For reasons she didn’t want to contemplate, Della dressed with extra care. She’d spent the better part of the morning rifling through her extensive wardrobe to select the perfect outfit.
She certainly didn’t want to come off too flashy, but she didn’t want to appear too stiff and formal, either.
Finally, she settled on a magenta-colored linen coat dress, with gold buttons down its center with an appropriate V-neck—and the perfect length, right at her knees. Strappy, cream-colored sandals with an easy-walking two-inch heel and matching purse completed her attire.
She’d set her hair on jumbo rollers the night before and it tumbled in soft curls around her face, gently caressing her shoulders. A stroke of coral lipstick and a quick brush of mascara and she was ready.
Blowing out a breath, she appraised her image in the full-length mirror. She smiled—satisfied.
As she drove along the Manhattan streets heading for midtown, she realized that part of her anxiety had nothing to do with the reason for their clandestine meeting, but more to do with seeing Matt Hawkins again.
She could never admit it to Ruthie and Reggie, but she was truly attracted to Matt, even in the midst of all that was going on. That worried her. Suppose Ruthie was right. Suppose she was letting his good looks twist her thinking. And if she was letting her underfed libido take over, she could be leaving herself totally vulnerable.
Della made the turn onto the FDR Drive and sped along the winding thoroughfare. They were right, she concluded, wheeling around a slow-moving station wagon. This was business. Her business. She had to put her irrational feelings aside and think with her head. And that’s exactly what she intended to do.
* * *
They’d agreed to meet at B. Smith’s on Eighth Avenue, the much-publicized restaurant owned by former model-turned-mega-entrepreneur Barbara Smith.
Of course, parking was impossible, and after circling the block three times, Della finally gave up and parked in the overpriced garage.
Upon arriving at the classy midtown establishment, Della found it to be quite busy for so early in the day. She’d expect this type of crowd during the dinner hour. From her vantage point, most of the tables were full, and waiters and waitresses were in steady demand.
She walked over to the reception table to find out if Matt had arrived, and spotted him coming toward her.
Inexplicably, a warmth rode through her like a galloping pony let loose on the pasture. It built in intensity until her face was afire and her hands grew damp. How was it that he could make her feel this way with just his appearance?
Looking at her, all the tension and pent-up frustrations evaporated, Matt realized. There was a gentleness about Della Frazier that belied her strength. She’d mysteriously short-circuited his brain from the first time he’d seen her. How in the world was he going to think logically when the mere idea of her had him willing to risk it all?
He had to pull himself together. This was business, nothing more.
“You’re right on time,” Matt said. “I have a table in the back.” He turned without further preamble and headed toward their table.
This was ridiculous, Della thought, her heels clicking rhythmically against the tiles. Here she was, a grown woman, with her heart aflutter like a schoolgirl. She put on her game face and slid into the booth.
“Would you like to order something?” Matt asked.
“An iced tea would be fine.”
Matt signaled for the waitress. “One iced tea and a Perrier with lime.”
Hmm. Health nut, Della observed. Probably as obsessive about his health as he was about his job. From the looks of his body beneath the midnight blue suit, it paid off.
“So, where do we begin?” Della asked, needing to land on firm ground as soon as possible.
“What I intend to do is go through our computer files, see if there was some sort of clerical error.”
Della laughed derisively. “Clerical error. I thought you said the IRS didn’t make mistakes, Mr. Hawkins.”
“I also said I would help you. Now, if you’ve changed your mind—”
“Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”
Matt looked at her for a long, dreamy moment. The corner of his mouth flickered with the beginning of a smile. “I’m not really sure, Ms. Frazier.” He gazed down at his hands, then back into her probing eyes. “This isn’t something I usually do. Actually, it’s not something I’ve ever done.”
Her voice softened. “Why now?”
The softness of her voice, the sincerity in her warm eyes, stirred him. How could he tell her about the battle he’d been having with his conscience, the slow awakening from the dead state he’d been in for the past five years? How could he tell her that when he heard her voice, then met her in person, something inside him came alive—and that it frightened him? He couldn’t. She’d think he was a fool. And that he couldn’t have.
“I really don’t see what difference that makes, Ms. Frazier. You’re the one with the problem. Now, we can either fix it or discuss my reasons why. Your choice.”
Della gritted her teeth. For a New York minute she’d almost thought he was human.
“Everyone has reasons for what they do, Mr. Hawkins,” she said, tight-lipped. “If you don’t care to share yours, that’s absolutely fine with me.” She picked up her menu. “I always find it best to know who I’m dealing with.” She snapped the menu open and proceeded to scan what was available for lunch, totally ignoring him.
Matt blinked, struck by her sharp tone. She actually sounded hurt, offended by his comments. But why should his reasons matter to her? Anyone else in her place would be grateful to have his help, no questions asked. Not Della Frazier.
“It seems to me,” she said suddenly, slapping the menu on the table, “you know everything about who I am. You know how much money I make, where I live, my dependents, how long I’ve been working, right down to how many pairs of panties I’ve bought over the years.” Matt visibly flinched. “You’ve crept into every corner of my life, with your forms, forms, and more forms. Everything there is to know about me is laid out on your charts, graphs, and calculator tape.” She swallowed and plunged ahead. “All I know about you is your name. Is it a crime to want to know more?”
He felt the bee sting of her verbal assault, and the point of entry began to throb with the truth of her accusation. Just like that she could make him take hard looks at himself. And every time he did, he didn’t like who he saw. She was right, he knew it, but it had been so long since he’d been able to share himself with anyone, longer than anyone really cared to know. For the most part, people were too turned off by what he did for a living and generally steered clear of any long-term involvement. Those who did give him the time of day usually did so because of the lifestyle he could provide; great meals, mini-vacations and expensive gifts. Neither option left a good taste in his mouth. So instead he made his work his world. Numbers and papers couldn’t hurt you. They couldn’t leave you or make you feel that all you’d done had been for nothing.
“I live on Central Park West,” he said slowly, afraid but exhilarated by the chance he was taking. “In a co-op apartment that my … ex-wife and I bought about fifteen years ago. I graduated from Fordham University with a master’s degree in accounting.” He looked across at Della, then back down at his hands, which gripped his glass. “I have a daughter, Lisa, who recently turned twenty-three. My former wife doesn’t work and doesn’t have intentions of remarrying. I don’t date often.” He chuckled. “I can’t remember the last date I was on, to tell you the truth.” He took a long swallow of his drink, then gazed out of the window.
“I have a daughter, too. Chauncie. She just got married to a wonderful man, Drew Lennox. Actually, they’re on their honeymoon right now. In Hawaii.”
Matt smiled. “I hope my daughter will settle down one day. Every week she has another career choice.”
“Oh, please.” Della waved her hand. “Let’s not talk about our children and career choices. Chauncie swore she would be the greatest actress since Dorothy Dandridge. Couldn’t concentrate on a real job to save her life. Every day I thank the Lord that she met Drew. He really had a stabilizing effect on her. I thought I was going to support her for the rest of her life.”
Matt nodded in understanding. “What about … your husband?”
Della pressed her lips together. “He left me about eleven years ago—for his much younger administrative assistant. That’s when I decided it was time for me to get my own life. I went to cosmetology school, finished, and started working at Rosie’s shortly after they opened. I’ve been there ever since.”
“And you took over the shop?”
“Yes. Not too long ago, as a matter of fact. Louis, the original owner, turned it over to me when he remarried. He was Rosie’s husband, God rest her soul.”
Matt frowned for a moment. Something about what she had said nagged at him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“I’ve pretty much been running the shop for years anyway.” She shrugged. “But it’s a great feeling to walk into your own business with your name on the door.”
“Was it your idea to add on the extension?”
Della beamed with pride. “Yes. I thought it would be great to have a place for the women to relax and chat, have a light snack away from the hum of the dryers. And then in the evenings it would be open to the public. It’s hooked up with a small stage, great audio equipment, and a kitchen in the back. The grand opening is scheduled in three weeks.” All at once the light went out of her eyes. “At least we were planning the opening, until this came up. It will probably be postponed indefinitely now.”
“Maybe not. We’re going to work on this, together, remember?”
Della looked into his eyes. “Do you really think there’s a chance that this is just one colossal mistake? Please tell me the truth, not what you think I want to hear. I’m a big girl.”
“There are no guarantees … Della. Can I call you Della?”
She nodded.
“In the worst-case scenario, if we find that the shop does owe the money, we’ll work out a payment plan. One that you can handle.”
“I can’t lose my shop … Matt. I can’t. I’ve sunk everything I have into it. It means everything to me.”
Matt reached across the table and touched her hand. For a moment they were riveted by the electricity that ricocheted back and forth between them.
“You won’t lose your shop, Della. I promise.”
She pressed forward. “But you don’t know that?”
“Think positive. In my business, I’ve seen people in worse predicaments than this, believe me. It can be done.”
“Are you ready to order now?” a waitress asked.
Matt looked to Della.
“I’d like the grilled chicken with the honey dijon sauce and a house salad.”
“I’ll have the same,” Matt said.
The waitress retrieved the menus and walked off.
Matt raised his glass. “To the success of Della’s House of Style.”
“May it see many more days to come,” Della added, touching her glass to his.
He gazed at her before bringing his glass to his lips. “Are you seeing anyone, Della Frazier?”
Della’s hand stopped midway and her heart knocked in her chest. “No.” She swallowed. “Are you, Mr. Hawkins?”
Matt smiled, slowly. “To new beginnings,” he said in his rich bass voice.
Lord have mercy, she thought, giddy with delight. Ruthie and Reggie are going to have a natural fit.