Kitabı oku: «When He Was Bad...», sayfa 3
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“NICK CHANDLER is coming here?”
Sara’s assistant stared at her with big brown eyes full of rapt disbelief, more proof that Nick’s notoriety was even more widespread than Sara had imagined.
She closed the folder she held and strode to the file cabinet. “Yes, Heather. He’ll be here in just a few minutes.”
“I can’t believe it,” Heather said. “I just can’t believe it. I mean, I saw the name on your schedule, but I had no idea it was the Nick Chandler. What’s the deal? Is he really messed up or crazy or something?”
“Heather, we don’t say crazy,” Sara said, refiling the folder. “Haven’t we talked about that?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m sorry. I’ll be careful not to say that to his face. I promise.”
“It’s a good idea to get used to not saying it behind somebody’s back, either.”
Heather nodded dutifully.
“And he’s not a client. We just have some business to discuss.” She glanced at Heather’s desk. “Did you get the filing done?”
“Yeah. And all of it’s in the right place, too.”
Sara smiled. “Good job.”
When Sara hired Heather two months ago, it had been like rescuing a homeless puppy from a snowstorm, minus the wet fur, the cold nose and the peeing on the rug. But the job wasn’t that demanding, and Sara had felt sorry for her. Like that little lost puppy, turning her away had been next to impossible.
Still, in spite of the fact that Heather truly needed a job, when she continued to cut clients off on the phone and misfile important documents, Sara had told her that perhaps this wasn’t the job for her. But as soon as Heather saw the ax falling, those big brown eyes had filled with tears. Then, like the Hoover Dam bursting and flooding half of Arizona, Heather had unloaded her entire employment history on Sara.
I broke the copier at that law firm and I spilled coffee on the chairman of the board at that manufacturing company and then there was that grease fire I started at McDonald’s when I was seventeen and ohmiGod I just know this means I’ll never be able to find a job again…
Sara had never thought of herself as a pushover, but suddenly she just couldn’t fire her. Heather had a two-year degree and wasn’t lacking in intellect. She was just painfully naive and woefully unsure of herself. Once firing her had been taken off the table, Sara was left with no option but to let her grow into the job. And day by day, she was doing better.
“And you’ll be proud of me for something else,” Heather said.
“What’s that?”
“I’m going to break up with Richard tonight.”
Sara’s heart skipped with hope. Heather had read Sara’s book, and after they’d talked about it, slowly she’d come to the conclusion that her boyfriend fit a lot of the criteria for the kind of man she needed to stay away from. Their relationship had been one of him promising her the moon and giving her nothing at the same time he couldn’t keep his hands off other women.
“I think you’re doing the right thing,” Sara said.
Heather sighed. “I hope so.”
“He’s going to try to manipulate you again. You just have to be ready for that.”
“I know. I’m sticking to my guns this time. I swear I am.”
Sara smiled. “Good for you.”
With Christmas only a week from tomorrow, Sara was proud of Heather for taking this initiative right now. Making such a decision was especially hard around the holidays, when emotions ran high and resistance ran low. Sara herself had gotten a little flustered when Nick had interviewed her yesterday, so she knew how easy it was to succumb to the manipulation of a man like Heather’s boyfriend. Of course, now that she had a little distance on the experience and had had time to analyze her reaction, she was in control now. He wouldn’t be getting to her again. And she felt absolutely certain of that, right up to the moment when the door swung open and Nick walked into the office and her heart went crazy all over again.
He was dressed similarly to the way he was yesterday, only the sweater was a different color, and he wore a fleece-lined leather coat over it. He suddenly seemed taller. Bigger. She told herself it was just the coat, or maybe his boots, or…
Or maybe it was his larger-than-life personality that was oozing right off him, which included a smile so bright it could be seen from outer space.
“Hello, Nick,” she said, striving for nonchalance. “Come in.”
Heather, however, didn’t know the meaning of the word nonchalance, staring at Nick as if the untouchable dream man from her deepest fantasies had just come to life in front of her. And her thunderstruck expression wasn’t lost on Nick.
“Hi, there,” he said, turning that Day-Glo smile full force in her direction. “I’m Nick Chandler.”
Heather just looked at him as if her brain had shut down completely. And Sara had the most terrible feeling that she had an even dumber look on her own face.
But why? Why? He was just one man.
Okay, he was just one highly attractive man, but she knew what was beneath the surface. And she intended never to forget that, no matter how charming he seemed to be.
“Nick, this is my assistant, Heather.”
“Very nice to meet you, Heather,” Nick said.
“My boyfriend listens to your show all the time,” she gushed. “He just loves it.” Then she glanced quickly at Sara, her smile fading. “I mean, my ex-boyfriend.”
“Heather,” Sara said, “will you please hold my calls while Mr. Chandler and I talk?”
Nick gave Heather a little wink as they walked away, and Sara thought the poor girl was going to melt right there.
Once they were in her office, Sara closed the door behind them and sat down in the chair behind her desk. Nick took off his coat and tossed it onto one of her guest seats. He circled his gaze around the room.
“Nice office, Sara. Or should I call you Dr. Davenport? With this big old desk between us, I feel like maybe I ought to.”
“No, Sara will be fine.”
He walked over to her bookshelves and scanned the titles. “Hmm. No Freud? No Jung?” He turned back with a smile. “What kind of a psychologist are you, anyway?”
“Have a seat, Nick.”
“Hold on,” he said, glancing at her diplomas hanging on the wall. “Gotta check out the credentials.” He looked at them, then gave her a low whistle of approval. “Wow. Are you sure you’re only twenty-eight?”
“I’m thirty.”
He grinned. “Ah. Fibbed a little about your age, did you?”
“No. You said twenty-eight. I didn’t correct you.”
“Don’t worry,” he said with a grin. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“It’s no secret.”
“Uh-huh.” He moved to the window and opened the blinds. “Great view of the mountains. The windows at the station look out onto parking lots and Dumpsters.” He sighed wistfully. “I knew I should have majored in psychology.”
“Nick? Can we talk?”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Business.”
He sat down in the chair in front of her desk, crossing one ankle casually over his knee and placing his elbows on the arms of the chair. With his fingers steepled in front of him, he lounged there as if he belonged there. She had a feeling that no matter where this man went, he instantly made himself at home.
“Okay, Sara. Shoot.”
She sat up straight, choosing her words carefully. “As you know, I’ve written one book. Now I’m in the process of writing another one.”
“Yes?”
“And I’m interested in your point of view.”
“My point of view? About what?”
“Well, my new book is going to contain the same kind of subject matter as my last one, but with a twist. I’m interested in investigating the subject from a man’s perspective. You seem to have strong opinions about man-woman relationships, so I thought it would be interesting to quote you.”
Suddenly the man who’d been bouncing all over her office went completely still, his cheery expression fading away. His eyes narrowed into a stare so intense that she had the sensation of being completely transparent.
“I didn’t think you were overly fond of my opinions.”
“The most thorough examination of any issue encompasses more than one point of view.”
“Even though mine is the wrong one?”
“Your words will speak for themselves.”
“True, but I won’t have any control over the spin you do in the next paragraph, will I?”
“I can only promise to quote you accurately. If you stand by your opinions, and those opinions are shared by your audience members, then any spin I do shouldn’t make a difference, should it?”
He was silent for a long time. Staring at her. Staring into her. His eyes were narrowed, his gaze locked on to hers. She forced herself not to look away. For a moment, she was sure he was going to say no. Then his tense posture seemed to relax, and a tiny smile crossed his lips.
“Sure, Sara,” he said. “I’d be happy to give you my point of view.”
Sara felt a rush of relief. “Good. That’s good.” She reached for her planner. “We can set a time for you to come back here and—”
“Nope. I don’t want to talk here. As I said, I’m not real crazy about this big old desk between us.”
“If you’d prefer, we can sit on the sofa.”
He examined it for a moment. “Well, I admit that’s a step in the right direction, but…” He turned back. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Then where do you suggest we do the interview?”
“Over dinner.”
Her heart kicked up a notch. “Dinner?”
“Yeah. Good food and good wine make everything so much more enjoyable, don’t you think?”
She should have known this wasn’t going to be as easy as it appeared. Nothing with this man was as easy as it appeared.
“Didn’t I tell you yesterday that I’m not interested in going out with you?”
“That was yesterday. This is today.”
“Nothing’s changed.”
“If it makes you feel better, think of it as a business dinner.”
No. No way. She had to be firm with him, or he was going to run all over her.
“I’m sorry, Nick. Any interview I conduct is going to take place right here.”
“Is that your final word on the subject?”
“Yes. It is.”
“Then the deal’s off.”
He rose from his chair, grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
Sara stood up suddenly. “Wait!”
Slowly he turned back.
She sighed with frustration. “I don’t understand why you’re being difficult about this. There’s no good reason—”
“On the contrary. There’s a very good reason I’m being difficult.”
“Which is?”
He spoke slowly and distinctly. “Because I want to have dinner with you.”
“Why?”
“Why? Well, let’s see. It’s this little ritual men and women sometimes perform. It’s called a date.”
“You told me to think of it as a business dinner!”
“Right. You think of it as a business dinner. I’ll think of it as a date.”
“Then we’d be at cross-purposes, wouldn’t we?”
“Isn’t your goal to find out how a man like me thinks?”
“Yes.”
“Believe me, Sara. By the end of the evening, you’ll know exactly what’s on my mind.”
A shiver of awareness crept up Sara’s spine, clashing wildly with the warning bells sounding inside her head. She knew this was nothing but a power play, but still she couldn’t stop the gut-level reaction that came from listening to a very sexy man alluding to very sexy things.
“Can I ask you a question?” Nick said.
“Yes?”
“You seem pretty wrapped up in your work. When was the last time you went on a date?”
Sara felt a start of self-consciousness. “That’s none of your business.”
“In other words, you’d have to look at last year’s calendar?”
“My personal life has nothing to do with this.”
“Good God. Has it been two years?”
“Of course it hasn’t!”
He shook his head sadly. “You work too hard.”
“My career is important to me.”
“So is mine, but I still find time to have fun.”
“Your career is based on nothing but having fun.”
“Which means I’m an expert at it.” He flashed her another one of those warm, engaging smiles. “Stick with me, Sara, and I’ll show you how it’s done.”
For just a moment, that smile put her on the verge of letting down her guard. Then she thought about how he’d smiled at her this same way yesterday, too, right before he humiliated her in front of a hundred thousand people.
Still, what could it hurt to spend the evening with him? They’d be in a public place, so it wasn’t as if he could make a move on her right there at the table. And in the meantime, she’d be getting what she wanted from him. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she really had nothing to lose.
“Yes, Nick. All right. I’ll go to dinner with you.”
“Great. How about tomorrow night at seven?”
“Fine. Where do you want me to meet you?”
“We’ll go to Luigi’s,” he said. “Ever been there?”
“No.”
“Nice place. Cozy. Quiet.” He smiled. “Just right for all that talking we’re going to do.”
Talking. Exactly. With her sitting on one side of the table and him on the other. Period.
“But I still don’t get this,” Sara said. “I haven’t made a secret of the fact that I think men like you are bad for women. So why in the world do you want to have dinner with me?”
“Because I’d like the chance to change your mind about that.”
“It’s unlikely that’s going to happen.”
“Now, Sara,” he said, giving her a knowing smile. “You of all people should know that you should never underestimate a man like me.”
With that, he slipped out the door and closed it behind him. For several seconds, Sara just stood there, feeling the aura of sexual energy he left in his wake.
Good Lord. What had she just agreed to?
She’d gotten what she wanted. An interview with Nick Chandler. But now that businesslike discussion she’d envisioned had just become an intimate Italian dinner at a cozy little restaurant. She knew manipulation was his middle name. So why had she let him get away with that?
It didn’t matter. They’d be in a public place. And if she was the smart, educated woman with high self-esteem she’d always professed to be, of course she could hold her own with a man like him. If she couldn’t, she had no business telling other women how to do it.
But the truth was that Nick wasn’t really interested in her. She’d just bruised his ego yesterday when she’d rejected him, and this was his way of regaining power. It was classic bad-boy behavior. Predictable as clockwork.
And as long as she remembered that, she was going to have no problem with him at all.
5
THE NEXT DAY at noon, Nick found himself sitting at a table in just the kind of trendy restaurant he hated. At places like this one, the decor was weird, the waiters were snotty and the menu items were so unrecognizable he was never quite sure what he was eating. And to get charged a premium price for the privilege of being left in the dark really added insult to injury.
But today he wasn’t picking up the tab. That honor fell to his agent, Mitzi Grant, who had taken him to lunch to fill him in on her ongoing negotiations with Mercury Media. Mitzi was forty-six years old and barely five feet tall, fast-talking and sharp-dressing, a tiny little package of dynamite who was arguably one of the best entertainment agents in the country. Nick had learned to overlook the fact that she was also blunt and pushy and demanding, because her record spoke for itself. With Mitzi on his side, he had a good shot at hitting the big time.
Mitzi grabbed the last of some raw fish appetizer from her plate with a practiced flick of her chopsticks. The food here was supposed to be something called Asian fusion. Nick wasn’t sure exactly what was being fused to what, but right now a T-bone fused with a little steak sauce would look pretty good to him.
“Things are right on track,” Mitzi told him. “I’d say we could be looking at a syndication contract by the first of the year.”
“You’re talking like it’s a done deal.”
“You’re hot, Nick. You’ve got that nice little blend of charm and audacity that your listeners thrive on. The Mercury people are making all the right noises, and I’m starting to think that it’s not so much a matter of a contract coming together as it is how much money I can squeeze out of them.”
Nick felt a surge of excitement. This was something he’d wanted for years, and he couldn’t believe it was on the verge of happening.
“They like your attitude,” Mitzi said. “And they like the outrageous stuff you do, like when you interviewed the ex-madam. And the singing sex therapist. Oh—and they also mentioned that interview you did with the psychologist.” She gave him a sly smile. “That was pure gold.”
Yeah, he’d been on target that day, all right. And Sara hadn’t appreciated it in the least.
“Oh,” Mitzi said. “Did you see Raycine Clark’s column yesterday?”
“No,” Nick said warily. “Why?”
Mitzi pulled a folded newspaper from her purse and laid it in front of him. “She seems to think you and Sara Davenport would make quite a couple.”
Nick scanned the column.
Yesterday on his radio show, Nick Chandler went toe-to-toe with the ultimate good girl: Sara Davenport, author of the book Chasing the Bad Boy. She teaches women how to avoid heartbreakers like Nick, and their opposing opinions made sparks fly. But opposites do attract, and knowing Nick Chandler, I’m betting that sparks flew between them off the air as well as on.
Nick sighed. There wasn’t much he hated more than being in Raycine’s sights. Unfortunately, the general population thrived on the gossip she spread in her newspaper column, and she thrived on digging it up.
He tossed down the paper. “What the hell drove her to this conclusion?”
“Don’t gripe. It’s publicity.”
“I mean, I am having dinner with Sara, but—”
“You’re having dinner with her?”
When Nick saw Mitzi’s calculating stare, he cringed, thinking maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. Mitzi was positively vulturine when it came to promo ops, and he sensed her circling now.
“It’s not what you think. I interviewed her, and now she wants to interview me. We’re getting together tonight.”
“Interview you? What for?”
“For her next book.”
Mitzi’s dark brows drew together as she processed that information. “Oh, yeah? She tells women how to stay away from guys like you.”
“She says she wants the male point of view.”
Mitzi looked confused for a moment longer, and then Nick saw the lightbulb go on over her head.
“Ah,” she said. “Your male point in view in particular?”
“Yes.”
“She wants to quote you, name and all?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then she wants to contradict everything you say?”
“That’s a strong possibility.”
Mitzi gave him an evil grin. “That’s perfect. Pour on the charm, but be outrageous. Say stuff she can’t wait to quote.”
“Mitzi—”
“Play it up on your show this afternoon. Tell your listeners that you must have made a real impression on the stuffy shrink, because she wants to quote you in her new book as the ultimate bad boy. They’ll eat that up.” She grinned. “So will Raycine Clark.”
“I’m not sure I want to talk about this on the air.”
Mitzi gaped at him. “Nick, sweetie? Are you feeling sick? Losing your edge? When that woman was on your show, you told me those lines lit up like Rio during Carnivale. Now you’ve got the opportunity to fan those flames all over again. Hell, yes, you should talk about this on the air!”
“I think I’d just as soon let this one drop.”
“Are you nuts? Sara Davenport is characterizing you as a man who’s so magnetic to women that a psychologist has to counsel them on how to resist him, and you want to let that drop?”
When he didn’t respond, she leaned in closer. “Do I need to remind you of what’s at stake right now? The big boys will be buying your image. The more you bolster it, the better you’ll look.”
“But it might not be so good for Sara.”
“Not good? Will you wake up? She’s got a book out there. Every time you say her name on the air, it’s free publicity for her. Why in the hell would anyone object to that?”
Mitzi had a point. It was good publicity for her. But he just wasn’t sure that Sara would see it that way.
“Hey,” Mitzi said, those brows drawing together again. “What’s with this sudden concern with Sara Davenport? Huh? Don’t tell me you really do have the hots for her.”
His heart skipped a little. “No, Mitzi. I don’t have the hots for her.”
“Well, I didn’t think so. She’s not your type.”
And that was exactly why he wondered why Sara interested him so much. Everything about her office was just as he had predicted it would be. Big cherrywood desk. Fancy art. Draperies and rugs and bookshelves and computer hardware that said, I’m rich, I’m successful and I haven’t had fun since I was ten years old.
And then there had been Sara herself, dressed in a silk blouse that showed not nearly enough cleavage and a skirt that showed not nearly enough leg. Add a piece or two of silver jewelry and her hair in a twist at the back of her head, and she was a regular poster girl for stuffy professionalism.
He supposed if he were a client of hers, her sharp, competent appearance would give him confidence that she could hop inside his head and flush out a few cobwebs. But since his head was pretty tidy already, all her pristine appearance did was give him the urge to mess it up. He’d wanted to take that hair down and run his fingers through it. Watch that painfully wrinkle-free skirt and blouse hit the floor. Find out if her bra and panties were as utilitarian as everything else she wore.
Then again, when her underwear was lying on the floor with the rest of her clothes, did it really matter?
“You are planning on being at the station’s party on New Year’s Eve, right?” Mitzi asked.
“Yeah. I’ll be there.”
“So will I. And so will Dennis Rayburn and his entourage.”
Nick came to attention. “The Mercury people are going to be there?”
“Yes. It’ll be a good time for a little schmoozing. And since the station is going high-class with this one, you need to rent a tux.”
Nick winced. “I can’t get away with just a suit?”
“Nope. It’s black tie. And you might consider actually buying a tux. It’s the uniform of the rich and famous.”
And that was probably one of the few things that would make him reconsider wanting to be rich and famous.
The waiter brought their main courses. As they ate, Mitzi reminded Nick between bites that he was to go on his show this afternoon and stir things up all over again. And by the time their lunch was over, Nick had to admit that she was probably right. He needed to use this to his advantage. After all, what harm could it do to tell his listeners that he was having dinner with Sara? Every time he mentioned her name, it was worth a few advertising dollars, promo she was getting absolutely free. And she was using him, too, wasn’t she? If she could mention him in her book, he could mention her on the air.
But in the end, Sara interested him not because she made such a good talking point on his show. He’d lied to Mitzi, plain and simple. Against all odds, he did have the hots for Sara Davenport. He hadn’t counted on getting the opportunity to spend an evening with her, and he intended to see just how far something between them could go.
AT TWENTY TO SEVEN that evening, Sara tucked one last pin in her hair, then strode into her living room, where Karen sat on the sofa drinking a beer. Sara had checked out the restaurant where Nick had asked her to meet him. Not surprisingly, the dress was very informal, so she’d put on jeans and a casual shirt to avoid looking out of place. She stopped in front of a mirror, pulled lipstick out of her purse and talked as she dabbed.
“I don’t mind telling you, Karen. I’m a little nervous about this. If I was meeting Nick at my office, no big deal. But now that we’re going to a restaurant, I’m not so sure.”
“Actually, you’re better off in a public place,” Karen said. “In your office, he’d lock the door and have you naked on your sofa before you knew what hit you.”
Sara turned to glare at Karen. “Why, thank you for that vote of confidence.”
“Oh, come on, Sara. You can handle Nick Chandler and you know it. Just eat, ask your questions and leave. No big deal. Did you hear his show today?”
Sara tucked the lipstick back into her purse. “Sorry. I’m not one of his regular listeners.”
“He told them he was having dinner with you.”
Sara spun around. “He what?”
“Will you get that panic-stricken look off your face? Nick is giving you what amounts to advance publicity for your next book. And then when it comes out, he’ll be talking it up like crazy, just like he talked about you today.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, let’s see. He told them you wanted to interview him for your new book because you’d recognized that he was, after all, an expert on the male point of view. Then he mentioned that although you’re a touch on the conservative side, you really are very attractive.”
Sara’s heart skipped. “He said that?”
“Oh, yeah. And then some guy called in and said he didn’t care if a woman looked like a linebacker as long as she could make a decent sandwich and shut up during the game.”
“Oh, that’s charming.”
“Then Nick said he could tell that the guy was a new listener to the show, because he clearly didn’t understand the proper order of things.”
“Which is?”
“Women first, sports second.”
“Well, thank God for that.”
“Except, of course, during the Super Bowl. And the NCAA playoffs. And the Masters Tournament. And the Stanley Cup, as long as it’s an American team playing.”
Sara closed her eyes. “This is the man I’m having dinner with?”
“This is the man you’re interviewing for your book, who has a hundred thousand listeners who’d probably buy a roll of toilet paper if Charmin decided to quote him on the package. He’s handing you book sales on a silver platter. And word on the street is that he’s heading for syndication. If that happens, so much the better.”
Karen had a point. Okay. All she had to do was get through this evening, let Nick reveal himself with all his suggestive banter and crass come-ons, and then she’d leave the restaurant and that would be that.
“They all assume he’s out to nail you, of course.”
“Oh, that’s a lovely way to put it.”
Karen smiled. “I think they’re right. If he’s insisting on having dinner with you, he’s probably very interested.”
“Nick Chandler chases after any woman with a pulse. Where I’m concerned, he only wants what he can’t have.”
“Are you sure he can’t have it?”
“Think, Karen. You’re my publicist. What would it do to my credibility to have a relationship with a man like him?”
“Yeah, okay. So forget the relationship. Just hold it to a few secret nights of hot, sweaty sex.”
“Secret? Are you kidding? If I go to bed with that man, the entire city of Boulder will get a play-by-play the next day.”
“I know you, Sara. The odds of you succumbing to Nick Chandler…hmm. Is it possible for odds to be less than zero?”
Just then her doorbell rang. She went to her front door, looked out the peephole, and her heart froze.
“Oh, God,” she moaned. “He’s here.”
“Who?”
“Nick Chandler.”
“What?”
“He’s outside right now.”
“So answer the door.”
“But he’s not supposed to be picking me up!”
“You also don’t want him turning into a Popsicle. The wind chill out there is ten below.”
Sara took a deep, cleansing breath and opened the door. Nick stood on her porch, snow sprinkled on his shoulders, his cheeks red from the cold. He held a big paper bag.
“Nick, why are you here? We were going to meet at the restaurant.”
“Small problem with that. Mind if I come in? It’s a little bit cold out here.”
She opened the door wide and he slipped inside, followed by a gust of frigid air. He pulled off his stocking cap and stuffed it into his pocket. His dark hair was mussed, and he ran his fingers through it, which did little to tame it. The thought actually crossed her mind that the man’s messy hair was sexy. What in the hell was the matter with her?
“So what’s the problem with going to the restaurant?”
“Luigi called me to let me know that some of my more rabid listeners have been camping out in the bar for the past hour, waiting for us to show up.”
“You told them where we were going?”
“Nope. But it’s no secret to them what my favorite restaurant is. They were just assuming. And I made a few assumptions myself.”
“What assumptions?”
“I assumed that you wouldn’t want to conduct an interview with a bunch of rowdy people listening in. And,” he said, holding up the sack, “I assumed you like lasagna. I slipped in the back door and had Luigi pack up some takeout.”
“We could have gone to another restaurant.”
“Nope. I promised my taste buds Luigi’s lasagna. They don’t like it when I lie to them.”
“Sara loves lasagna,” Karen said, rising from the sofa. “She gripes about it all going straight to her hips, but she likes it just the same.”
Nick turned as she approached. “Have we met? I’m Nick Chandler.”
“I’m Karen Dawson, Sara’s publicist.”
Nick shook Karen’s hand, giving her one of those broad, brilliant smiles that turned women to mush, and Karen was already getting a little soft around the edges.
“You’re the one who arranged for me to interview Sara,” he said.
“Yes,” Karen said slyly. “I thought the two of you would really hit it off.”
“Oh, we did. We’re having dinner together tonight, aren’t we?”
“Nick,” Sara said sharply. “I told you before. This isn’t a date. This is business.”
“You know,” Nick whispered to Karen, “she keeps saying that, but it’s looking more like a date all the time.”
Karen had the nerve to smile at that. “Well, in that case, I guess I’d better leave you two alone. You have fun now, you hear?”
“Don’t go,” Sara said. “I’m sure Nick brought plenty of food for three.”
“Sara, don’t you dare tempt me like that. You know I’m on a diet and lasagna is out of the question. Give me a call tomorrow, okay?” She tossed on her coat and as she slipped out the door, she gave Sara a suggestive wink. Sara wanted to kill her.
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