissing you, Chris. And you can’t keep saying things like what you just did to me. Very dangerous flirting territory. Not good.”

Chris held her gaze a moment and then looked away from her, crossing his forearms atop the bar and gazing across the way. “I know. I keep telling myself that, too. But I can’t seem to stop.” He suddenly turned his powerfully affecting gaze her way. “Not where you’re concerned, that is. I don’t have this problem with other women. And, again, that’s probably more than I should admit out loud to you, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Exactly. Things like that. You can’t do that. I can’t do that.” But she knew she could. Easily. Just swipe everything off this long bar, strip the man naked, throw him atop it, climb on, and have at him. No! With great difficulty, Dianna blinked that lusty image aside. There was too much else here at stake—her business, her family, the money, and his relationship with another woman—to give in wantonly to hormones. She needed to behave in a mature fashion. Do the right thing. Dianna winced at that. God, she hated being an adult. Self-sacrifice and honor and duty and other stupid and important things like that were turning out to be a lot harder to live up to than they sounded.

In the face of Chris’s continuing silence and seeming introspection, Dianna added, “Okay, truth?”

He turned those troubled dark chocolate—brown eyes her way. “Sure. Why not?”

Dianna forced herself to ignore what her heart was telling her. Remember … noble. Mature. Adult. All of which sucked. Come on, just one night, please? No. She saw herself living with that aftermath … all that moping and whining and eating too much. Not a pretty picture. “What I mean, Chris, is yes there’s something undeniable between us. We might as well acknowledge it. But we both know it’s wrong, and we can’t let it get the better of us.”

Whew, there, she’d got it out. Still, the man remained silent. Dammit, Dianna fussed, he could jump in and say he’s broken it off with Veronica because he can’t live without me. But he didn’t. And that told its own story, didn’t it? Heartache. Dianna’s chuckle was of the sad-clown variety. “Okay, this would be a good time for you to jump in here and tell me it won’t happen again and you’re totally in love with your prosecuting attorney, and how is she, anyway?”

“She’s fine.” A muscle twitched in his jaw.

Watching it, fascinated by it despite herself, Dianna commented, “That’s all you ever say about Veronica.”

“I didn’t know you wanted to know more.”

“I don’t. Not really. But I think it’s best if we keep talking about her.” Dianna paused, trying to think of something nice to say about the woman, couldn’t, and came up with: “So I guess she made it back from seeing her friends?”

“Yep.”

“And how are you guys doing?”

“Fine.”

“Okay, one-word answers. This is where I came in, when you said ‘fine.’ I’ve seen this movie from here. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go out to the lobby and get some popcorn. You want anything?”

“Funny girl,” he accused. “No, I don’t want anything.”

“You sure? A candy bar? Coke?”

He shook his head. “Be serious, will you?”

Dianna propped an elbow on the bar, turning fully to face Chris. “I’ve been nothing but serious. You’re the one not saying anything.”

A clear challenge. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. Opened it again, closed it, lowered his gaze, just stood there mute. Dianna’s breathing became stunted. Obviously the man was working up the nerve to say something momentous. Just in case it proved to be a tidal wave that could swamp her heart, Dianna ordered her defense mechanisms to start piling up emotional sandbags between her and this man who stood so close to her.

“Here’s the thing.” He spoke so suddenly that Dianna jumped. Chris put a hand out to her, but didn’t actually touch her. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I just need to do this, to say it.”

Dianna swallowed. “Go ahead.”

He nodded. “I have an idea, one I want to run by you. It’s pretty rough, but you’re the expert and I’m sure you can build on it.”

“I’m the expert?” That could only mean one thing—the proposal business. That hurt. A lot more than it should. She barely knew the man. Yet she felt as if she’d yearned for him all her life. But that was just too bad, huh? “All right. I’m listening.” Dianna stiffened her knees and forced a mask of polite waiting to her face. “What’s your idea?”

Leaning heavily into Faidley’s communal bar, no longer looking at Dianna, Chris ran his thumb up and down the green-glass side of his empty beer bottle as if he’d been put on this earth to perform that specific task. “Like I said, I have this rough idea for what I want you to set up for me”—he turned his head until he was looking into Dianna’s eyes—“when I ask Veronica to marry me.”

She’d been expecting it, but still his words hit Dianna with the force of a slap that congealed the blood in her veins. Stupid, embarrassing tears sprang to her eyes. Blinking, feeling too hot, and clearing her suddenly clogged throat, she quickly picked up her paper napkin to wipe at her mouth and nose. She could only hope she didn’t come off looking as emotional as she felt. “Oh, really? Well, good. That’s great. Wonderful, in fact. I can’t wait to hear it.”

Unable to look away from him—cruel, cruel world—she laughed, sort of a sick little “ha-ha” that warned she was about to lose it. Her hand fisted tightly around the paper napkin she still held, fisted hard enough to dig her nails into her palm. With a quick, jerky gesture, she used her other hand to swipe her hair back behind her ears.

Chris put his hand on her arm. “Dianna, are you all right? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She wrenched away from his hand on her arm. He did not get to touch her, did not get to show concern or try to comfort her. “What makes you think you upset me?”

Well, how about the fact that she’d yelled that and passing strangers had halted in their tracks, the better to stare fixedly at her? And even though her employees were behind her and she couldn’t see them, Dianna felt the weight of their combined stares on her back. She swallowed and then spoke more calmly, quietly. “Why should the fact that you want to ask your girlfriend to marry you upset me, Chris? It doesn’t, you know. I mean, I knew you were going to ask her. That’s why you came to me—for help in doing just that. It’s what I do, remember? I’m the expert at getting other people together.”

She couldn’t be here anymore. She couldn’t be standing this close to him and hearing him say he wanted to ask this other woman to marry him. To Dianna, it felt as if he’d just admitted to cheating on her personally. And that was just silly. Pretty darned silly. She gathered up her purse and her employees and said, “Come on, everyone. Time to get back to work. Sorry, Chris, we have to go. But thank you for the lovely lunch.”

“Dianna, wait. You don’t even know what my idea is yet.”

She managed a shaky but determined smile. “So fax it to me. I’ll call you when I have something put together. Bye.”