Damsel Under Stress (22 page)

“Moi?” She batted her eyelashes vigorously, as though she was both hurt and offended by my accusation, but she didn’t exactly deny it. “Rescuing a maiden from a dragon is a sure way to generate romance. It’s in all the stories. I can’t begin to count the number of couples I’ve known who met that way. But that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with it.”

“You were there. I saw you.”

“I was merely keeping an eye on my client. You were hard to keep up with when you were chasing your friend that way.”

I wasn’t entirely convinced of her innocence, but I could tell arguing would do no good. “Well, for the record, there’s nothing romantic about dragons. They’re ugly, loud, and smelly. And Owen thought someone was trying to lead us into a trap to kill us, so he spent the rest of the day wondering what our enemies might be up to. He probably wouldn’t have noticed if I’d swooned into his arms.”

“You didn’t swoon into his arms?” For once, she sounded unsure.

“No. I’m not really the swooning type. I’m also not very good at being a damsel in distress. I don’t like being rescued. I’d rather rescue myself. We already have a pretty skewed balance of power—literally—in this relationship. Him always having to rescue me doesn’t help matters.”

“It wasn’t romantic, then?”

“No!” For once, I didn’t play the good Southern girl and apologize when she looked hurt. I repositioned my bags and resumed walking toward home, making her flutter to keep up with me. “If you did have anything to do with it, or if you were thinking of doing something like that, please give it a rest. You’re really not doing me a lot of favors in the romance department. Not that I recall asking you for any favors in the romance department, beyond one little, tiny bit of information, which you didn’t have.”

“So falling through the ice didn’t give him the chance to warm you up?”

“Aha! I knew that was you! Yeah, there was some warming up and even snuggling, but it also ruined our date just when it was getting romantic. Who knows what might have happened if you’d let things play out naturally?”

“You think I had something to do with that? I’d never do anything to cause you harm.”

She looked so hurt that I almost relented. “Look,” I said, a little more gently, “things are complicated for us right now because of our work, so when something bad happens to us, neither of us is likely to think about romance as we rescue or comfort each other. Instead, we think that someone’s out to get us, so we worry, which isn’t too romantic, and since he’s very, very dedicated to his work, he tends to go right into work mode to try to solve the problem, and that totally kills the romance.”

She perked up. “Oh. Then I shall have to see what I can do to help you with that.”

“No! You don’t have to do anything!” I called out, but she disappeared before I got the “no” out. I could only begin to imagine what her next tactic might be if she was actually behind all the things that had happened to us lately.

The next morning, Kim reported bright and early to Owen’s lab to get her assignment from him. Being sent out into the field undercover must have been the most excitement she’d had in a long time. Her sallow skin almost had a healthy flush to it and she’d lost that pinched look around her mouth. Maybe all she really wanted was to feel needed and important. Or maybe she was just excited about getting that much more of a grasp on my job.

While we waited for her to return with the spells, Owen buried himself in a book that was almost bigger than he was, and I searched the Internet for advertising case studies that might have some bearing on our situation. When Kim had been gone an hour, Owen gave up on reading and started pacing. He seemed on the verge of calling out the cavalry when she finally returned with two large Spellworks shopping bags.

“He’s serious if he has good shopping bags,” I said as Owen took them from her. They were almost on a par with what you’d find at a high-end boutique, with a shiny logo on the sides and ribbon handles.

“They are good shopping bags, aren’t they?” Kim said. “Do you mind if I keep one when you’re done with them?”

“We’ll see,” Owen said distractedly.

“Okay, just let me know if you need anything else. I’m only a phone call away.” It was then that I realized her flushed look hadn’t been excitement. It had been makeup. She’d dolled herself up to meet with Owen. She’d moved in on my job, and now was she moving in on my man? Fortunately, Owen was too focused on the problem at hand to even notice her or her attempts at fluttering eyelashes. There were times when his focus on work and obliviousness about other things worked in my favor.

We spent the rest of the day with me reading the spells out loud while Owen read over my shoulder so we could compare what he saw to what I saw. That was more than a bit distracting, and if Jake hadn’t been hovering to see what we’d found, I might not have been able to stop myself from tackling Owen and throwing him down on one of the lab tables. After clearing it of clutter first, of course.

When I’d read at least six spells and had to take a break because my throat was raw, Owen buried his face in his hands with a groan. “We are in huge trouble,” he declared.

“Why? Is there something dark hidden in there?”

He shook his head. “No. There’s nothing veiled that I can tell. They’re all perfectly legitimate, straightforward spells. Not particularly good ones, granted. They take far more energy than necessary to do that kind of work, and I don’t see these spells as all that valuable for day-today life. But there’s no reason here for us to stop him or go after him. I can’t believe he’s really trying to compete with us directly.”

“Are we sure he is? Maybe he’s just trying to establish credibility so his company will be more acceptable when he wants to introduce something else.”

He leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. “You know, you could be right. He was able to get to the people who’d be looking for darker spells with his old way of selling through less reputable outlets, but he’d never gain any kind of market share if he went into business on this scale selling darker stuff. But this way, he gets customers, then he has a group of people who might be open to the next round of spells he offers.”

“It’s like boiling a frog,” I said, nodding.

“What?”

“Well, supposedly you can’t throw a frog into a pot of boiling water because it’ll jump right out. But if you put it in a pot of cold water and gradually turn up the heat, it’ll be boiling before it knows it needs to escape. Not that I’ve tried this myself, of course.”

“I can see how the analogy works, even if it is kind of disgusting,” he said with a grimace.

By the end of the day, Owen looked as tired as I felt. “Are you up for dinner?” he asked, coming around the side of the whiteboard that constituted my office wall. “Since our lunch yesterday got interrupted, I thought we could go out tonight.”

“I know I’m not up to foraging for my own meal. Someone to bring it to me would be nice.”

“Then do you want to go home, change clothes, and let me pick you up for a proper date, or do you just want to stop somewhere on the way home?”

“I couldn’t begin to pick out an outfit. Let’s just stop somewhere.”

“Good, I’d hoped you’d say that,” he replied with the first genuine smile I’d seen on his face all day. “There’s a great Italian place near my house. I can call before we leave and make a reservation.”

“That sounds ideal.” While he moved all the sensitive material into his more secure office, I hurried down the hall to the bathroom to at least attempt to touch up my makeup and put on some lipstick. I might not have been dressing up, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to inject a little glamour into the evening. Before I left the bathroom, I undid one more button on my blouse, taking the outfit from work-appropriate to just the least bit sexy. Well, as sexy as one of my work outfits ever could be.

When I got back to the lab, I saw that I wasn’t the only one who’d loosened up for the evening. Owen was in the process of taking off his tie and stuffing it in his jacket pocket. “Ready to go?”

“Let me get my coat.”

As we walked from the Union Square station up to the restaurant, he took my hand, which was a shock in and of itself. It was the kind of gesture I often hoped for from him but that he never seemed to think of. “Tonight, let’s forget about work, okay?” he said. “I know it’s hard for us to get away from, but let’s try it for once.”

“That’s fine with me,” I said, even as I wasn’t sure we could pull it off. What were the odds that we could manage a few hours without something weird and work-related happening?

The restaurant was small and narrow, with crisp white tablecloths, frescoed walls, and heavenly scents coming from the kitchen. As soon as we stepped through the door, my mouth started watering. The host approached us and Owen said, “We have a reservation. The name’s Palmer.”

The host checked his reservation book, then frowned and said in heavily accented English, “My apologies, signore, but there has been a mistake. We should not have given you a reservation when you called.”

“But there’s a table open, right there. And my name is in your book.” He pointed to the entry that very clearly showed a table for two reserved for Palmer at six.

“Ah, but that is because we moved your reservation to another restaurant to accommodate you.”

Owen turned to me and gave me a confused look. I responded with a shrug, and Owen returned his attention to the host. “I don’t understand. I made a reservation for two not too long ago. I spoke to you, if I’m not mistaken. And now you’re telling me you moved my reservation to another restaurant—and that it’s somehow to accommodate me?” His voice remained calm and even, so you would have had to know Owen to realize exactly how angry he was. The fact that he turned white instead of red was the only visible sign.

I put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay. Maybe they can give us something to go and we can eat at home,” I said. “That might be even better.”

The host shook his head. “No, no, you do not understand. The new reservation, it is for a better restaurant. We will even arrange for a car to take you there. Make it a nicer evening, no?”

Owen again looked to me. “What the heck,” I said with a shrug. “Just as long as the car isn’t being driven by the same drivers we had the last time.”

We went outside to wait for the car. “I don’t get it,” Owen said, still stewing. “I eat there regularly, but not to the point they’d go out of their way like this for me, and I’ve never heard of a restaurant sending business to another place. I know that me having a real date is a special occasion, but I didn’t think they’d go nuts just because I made a reservation for two.” After a moment of silence, he laughed. “Wait a second, I know what’s going on. I bet Rod did it. I told him what I had in mind earlier in the day, and player that he is, he probably didn’t think it was good enough. And maybe I do need dating lessons from the master.”

“Just as long as you don’t take too many lessons from him. You don’t have a second date with someone else lined up for later this evening, do you?”

“One person at a time is all I can handle,” he said as a white limousine pulled around the corner and stopped for us.

A uniformed chauffeur—who was fully human and not at all goofy-looking, thank goodness—got out of the car and came around to open the passenger door for us. “Mr. Palmer?” he said.

“Um, yeah. This is for us?”

“Yes, it is. Now, miss?” He held a hand out to me to help me into the limo. With a glance and shrug toward Owen, I stepped in and settled onto a plush leather seat. Owen then joined me. “Please enjoy the champagne during your ride,” the driver said before closing the door.

“Yeah, this is definitely Rod,” Owen said, eyeing the champagne in the ice bucket and the red rose lying on the seat between us. “It’s very much his style. Shall we?” he asked, indicating the champagne.

“Sure, why not? We might as well enjoy this.”

He popped the cork, then poured two glasses and handed me one. “Cheers,” he said, clinking his glass against mine.

“To a work-free, stress-free evening,” I said.

“Oh, I’ll definitely drink to that.”

As I leaned back in the seat and stretched my legs, I said, “This is the life.” Never mind that in the rush-hour traffic, walking or the subway would have been much faster. Traffic jams weren’t so bad when you weren’t driving and when you had champagne.

“And he’s a better driver than we had on our last trip,” Owen added. “BRAAAAKE!”

His imitation of Rocky was so uncanny and so unexpected that I almost choked on my champagne. “Wow, when did you become a comedian?” I sputtered.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Come to think of it, there’s a lot I don’t know about me.” He sounded almost, well, bubbly, and then I realized the champagne must have gone straight to his head. I knew he wasn’t much of a drinker, and I didn’t remember him taking a break for lunch.

“You might want to ease up on that stuff,” I warned, feeling my own head get a little fuzzy. But before we had a chance to get too tipsy, the car came to a stop and then the passenger door opened.