“Don’t you look lovely tonight,” said Chad, when he picked her up later on that day.
“This isn’t a date,” said Cynthia, climbing into his truck. But she felt a blush creeping into her cheeks. The weather was perfect for the casual, mid-length dress she’d chosen, though she’d need a sweater for her bare arms later on. White eyelet cotton with a bit of swirl in the skirt and a nice dip in the neckline, nothing suggestive in the least, but prettier than the jeans or sweat pants she usually wore for work.
It was rather nice to be noticed.
“Can’t a man compliment a beautiful woman?” Chad swung into the driver’s seat easily, the muscles of his long legs outlined clearly through his blue jeans. Cynthia had a weakness for denim, always had. Especially dressed up with a crisp, white shirt, like Chad was wearing. And the polished leather boots.
Down, girl.
“Let’s keep it professional, Romeo.”
She pretended she hadn’t heard that seductive word: beautiful.
“Absolutely. All the way.” He put the truck in gear and pulled off the yard. “I’ve got a hankering for a steak at the Graff. My treat, of course. Any objections?”
Objections? The white linens and soft music at the Graff Hotel weren’t meant for business; they paved the way for things like eyes sparkling in candlelight and long, sultry gazes full of promise so, yeah, she had objections.
“Let’s go to Grey’s instead. We’ll get a booth, where we can spread out. And I’ll pay for my own meal.”
“Grey’s, huh?” He turned onto the road to Marietta. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a noisy saloon type of girl.”
She bristled. “Why not? What type of place would you peg me for?”
She liked Grey’s. Grey’s was fun. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been there... but it was her kind of place. Why wouldn’t it be?
“Ginny’s Cafe,” he responded promptly. “The chocolate shop. Church.”
She sputtered, but before she could get a word out, he reached over and touched her chin with his knuckle.
“Come on, Cyn,” he said. “I’m just yanking your chain. Maybe Grey’s is your thing, but for my money, you’re the Graff, all the way. Classy, romantic, polished silver and fancy menus. You turned me down for that, though, so I had to get a little dig in. You want the saloon, we’ll go to the saloon.”
“That’s ruh-right.”
Her chin burned from his callused touch. Classy.
“It muh-might be a little noisy there,” she continued. Beautiful and classy. “We’ll just have to make sure we’re done before the party crowd gets going.”
“Good. We’ll be able to dance, have a little fun ourselves, then.”
“Wh-what?”
“It’s Friday night, Cyn. Did you have other plans?”
“Don’t call me that. And as a matter of fact, yes. I have to be back by nine.”
She didn’t. Except her little wild kitty sometimes made an appearance around then, looking for food. And she had several episodes of Dancing With the Stars lined up.
“Don’t worry, Princess,” said Chad, throwing a lazy grin her way. “This chariot doesn’t turn into a pumpkin if we stay out late.”
“But there’s no guarantee you won’t turn into a frog, is there?”
He laughed. “You calling me a prince, Cinderella?”
She felt his chuckle go straight into her sternum, a rough, rumbling sound that reactivated that deep down aching feeling and made her warm and restless and very, very glad she’d worn the pretty dress.
“If your idea of a ball includes a jukebox, a pool table, multiple spreadsheets and logo mock-ups, then this will be a magical night for us both.”
The bantering continued as they drove, and by the time they reached town, she felt that she and Chad would get along just fine for the duration of this project. He was a player, no doubt. But she could play along. She could have a little fun. It’s not like it was real, after all.
Who knew the little blondie was hiding a tease under all that stern professionalism?
Chad ushered Cynthia to their booth in the already crowded pub, watching as heads turned away from TVs to watch the waving motion of her skirt.
She was wearing more than any other woman in the place, or at least, showing less skin, but somehow it was working for her. Not everything was left to the imagination; he could see a swell of cleavage when she moved just right, and there was a perfectly fine booty bouncing under that flirty little dress.
“Hey, you two!” Mardie, their sunny-faced waitress, handed them each a menu. “I didn’t know you were dating.”
“We’re nuh-nuh-not,” said Cynthia, flushing pink.
“Not yet, anyway,” added Chad, with a wink.
“It’s a business thing.” Cynthia pulled out a stack of files and plunked them on the table. “I hope you don’t mind if we stay a while. We’ll order, of course. He’s buying.”
“I thought you wanted to go Dutch?”
“I’ll, uh, give you two a minute,” said Mardie, backing away.
“I changed my mind.”
“So it is a date, then?”
“It’s a business meeting. You’re a difficult client, therefore, you’re buying. End of story. I’ll have the spinach salad and a ginger ale.”
She snapped her menu shut and looked up at him, blinking innocently.
When Mardie returned, he ordered for them, tacking on a share-plate of loaded nachos, one beer and one glass of white wine.
“Beer and wine?” she said after Mardie left. “I hope you’re thirsty.”
“The wine’s for you.” He reached over and touched her hand. “Am I really being difficult?”
She blinked, but didn’t pull away. “As fun as all this... flirting is... we have a lot to do,” she said, finally. “Once I’ve got a game plan for your project, I’ll feel better. We really need to get to work. This is business for me, Chad.”
“Of course.”
He sat back. Her mild chastisement rankled.
This project meant a lot to him, too. Using his late biological grandfather’s money to create a charitable foundation was the only way he could stomach the too-much, too-late, guilt-inspired windfall. Accepting the land ten years ago had been one thing; Anders Run was Chad’s first real home, and he figured Grandad owed him that much. But where’d all that cash been when he and Eric were hovering in the food bank line-up behind their red-faced mom? He had no interest in the money, now.
Putting Granddad’s wealth toward helping disadvantaged kids, helping Logan create homes out of broken-down heritage houses, had a beautiful circularity to it.
But Cynthia didn’t know that, of course. To her, he was just a good-time cowboy with more money than brains, out for a good time with a pretty girl, nothing more.
And why not? Isn’t that the image he cultivated?
“Here you go,” said Mardie, setting their drinks in front of them with a flourish. “Beer for you, wine for you. I’ll be back shortly with your nachos.”
After Mardie left, Chad took a deep breath. “And that’s why DMC Solutions is perfectly positioned for my business needs,” he said. “You’re keeping me on track, and I haven’t made that easy for you. I apologize, Cynthia.”
She looked across the table at him, as if uncertain how to respond.
He nudged her wineglass toward her. “I’ll answer all your questions, and we’ll get this thing planned and organized to your heart’s content. How’s that sound?”
“Oh-oh-okay.”
He lifted his glass to hers. “Cheers. To you. Tough, talented and tenacious. Exactly what I need.”
Within two hours, they’d laid waste to an enormous plate of nachos, organized the guest list, discussed decorations, door-prizes, caterers, decided on a logo for the foundation and the visual elements to include in the promotional material.
They’d also talked to each other like ordinary people, with no cheesy lines out of him and no stuttering out of her.
Beautiful. Classy. Tough, talented, tenacious. Those were a lot of words not to think about. She hoped Chad hadn’t noticed the effect they’d had on her.
He had seemed to notice her discreet salivation at the sight of his steak and, without asking, cut off a hunk and plunked it onto her plate.
She ate it. It was delicious.
And now, it looked like they were done.
“Dessert?” asked Mardie, collecting their plates.
“No, thank you,” said Cynthia.
“Yes, of course,” said Chad at the same time. “Come on, Cyn. We got a huge amount of work done. Time to relax, don’t you think?”
“The chocolate lava cake is to die for,” said Mardie. “There’s also the Mocha Kiss ice cream sandwich: house-made coffee ice cream between two of the best chocolate chip cookies you’ll ever taste. It’s my personal weakness. Just sayin’.”
“Mm,” thought Cynthia. Except she thought it out loud.
“One of those kisses,” said Chad with a grin. “Two spoons.”
“None for me,” she said, biting her lip, wishing she didn’t need to stay professional. She rarely indulged in sweets, given the sedentary nature of her job.
But the two-spoons assumption had her self-control wavering, the automatic, implied intimacy of dipping into the same well of pleasure, the same kiss, and enjoying it together, at the same time, his mouth on his spoon, her mouth on her spoon... maybe he’d feed her a particularly delectable morsel from his own spoon... her mouth in the same place his had just been... it was almost like a real kiss...
“Why not?” said Chad. “Your calories all seem to go where they’re supposed to go. Don’t you want it?”
He dropped his eyes, just for a moment, and there was no mistaking the appreciation in his dark gaze as it slipped over her body. A chill ran through her and she reached for her sweater, uncertain in the face of his casual appraisal.
“Cindy!” cried an unmistakeable voice.
Oh. No.
Maddie, no doubt followed by DeeDee.
“What are you doing here?” Yup, there she was.
Suddenly her stepsisters were at the table, hugging Cynthia, kissing her cheek, laughing and chattering in a way that suggested they’d begun the evening elsewhere.
The girls squeezed into the booth, Maddie on Cynthia’s side, DeeDee with Chad and instantly, beautiful and classy went flying out the window and she was once more nice.
Practical. Sensible. Hardworking.
Invisible. The thing you put out, to showcase the thing you really want people to see.
On the buffet platter of life, she was processed cheese, flanked by pineapple and passion fruit.
“Hey guys, wuh-what are you doing here?”
Cynthia didn’t need to ask. The whiff of Patron that rode in under the cloud of hair spray and perfume told her they were here for fun, games and whatever that might lead to.
“Chad Anders,” purred Maddie. “So nice to see you.”
“What are you doing here with Cindy?” said DeeDee, angling her body towards him, just in case he hadn’t noticed the deep vee of her clingy, sparkly top.
Her stepsisters, Madeleine and Deirdre Cash, twenty minutes apart in age, were fraternal twins, not identical, despite their physical similarities. When they’d met, Cynthia’s first thought was that they looked like a pair of giraffes, tall, gangly-limbed, with wild honey-blond hair and dark flashing eyes. To a quiet, solitary fifteen-year-old girl, the energy of those sixteen-year-olds had been transfixing.
A decade later, they were the same, only there was... more of everything. Their hair was sleeker, their eyes sultrier, their lips plumper and their boobs bouncier. Lara Croft crossed with Betty Boop. Times two.
“Ch-ch-Chad’s hired us,” said Cynthia. “Remember?”
She’d emailed both of them about the project, detailing their responsibilities in planning the dance. But she knew better than to invite them to a planning meeting at this stage.
As they were both vividly confirming right now.
“At your service then, Chad.” Maddie giggled. “What for?”
“Doesn’t matter.” This time, DeeDee did some kind of shimmy with her shoulders. “We’re perfect for today’s business climax.”
The girls shrieked with laughter and Cynthia wanted to die. Where was a good, old-fashioned lightning strike when you needed one?
“I’m running a fundraiser,” said Chad, looking at Cynthia quizzically over the top of DeeDee’s head. “Cynthia and I were going over the preliminary plans for everything.”
Maddie rolled her eyes. “Work, work, work. That explains it, then. Cinderella wouldn’t come here just for fun, would you, Cindy?”
She leaned over and planted another kiss on Cynthia’s cheek. This time the tequila was unmistakeable.
DeeDee braced a hand on Chad’s shoulder, reached across the table, and planted her own lipstick smear on Cynthia, then sat back, narrowly missing his lap. “She’s the heart and soul of DMC, Chad. You’re lucky to have her. We all are.” She looked at him solemnly for a moment. “Now, let’s dance!”
The two of them dragged Chad off to the dance floor, just as Mardie arrived with their dessert.
“Shall I bring them some menus?” asked the waitress.
“Don’t bother,” said Cynthia glumly. “They’re not here to eat.”
For a long minute, Cynthia watched her sisters gyrating to the music, their hips like over-oiled ball bearings, with Chad between them bumping to their grind, as if he’d been waiting for this all evening.
Which was probably the case.
She shouldn’t be disappointed. She’d been the one to push the business agenda, not him.
Well, now he was getting what he came for, at least.
She dragged her gaze away from the Chad-sandwich on the dance floor and instead, scooped an enormous spoonful of cookie and cream into her mouth. If ever an occasion called for sugar-therapy, it was this one.
It tasted nothing like a kiss.