A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (4 page)

Chapter Four

By the time Friday night rolls around, I have a story ready and waiting to be put into action. As Camille, Bridget, and I relax after work watching TV, Bridget asks in her party-girl way, “So ladies, what’s on the plate for tonight?”

“Feel like going to Hunt Club? It just opened,” Camille says in her usual nonchalant way as she flips through the channels. How is she always so calm and in control? Nothing fazes her.

“Perfect!” Bridget claps enthusiastically. “You coming too, Claire?”

“No, I don’t think so.” I stare at the TV, trying to play it cool.

I can feel Camille’s eyes scrutinizing me. “Why not?”

I look over at her raised eyebrow and pursed lips. “Keep your panties on, you. A few teachers from work are going to dinner to celebrate a birthday, so I said I’d go with them.”

Camille’s face shifts to a satisfied smile. “Oh. Okay. I’m happy you’re not sitting here, at least.”

“You know,” Bridget says, “if you’re going out more often now, maybe you could join us once in a while?”

“You’re right. Next time, I promise.”

And with that, we continue our evening and prep for our night out.

Once again, I tame my excitement as we dress. I have to. It’s not just so my friends won’t suspect anything, but for me, too. If I go into tonight with expectations, I’ll only be hurt when Dan finds someone more exciting to take to dinner.

Bridget tosses outfit after outfit my way while Camille sits on the bed like judge and jury waiting to declare a verdict. By the time I’m in the tight black dress that screams “TROUBLE!” my hair has more static than a bad phone connection. The problem isn’t the boat-shaped neckline that expands out to the smallest fraction of material at the edge of my shoulders. No, the trouble is the wide-open V that dips down to the top of my ass. I’ve never felt more naked, while fully dressed, in my life.

Once again, I twist and turn in the full-length mirror, trying to decide if I can pull this off. “Isn’t this too much? I mean, it’s just a birthday dinner with friends.” Bridget gives me a raised eyebrow, but doesn’t answer, so I continue. “You don’t think I look too dressed up or . . . slutty?”

Bridget laughs. “Too much? Slutty? Geez, Claire. It’s about time you get dressed up for dinner, plus why do you work out if you don’t show off your bod now and then?” Bridget stands behind me and examines my reflection in the mirror. “Just look how nicely it hugs your curves.” She skates her hands along my silhouette. “And if you throw your hair up loosely like this . . .” She gathers my hair to demonstrate and turns me to the side. “Look at how awesome your back looks. Believe me, from whatever angle you’re seated tonight, there will be a fantastic view.” She lets my hair fall and plops back on the bed.

Camille leans forward and whispers, “You might even talk to a boy!”

I roll my eyes as they snicker.
If they only knew.

“You two are like . . . like evil Fairy Slutmothers! You know that, don’t you?”

We all laugh, and oddly enough, their encouragement makes me less self-conscious.

After Bridget forces her hairstyling updo techniques on me, I spend the last few minutes alone at my dresser, attaching earrings and trying not to hyperventilate.

At eight on the nose, my phone rings. Dan is waiting. Outside.
Oh God.

Breathe . . .

With my heart pounding its way to his car, I say to Bridget and Camille, “My ride’s here. See you later.” I throw on my long coat. Making my way down the stairs, I sternly remind myself this is just dinner, nothing more.

It’s only the shock of the frigid March air that holds me upright when I spot a blacked-out BMW waiting for me.

Breathe.

I walk toward it, and fiddle with my purse to distract myself from the fact that he’s probably watching me.

I open the car door and pause for a moment, catching a glimpse of Dan’s right leg pressing on the brake and his strong right hand cupping the gearshift.

I need a stiff drink.

“Hi.” I slip into the car as gracefully as possible. The scent of his soap and shaving cream are intoxicating.

Make that two drinks
.

“Hello,” Dan says, his handsome features illuminated by the dash. “I still feel rude not coming to your door.”

“Really, it’s okay. It’s better like this—for me, anyway. I hope you understand.”

He smiles and nods. “I do.”

As we pull away from the curb, I spy him from the corner of my eye—all drool-inducing in his black blazer, black button-down shirt, and black pants. Normally, black is safe, but on Dan Chase it’s very, very dangerous.

Game face, Claire!

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be picking me up or if you’d come with a driver or something. I really don’t know how this stuff works.”

Dan glances my way and chuckles. “I only use a driver if I have to. I like driving myself.”

Not a prima donna. Nice
. “Is this your car?”

“No, it’s a rental. My car is on the West Coast. I’ve found that it doesn’t really fit into my luggage.” He laughs.

I shake my head, grinning. “So, how are you? How was your trip?”

“It wasn’t too bad. I can’t believe I have to get on another plane tomorrow, though.”

“Awful jet lag, I bet.”

“Oh yeah. So, what did you tell your flatmates?”

“I told them I was having dinner to celebrate a coworker’s birthday.”

“Oh? Where’s my present, then?”

“Sitting in your passenger seat.” I tease.

He shifts his attention from the road and onto me. “Happy birthday to me.” He smirks.

Oh God. Breathe.

We arrive at a small Italian restaurant, and surprisingly, find parking on a side street pretty quickly. Hands warm in our own pockets, I follow Dan’s lead into the alley.

“Where are we going?” I ask, a little concerned.

“To the side entrance. It keeps things more private. You know, since you don’t want your flatmates to find out.” He winks at me.
It’s just not fair.

“Right, my flatmates.”

My stomach lurches the moment it hits me that I’m on an official date—one I’m equally excited and scared to death about. For a brief moment, I wish I was home, safe. Yet, as he holds the door open for me, smiling his beguiling smile with the cool breeze blowing his hair a little, the doubt and fear simply vanish.

We follow the host to a very private area, one they probably use for small parties. The lights are appropriately dim, and there are no other customers around.

I place my purse on a table that’s situated in the corner of the room and begin to unbutton my coat.

“Let me help you,” Dan says from behind me, waiting to take my coat.

Wow, this guy has manners.

I let the coat slip from my shoulders. When I turn to thank him, there’s a stupefied expression on his face.

“Are you okay?”

Dan nods. “Yeah . . . yeah, I’m fine,” he mutters as he rubs the back of his neck and places my coat gently over an empty chair.

Once we’re seated and examining the menus, Dan leans close. “You look . . . amazing in that dress.”

I blush like crazy. “Thank you,” I say, ducking behind the menu.

Our waiter comes by and takes our drink order—whiskey for Dan and wine for me.

“So, what’s all this about?” I gesture to the empty, candlelit room.

“Well, like I said, I figured if you didn’t want your flatmates to know about this, we ought to be extra cautious.”

“Right. I think you just don’t want to be seen with me.” I tease, grinning.

“Why would anyone want to be seen with you?” He scrunches his nose then laughs.

I smile and shake my head. “You’re so smooth, so full of charm.”

The waiter arrives with our drinks and we order our dinner.

I take a sip of my wine, the heat of the alcohol calming me inch by inch as it descends. “How was the trip home? Aside from the running-for-your-life moment which, by the way, still cracks me up.”

He shakes his head at me, grinning. “Yeah, well, other than that, it was fun. I just relaxed with my family and saw some friends. Nothing too exciting.”

“Tell me about your family.” I lean in, ready to listen.

“What would you like to know?” I’m surprised at how open he is, how it feels like I can ask him anything and he’ll answer.

“Um . . . What do your parents do?”

“My dad is a lecturer and my mum’s a nurse.”

“Oh—like a teacher? That’s cool. Have they been married a long time?”

“Yeah, nearly thirty years I think. They met at university and got married the summer after they graduated.”

“Do you get along well with them?”

Dan sips his drink and nods as if there couldn’t be another option. “Definitely. They’re very supportive. I don’t think I’d have gone into acting or kept at it without them behind me, honestly. The rejection can be really discouraging.”

“I bet you don’t get rejected much.”
Did I just say that out loud?
I drink.

He smiles sweetly. “I get turned down more than you think, actually.”

“Yeah, sure.” I drink again, attempting to hide behind my glass.
Topic change!
“And you have two older sisters? Tell me about them. They sound like a riot.”

“Yeah, the Twins of Doom, as I like to call them.”

I crack up. “Twins of Doom?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “And I’m not even joking. Charlotte is older by seven minutes—she’s a dentist; Gabrielle’s in advertising. They’ve always given me a hard time.”

“But it’s all out of love, right?”

“Oh yeah.” He nods enthusiastically. “Lots and lots of love.”

We laugh and drink.

“So do you get along with them?”

“Yeah, actually we get on well enough—now that we’re older, anyway.”

“So, what other stunts have they pulled?” I take a sip and lean closer, ready for more tales of the Twins of Doom.

He narrows his eyes at me. “Why do you want to know?”

“I think it’s funny. That story of you and them at the pub had me giggling for days.”

“I’m glad you found it so entertaining.” He grimaces.

“Yes, I did.” I just sit there and smile, waiting.

His pretend pout sweeps into a wide smile. “I can’t believe I am telling you this . . . when I first started appearing in the papers, they’d cut out the photos and draw all sorts of things on them.”

“Really? Like what?”

“You are torturing me,” he says, grinning.

I say nothing, waiting him out.

“Fine. They would put marker makeup on them or draw horns and then send them to me. Things like that. Really quite mature.”

I laugh, covering my mouth. “Siblings—you gotta love ‘em.”

“I suppose. How about you? What’s your family like?”

The mention of them is like being doused with ice water—I freeze up a bit and my buzz is gone. I take a big gulp of my wine. “Well, I have three older brothers. My mom stayed at home with us, and my dad is a banking executive.”

“I’ve got sisters, you’ve got brothers . . .” He nods then says, “Did your brothers pick on you, as well?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Well . . . what’d they do?”

“A lot,” I say, purposely being coy.

“Claire.” Dan cocks his head to the side and lifts his eyebrows in a playful warning.

I smile and lift my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay . . . when I was little, maybe four or five, if we were playing outside and an airplane flew overhead, they would run up to me, pretend to be all panicked, and say, ‘Claire, they’re coming to get you! Hide!’ Then I’d bolt under the nearest bush, crying and waiting to be kidnapped by aliens.”

He cracks up.

“Yeah, it was super fun.” I squirm in my chair and take another long drink.

“Do you get on now?”

I nod. “For the most part. Not back then, though. I was odd man—er, odd girl out. Still am sometimes.”

“It must be nice living close to them, but you mentioned that you don’t visit often. Why not?”

“Well, I go home for my nieces’ and nephews’ birthdays mostly, but work ties me up a lot.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re an auntie?”

“Yep, Auntie Claire!”

He smiles. “I bet you’re their favorite.”

“I do try to give them the best and most obnoxious gifts—not to get back at my brothers or anything.”

He laughs. “Of course not. So all your brothers are married?”

“Yes—all married with kids. I’m the only holdout.” I snicker into my wine. I’m thankful our food shows up.

“So you enjoy living here in New York even though you’re a homebody?” Dan teases, as we begin to eat.

“I really do. When I moved here, it took some time to get used to things like the subway, buying groceries, laundry—that kind of stuff. City living is different than the suburbs, but I really like it. Do you come to New York a lot?”

“Yeah, I’d say I’m here pretty often. Most of my work is on the West Coast, but with flying to London, I stop over here often enough. You think you’d ever live anywhere else? Move back to your hometown, perhaps, or is this it?”

“No. I wouldn’t move back there. I like living here even though I don’t feel tied here, know what I mean? But, I do like my job . . . Would you move back to London?”

“I don’t feel I’ve left really. I go back as often as I can.”

“Do you enjoy all the traveling that you do?”

He nods quickly. “I do. I love to visit so many places, but I sometimes wish I didn’t live out of a bag.”

I smile wide. “Must be difficult to be a bag boy, especially if you lost your lug—”

“Don’t even say it,” he says. “It’s happened before, and even though I don’t travel with much, when you’re without clean pants or a toothbrush, it’s quite frustrating.”

“Pants as in underwear?”

He grins. “Yes.”

“Wait. So if underwear are pants, then what are the pants you wear over your underwear?”

He furrows his brow for a moment then cracks up.

“What?”

“That was one of the funniest sentences I’ve heard. We call the ones on the outside fancy pants.” He purses his lips to stop from laughing.

I examine him. “You’re lying”

He bursts into laughter again. “Yes, I am,” he finally says, wiping his eyes. “We call them trousers.”

“Trousers?” I scrunch my nose. “So proper. I’m guessing you didn’t lose your fancy pants today then?”

He leans in and quietly says, “No, because if I had, we’d be buying me pants right now, not eating dinner.”

As we eat, our conversation volleys back and forth, uncovering tidbits of each other’s lives. I, of course, steer the conversation away from my past.

After dinner and several drinks, I absently stroke the stem of my glass, watching his beautiful mouth say . . . something or other. My brain catches maybe every third word as I try to decide exactly what shade of green his eyes are.
Emerald? No . . . Jade? Not quite . . . Grass? Definitely not.

His fingers inch their way to my wrist and stroke it oh so softly. I swallow hard, watching his thumb trace tiny swirls on my skin.
Is he still talking?

After a long while of mind-scrambling, yet chaste, skin-to-skin contact, Dan asks with a taunt and a smile, “So, how about that rematch?”

I blink to refocus. “Gee, I don’t know. It won’t upset you to lose twice in a row?”

His eyes narrow. “That won’t be happening.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see.”

After we gather our things and leave the restaurant, Dan’s hand finds mine. His warm grip not only heats my chilly fingers, but also fans the flames that are slowly engulfing me.
I need to find a fire extinguisher soon.

I glance around the quiet street as we reach the car. “You know, I think you just believe you’re famous. I haven’t seen one photographer yet.”

He opens my car door and sighs deeply. “You know you just jinxed us.”