Entice Me Box Set: The Truth About Shoes and Men\Cover Me\My Favorite Mistake (33 page)

Bewildered, I shrugged. “No, of course not.”

He handed the cabbie a piece of paper, then held the door open for me to slide in the back seat first. I scooted as close to the opposite door as my bulky coat would allow, but when Redford climbed in, his big body touched mine from knee to shoulder. I decided that pulling away would seem prudish considering our former relationship, so I stared out the window as we drove away and racked my brain for something conversational to say.

“The drive in will at least give you a great view of the city,” I offered.

“If I could take my eyes off
you
.”

I jerked my head around and, indeed, he appeared to be studying me, his dark eyes earnest beneath the brim of his hat.

The left side of my body was on fire. “What’s the errand you need to run?”

“Just a little business transaction,” he said easily.

In my purse, my cell phone rang. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen—Barry. My stomach dipped. We’d been playing phone tag for days. I inadvertently glanced at Redford, feeling panicky.

“Don’t let me keep you from something important,” he said.

The cabbie turned around to verify something on the piece of paper Redford had given him. When Redford leaned forward, I hit the connect button and put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hi,” Barry said. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Redford put his hand on my knee, leveraging himself to lean farther forward. I inhaled sharply and my panty hose-clad leg burned beneath his large hand.

“Um, no,” I said into the phone. “I was just on my way to…lunch. How are things in L.A.?”

“It’s crazy here,” he said. “We’re working ‘round the clock to get a couple of local stations transitioned to our network in time for sweeps. Sorry I haven’t been able to call.”

“That’s okay,” I murmured.

“But I spoke to Ellen, and she said you had a good meeting.”

I frowned, my first thought being that he’d had time to talk to Ellen, but not to me, then gave myself a mental shake—he had probably talked to her numerous times about work. “I thought it went well,” I said. “She took the paperwork with her, so I don’t have the account yet, but I think it will happen.”

“That’s great news.”

“Yeah. I owe you big-time.”

Barry gave an evocative little laugh. “When I get back, I’ll collect.”

The juxtaposition of Redford’s warm hand on my knee and Barry’s voice in my ear sent waves of guilt over me, and I had the crazy urge to blurt a confession right then and there…which, I realized a split-second later, would be disastrous. So I simply took a deep breath and said, “Okay,” somewhat woodenly.

“Who are you going to lunch with?” Barry asked over a yawn.

Redford leaned back in the seat and settled next to me with a sexy smile.

I turned my head slightly away from Redford and held the mouthpiece close. “Um…no one you’d know.”

“A client?”

Well, I was going to be advising Redford during the tax audit, so indirectly, he
was
a client of mine…sort of. “Yes,” I said, peeling my gaze from Redford’s long, thick, tanned fingers.

“Then I guess I’d better let you go,” Barry said. “Do you have any big plans this weekend?”

“Not really,” I squeaked. “I’ll be in and out.”

I glanced at Redford and he raised his eyebrows suggestively. Heat flooded my face and I was dimly aware of Barry saying something.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said have fun. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay.” I wondered nervously if being engaged
obligated me to a new, more gushy sign-off. “Bye…you.” I winced, my words sounding awkward and ridiculous even to me.

“Bye,” Barry said, suppressing another yawn.

I disconnected the call and slid the phone back into my bag, as jumpy as a pussy caught between two toms.

“Bad news?” Redford asked.

I turned toward him, struck anew by the sheer maleness of him. “Hmm? Oh…no.”

“You’re frowning,” he offered. “Is my being here an inconvenience?”

I averted my gaze. “No, of course not.”

“You’re fibbing,” he said. “You probably thought you’d never see me again, and then you get hit with this audit out of the blue. Pretty crazy, huh?”

I looked back and nodded. “It’s bizarre.”

Then Redford picked up my gloved left hand and looked at me hard. “Have you thought that maybe it could be fate?”

8

I
WAS STRUCK SPEECHLESS
by Redford’s question. Fate? Cindy, with all her romantic ideas about happily ever after, believed in fate. But the concept was too elusive for my linear brain to wrap itself around. Still, for a fleeting second when I looked into Redford’s earnest eyes, heaven help me, I wanted to believe that fate had brought us back together. Then I came to my senses and withdrew my hand, emitting a little laugh.

“Redford, somehow I doubt that fate and the IRS are in cahoots. I’d say it’s more like mathematical odds.” And perhaps my questionable deductions, which I wasn’t keen to discuss just yet.

Then he pursed his mouth and nodded. “You’re probably right.”

When he turned his head to glance out the window, I fought a faint sense of disappointment that he so readily accepted my pragmatic response. Troubled, I studied his profile and was privy to Redford’s awestruck expression by the sudden and populous
skyline that seemed to stretch into infinity. “It’s colossal,” he breathed.

My heart swelled with the same pride that I suspect all New Yorkers experience when visitors get their first look at the giant landscape.

“Flying in was dramatic,” Redford said, his voice full of wonder. “But seeing it from this perspective, it’s almost unbelievable.”

I nodded, smiling. “New York is enormous, but everyone finds their little corner and settles in. And after a while you forget how big it is.”

He leaned closer to the window to peer up at the towering buildings. A few blocks later, the cab turned down a side street, into a part of the city I’d never traveled. Several turns later, we were definitely off the beaten path, in a retail area that seemed to be dominated by car dealerships and repair shops. The cabbie turned in to a new-car dealership, then turned his head and asked, “This okay?”

“This is fine,” Redford assured him, opening the door.

I frowned, confused. “Shall I hold the cab and wait for you?”

Redford shook his head and extended his hand. “That won’t be necessary. We’re driving out of here.”

I put my hand in his, and even the nubby yarn of my glove wasn’t enough to dull the zing of touching him. “You’re buying a car?”

“A truck,” he corrected, then closed the door. Again he waved off the cabbie’s help with his bag
and paid the bill, adding a tip large enough to disturb me. Redford shook the cabbie’s hand, then gave a friendly wave as the car pulled away. The driver waved back, clearly puzzled. I squelched a smile, thinking the cabbie would no doubt tell his wife that evening about the Southerner who handled his own bag, overtipped, shook his hand and waved goodbye.

“Redford,” I murmured. “You tipped that man a hundred percent.”

Redford shrugged good-naturedly. “It’s only money.”

I stood flat-footed as shock waves rolled over me.
It’s only money?
Redford personified my nightmare client. I had, of course, noticed his tendency to be loose with money during the time we’d been in Vegas, but I’d rationalized that it was
Vegas
. Even I had gotten caught up in the partying, freewheeling atmosphere. I’d lost thirty-five dollars on slots the first day…oh, and I’d wound up married. But in hindsight, Redford had been happy to let me take care of our taxes—was he a financial train wreck?

While I pondered that disconcerting line of thought, Redford smiled and shouldered his leather duffel bag, then headed toward the sales office. I trailed behind, more than a little uncomfortable. I’d never purchased a car before, but I’d heard enough horror stories from friends to know that it would be easy to be taken for a ride, so to speak.

And, sure enough, the salesman had seen Redford coming. He came over and the men shook hands as
if they knew each other. By the time I caught up to them, the salesman was moving toward an area where gigantic pickup trucks were parked. Redford introduced me to “Jim,” who was handsome in a slick kind of way, and I nodded politely.

“Ah, so this is the little woman,” Jim said in a sales-y voice.

I opened my mouth to object, but Redford suddenly squeezed me close with a one-armed hug and laughed. “That’s right.” After a few seconds of utter confusion, I realized that Redford was working the salesman by pretending we were married in preparation for the good cop/bad cop negotiating blitz. I brightened—I could negotiate a bargain. I lived for chances to be bad cop.

“I believe this is what you asked for,” Jim said, patting the hood of a gigantic red pickup with an extra-large cab that looked as if it could tow a house.

While Redford walked around the truck, nodding his approval, I sneaked a glance at the sticker price and nearly swallowed my tongue. Not only could the truck
tow
a house, it cost almost as much as one. I opened my mouth to start my bad cop monologue and Redford said, “I’ll take it.”

“Great,” Jim said, beaming.

Since my mouth was already open, I gaped in horror. Sticker price? He was going to pay sticker price?

“Um,
honey
,” I said demurely, squeezing Redford’s arm and, God help me, not hating it, “maybe we should discuss this.”

Redford’s eyebrows raised slightly and he seemed amused. “Discuss what,
sweetie?
”

I shot daggers at him behind the salesman’s back. “The price,” I said between clenched teeth.

But he only laughed and patted my hand. “Like I said, it’s only money.”

I felt faint, both from the teasing interplay and his irreverence. The financial demon in me reared her frugal head. “But,
honey
, remember we might have an unexpected expense coming up next week.”

“
Sweetie
, you worry too much,” he chided, his dark eyes half-serious. “I’ll take care of everything.”

His voice was so level, so calming that I actually believed him. I was breaking one of the cardinal rules I gave to my female clients: Don’t assume your boyfriend/husband/significant other knows more about money than you do. With a jolt I remembered just how susceptible I was to Redford’s charm. It was his money, after all—he had the right to spend it anyway he pleased.

Yet I didn’t want Redford to be in arrears with the IRS. If my creative accounting was the root cause of any fines, I would offer to pay for everything, of course…although if it were more than a nominal amount, I wouldn’t be able to…unless Ellen Brant opened an account at Trayser Brothers.

Thinking of Ellen made me think of Barry and all that I was keeping from him. Guilt washed over me anew—I was engaged to Barry, yet hadn’t hesitated
to pretend to be Redford’s wife for the sake of saving a few bucks.

And the ease with which Redford and I had fallen into calling each other pet names was even more unsettling. Redford had often called me “sweetie” when we were together. Adrenaline rushed through my veins—I felt like I had stepped into quicksand, and was already up to my manhandled knees.

“Right this way,” Jim said, his voice triumphant with a new sale. Then he turned to me and said, “Denise, you’re exactly how Redford described you.”

I blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Jim and I served together in Iraq,” Redford said, his expression somewhat sheepish.

“He talked about you nonstop,” Jim said, grinning.

I was shot through with shock and some other sensation that was unidentifiable—pleasure? Satisfaction? Dismay?

“Jim,” Redford cut in, clapping the man on the back, “you wouldn’t want me to start telling stories on
you
now, would you?”

Jim laughed outright. “No. I guess we all pulled a few stupid stunts while we were away from home, didn’t we?” They shared a belly laugh as they walked to the sales office.

I stayed in the showroom to allow Redford to sign the paperwork and to allow myself time to absorb what Jim had said. Redford had talked about me to his buddies? Nonstop? Why had that declaration
shaken me so? Because I had assumed that Redford had returned to his unit and lamented the big mistake he’d made by marrying a virtual stranger in Vegas, that’s why. Of course, maybe he had chalked it up to one of the “stupid stunts” that Jim had mentioned.

Confused, I dropped into a chair, and pulled out my cell phone. I considered called Kenzie, but she had reacted strangely when I’d told her that Barry had proposed, and even more so when I’d told her about Redford’s visit. In truth, we’d had quite a spat about mistakes I’d made and mistakes she was afraid I would make again. Until her hormones leveled out, I was prepared to keep my distance. Instead, I dialed Cindy.

She answered on the first ring. “Hello?” Her voice lilted with hope, and I hated to disappoint her that it was just me calling and not the guy from her positive Thinking class.

“Hey, it’s Denise.”

“Hi! I’m having lunch with Jacki, and the suspense is killing us! Have you seen Redford? Does he look the same?”

I touched my hand to my temple. “Yes, I’ve seen him, and he looks…the same.”

Cindy covered the mouthpiece and I could hear her say, “She’s seen him and he looks the same!” then came back. “Wait—Jacki wants to listen, too. Okay, go ahead. You were saying he looks the same?”

“Maybe a tad better,” I admitted, thinking of the black hat.

“Does he still have the Washington Monument in his pants?” Jacki asked dryly.

“I’m hanging up.”

“No, wait!” Cindy shouted. “Jacki was kidding. What was it like when you saw each other again? Did you see fireworks?”

Jacki scoffed. “Enough with the fantasy, Cindy.”

“Wait a minute,” Cindy said in a huff. “Jacki, aren’t you the woman who found Mr. Right based on the pair of
shoes
he was wearing? You have a
season pass
to fantasyland.”

I rolled my eyes at their banter. “Hello? Can you two argue on your own airtime?”