Real Women Don't Wear Size 2 (2 page)

He got to the counter and turned around. “You want one or two?”

Dang, he knew her well. “You think I could squeeze into that dress if I ate two?” she asked, knowing good and well she’d have ordered two if she were on her own.

He winked. “I’m sure you’ll look awesome no matter what you eat. You know that.” Then he turned back around and placed the order.

“Yeah, I know that,” she said, lying through her teeth.

He returned with two plates, one holding a single cranberry bliss bar, the other with two. After placing them on the table, he left to retrieve a knife, and within seconds, he’d cut the third bar in half and divided it between the two dishes. “One is never quite enough for me,” he said.

She grinned. “Me either.”

“Okay, so give me the scoop. Who are you going with tonight? I heard a rumor that you and Riley were hooking up,” he said. “That true?”

Clarise nearly choked on the first bite. Her eyes watered, but she lifted her cup and managed to get the warm liquid working its way down her throat along with the lodged chunk of cranberry dessert. “Jake Riley?” she questioned. “And me?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I misunderstood, but I don’t think so. He probably never got the nerve to ask.”

Yeah, right. Jake Riley was the Men’s Department head and hot as all get out. While he was friendly toward Clarise, she’d never sensed anything beyond friendship. Then she thought back to this morning, when an elderly gentleman customer had wandered into the Women’s Department and asked her opinion on a tie for his black tuxedo. Seems he was taking his wife to a Christmas party and wanted to dazzle her with a new tie. Clarise suggested a pink Tommy Hilfiger with shiny silver pinstripes. It was elegant and classy, and would play beautifully off of the man’s wavy white hair and jet-black tuxedo. He had been so impressed with her recommendation that he’d taken Clarise back with him to the Men’s Department and asked her to pick out an entire wardrobe that would “Wow” his wife. She did, then she allowed Jake Riley to ring up the sale. It was his department, after all, and she wasn’t trying to steal a commission that should have been his. Jake had thanked her, and then he’d smiled, a smile that made Clarise’s insides quiver for a second. It’d been warm, and genuine . . . and sexy. Had it been more than a friendly smile?

“Hello,” Ethan said, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “Do I take it something
has
happened with Riley?”

Clarise swallowed, then casually waved off the question. “No, of course not. We work together, and we’re friends. If he mentioned something about taking me to the party, it was probably only because of that, and in any case, he didn’t ask. Besides, I told Jake earlier this week that Rachel, Jesilyn and I had decided to make it a girls’ night out. They’re meeting me at my place, and we’re all riding together.”

He shook his head. “Those two are going to get you in trouble eventually, Clarise, and—” He hesitated.

“And?” she questioned.

He grinned broadly. “And I’m betting you’ll love every minute of it, whenever you do decide to let yourself go and have fun.” He popped a large chunk of cranberry bliss bar in his mouth, swallowed, then raised a crumb-coated finger as he spoke. “You really should consider going to Gasparilla for the corporate bonding getaway this time around.”

She’d been wondering when he’d start hitting her up to go on the annual company trip. She’d declined last year. Actually, she’d chickened out yet again and let her younger sister, Babette, take her place, but she’d already decided that this January’s trip would find her alongside all of the other department heads in Tampa, drinking, partying, having a good time, and setting her wild side free—assuming she actually had a wild side. God, she hoped she did. Then again, how could she be Babette’s sister and not have inherited a bit of her always-willing-and-ready sister’s genes? “I am going to Gasparilla,” she confirmed.

“Well, it’s about time,” he said, polishing off the last of his cranberry bars. “You won’t regret it. And truthfully, I won’t either. I’m looking forward to the show.”

“The show?”

“Clarise Robinson, unplugged,” he said.

Clarise felt a sassy response was in order, but before she had a chance to speak, a striking black-haired woman in a winter white minidress—a Marc Jacobs, Clarise noticed—stopped beside them with a good inch of tone tan thighs showing between the hem of her skirt and the top of their table. She shifted from one leg to the other, and Clarise was instantly reminded of Sharon Stone’s leg switch in
Basic Instinct.
If the woman had been sitting down, they’d probably get the same view.

“Ethan,” Winter White gushed in a sexy half whisper, “is that really you?”

He swallowed thickly, then stood and gave her a cordial hug. “Rose, how are you?”

“Just fabulous, darling,” she said, then backed up a bit and indicated her outfit, or perhaps it was her body that she was showing off. Both were quite appealing, and the woman knew it. Clarise bit the inside of her cheek and mentally dared Ethan to forget proper introductions. Thank God, he heeded her silent warning.

“Rose, this is Clarise Robinson, my friend and the best department head Eubanks Apparel has ever had. Clarise, this is Rose Tate. She’s studying law at Cumberland.”

And she’s been in your bed,
Clarise silently added, noting the way Ms. Tate was practically drooling over Ethan, who didn’t seem to notice. Chalk one up for the friend at the table. Clarise smiled. “Nice to meet you, Rose.”

Rose tore her attention from Ethan to the table, where two plates and two coffees obviously left her out of the current equation. She looked at Clarise and gave her one of those fake smiles that Babette classified as an I’d-love-to-slap-you-but-I-can’t-right-now smile. As far as Clarise knew, she’d never been on the receiving end of one of those smiles. She couldn’t wait to tell Babette.

Rose stood frozen for an awkward minute, then turned back to Ethan. “Well, it was good seeing you,” she said.

“You too,” he managed, but didn’t sound nearly as enthusiastic.

“You should call me sometime,” she said, then let her smile creep up a little farther and batted long black eyelashes.

Clarise didn’t know who was gawking at Ethan more—Rose, or herself—while awaiting his reply. To her immense pleasure, he appeared very uncomfortable and didn’t quite know how to respond to the woman’s blatant invitation. Clarise, being a true friend, naturally decided to help him out. “Well, it was really nice meeting you, Rose,” she said rather loudly.

Rose, snapping back to reality, mumbled a “You too,” then delivered one more overly flirty smile to Ethan and, blessedly, walked away.

Ethan dropped back in his seat with apparent relief, picked up his cup and downed the remainder of his espresso.

“Another love casualty?” Clarise teased.

“You know, I think you enjoy talking about my relationship troubles entirely too much,” he said. “I actually thought this coffee chat we would attempt to focus on you.”

“And then, along came a rose,” Clarise said, taking another bite of her cranberry bar. “What’d you do to her?”

“Nothing, we just didn’t connect.”

“Beyond physically, you mean,” Clarise said, knowing Ethan’s track record with relationships. Every girl he dated wanted to have his babies. Problem was he kept dating women who simply didn’t understand him. They didn’t know anything about his business, nothing about his background and nothing about how he and his twin, Jeff, had spent their lives trying to overcome living in Preston Eubanks’s notable shadow. They wouldn’t understand what an accomplishment it was that both of them had succeeded on their own, elevating Eubanks Elegant Apparel to one of the most distinguished retail clothing chains in the Southeast. Moreover, most of the women never spent enough time with Ethan to realize he was more than an intelligent businessman and good in bed. (Clarise was guessing, of course, on the good in bed part. Guessing . . . and hoping to find out. Someday.) But in any case, how could these women know that he was witty and charming, if they merely tried to get in his bed? Clarise knew all about his wit and his charm, and she hadn’t once tried to get in his bed. Dreamed about it, yes. Actually tried to do it? No. Not yet, anyway. And she’d have to be blind not to notice that each and every one of Ethan’s former flames had that long, lean thing going. Did he ever consider the shorter, curvier and, consequently, friendlier version?

She felt the blush rise to her cheeks and dropped her face for another bite while she reined in her emotions. Then she decided to lighten the conversation, which was easy to do, given the name of his semi old flame. “So, was this the year of the flower, or what? I didn’t even know about Rose, but I do remember the other ones. She makes four of the garden variety, right?”

He glared at her, picked up her cranberry bliss bar and took a bite, then dropped it back on her plate. “There were only three.”

“Rose, Iris, Daisy and Verbena,” Clarise chirped, clicking off fingers as she recited the names. “Sounds like four to me.” Then she licked a bit of icing off the first finger.

“Trust me, I’m trying to forget Verbena.”

Clarise laughed. “One of these days, a woman is going to knock you off your feet, and you’re not going to know how to handle it.”

“God, I hope so,” he said. “I’m telling you, this dating business is for the birds. I have no idea why Jeff likes it so much.”

“Because your brother is perfectly content with bed-hopping. Some people are,” she said, without adding that her sister was definitely one of those people. Babette loved men, period. She wasn’t overly promiscuous—or at least Clarise hoped not—but she did admit to truly enjoying a man who knew his way around a woman’s body. Of course, Clarise would also enjoy a guy who knew his way around her body, given she should find one who wanted as much body as she had to offer. Oh, and if he looked like Ethan, acted like Ethan, and heck,
was
Ethan, that’d be fine too.

She stood from the table. “I’ve got to go get ready. Babette is helping me with my hair before Jesilyn and Rachel come over, and I promised Granny Gert I’d pick her up a new hot and steamy romance novel before I head home.”

“Don’t tell me. Babette went to cosmetology school too,” he said sarcastically, totally ignoring the comment about Granny Gert and her need for a steamy sex book. He was used to her zany grandmother’s feisty requests.

Clarise waved a dismissive hand. “No, that’s one of the few career choices she hasn’t made . . . yet. The current degree of choice is Computer Information Systems. She graduates tomorrow, in fact; maybe she’ll actually get a job this time. In any case, I’ve got to get Granny’s book and head home. I’ll see you tonight,” she said, then started to leave but paused at the exit. “You didn’t say who you’re bringing to the party,” she said, trying not to sound
too
interested. “Any flower I know?”

He snorted. “I’m going stag, thank you very much.”

“Well, will wonders never cease?” she called, as she left the coffee shop. Then she sauntered into the brisk coolness of Birmingham, Alabama, in December and thanked heaven above for company Christmas parties, red dresses that (she hoped) made abundantly proportioned women look sexy and Ethan Eubanks going stag.

“Personally, I’d recommend throwing it over your head, spraying it with some of this gel freeze and leaving it all wild and crazy. You know, that just-rolled-out-of-bed look that’s so hot now,” Babette said, standing behind Clarise and running her hands haphazardly through her sister’s straight brown hair. “You could wear it like Jennifer Garner on the
Elektra
poster. It’s the perfect color and length.”

Clarise looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, considered Babette’s suggestion and declined. “Sorry, sis. I’ve never worn a dress like this one—ever—and now that I am, I want to do it right. And a gown that fabulous deserves an updo.” Plus, Ethan had called her look “sophisticated elegance.” There was no way she wanted to change that opinion. She lifted her eyes to the side of the mirror, where she could see the to-die-for Ben di Lisi hanging on the top of the armoire in her bedroom. “If you don’t have time to do it up for me, I can get Granny Gert to give it a shot. Plus, Jesilyn and Rachel will be here soon; they could probably help—” Clarise started, but Babette shook her head.

“It isn’t a time thing,” she said. “I mean, I’ve got a date tonight, but he isn’t picking me up for another two hours. I just thought your hair would look really fabulous down. You always have it pulled up for work; don’t you think you’d really catch them off guard if you wore it wickedly wild?” Babette tossed her blond spirals as she spoke, as if emphasizing the sexiness associated with long, untamed curls.

Clarise watched her sister’s sassy head swing in action. “You’re right. That’s a good look, and I’ll give it a shot when I go to Gasparilla next month, but tonight, I want an updo, and you said you’d give me one.”

Babette unbuttoned her red leather blazer, left the bathroom and tossed it on Clarise’s bed. She returned wearing the black silk chemise she’d had on underneath the jacket, a faded pair of holey jeans and red stiletto boots. Babette’s wardrobe would never be found in Eubanks Elegant Apparel, but Clarise had to admit that her sister had style. “Yep, I promised you an updo,” she said, “so we’d better get started.” She grinned. “This reminds me of high school and getting ready for the dances.”

Clarise swallowed. In high school, they’d had a lot of fun getting Babette ready for the dances and proms. The two of them would giggle through the event day, when Clarise would steadily do her sister’s hair and makeup, then Babette would head to the dance, typically with an older guy from Clarise’s class. Clarise, on the other hand, claimed that she didn’t enjoy the dances—but both of the girls knew better. She wanted to go, would have loved to go, in fact, but she was never asked. Not too many high school boys were interested in a girl as “healthy” as Clarise. But times had changed. Now it was Babette getting Clarise all decked out for the big event, and Clarise was getting ready to strut her stuff in front of her friends and coworkers . . . and Ethan. She took another look in the mirror. Brown eyes looked back; they weren’t spectacular in color, but they were big and almond-shaped. Her hair was straight and also basic brown, but it could be played up with a handful of mousse, a lot of bobby pins, and Babette’s talent with a curling iron. Makeup was a breeze; Clarise had always been good at accentuating her eyes and mouth, which, according to Granny Gert, were her best features—next to the Robinson Treasures, aka big boobs, and the Robinson Rump.