Weapons of Mass Seduction (15 page)

Chapter Twenty

P
ia picked up line two, expecting to hear Florence's comical report of her evening out, but instead her ears were surprised by the sound of Valen Bellamy's voice.

“Good morning. I think it's time we finished up our discussion, don't you?”

“I thought we had done that,” Pia replied. “Can you please hold for a moment?”

Pia put him on hold and picked up line one, let the location scout know she'd have to call her back, and counted to five before returning to Valen. She was pleased to hear from him, but only because she'd spent the past three weeks waiting for the call from her boss firing her for jeopardizing the company's future.

“I'm sorry. You were saying?”

“I was saying that I was very impressed with you and your insights on the topic we were discussing and I wanted to continue the dialogue.”

“I see, though I find it interesting that based on our last meeting a man of your political leanings would find anything I had to say insightful.”

“Well, sometimes the messenger can make the message much more palatable.”

Okay, does he actually have the nerve to be flirting with me?

“Or cause a good message to get lost in a bad delivery.”

“I suppose I deserve that. I apologize for what seemed to be an attack on you and your colleagues. But in all fairness, that was a fact-finding mission. I didn't have all the components in place, but I do now and I'm willing to fall on my sword, because I really do need you.”

I need you
. Pia hadn't heard those words from a man in a very long time, and they gave her an odd sense of satisfaction.

“I thought you made a great many sensible points, and as my campaign is about to be launched, I'd like to get your take on my ideas. How about it?”

“Wouldn't you rather your staff do that for you? As you learned at our last meeting, I have a tendency to tell it like I think it is.”

“And that is one of the many things I already like about you. In my business there is an overabundance of yes-men. I don't need another. Come on, Pia, political parties aside, we both want to help our people, so please join me for breakfast tomorrow at eight.”

A hundred different excuses for why she couldn't meet with him ran through her head, each batted away and discarded by the fact that her boss would be very unhappy if she said no.

“Well, Mr. Bellamy, when you campaign that effectively, how can I say no?”

“I'm not sure what I said to enlist your change of heart, but obviously it's something to figure out and remember when I'm stumping. I'll have my secretary call you with the address, and I will look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

“Okay. See you at eight.”

“Pia?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Bellamy is my dad. Please call me Valen.”

Pia stood midblock on East Fifty-first Street, next to the Sutton Synagogue. She was confused. Valen's instructions, relayed through Dee, were to meet him at Greenacre for breakfast, but instead of a restaurant she walked into a pocket-size emerald green sanctuary. With each step forward, Pia's smile widened. Immediately she was drawn to the park's focal point—a huge waterfall cascading down the granite back wall. The falling water created a soothing barrier to the city sounds, eliciting a sense of solitude and privacy.

She stood mesmerized under a grove of honey locust trees, their fragile leaves forming a protective sunscreen and projecting lacy shadows across the stones underfoot. Hedges of fuchsia rhododendrons and white azaleas, supplemented by gorgeous blue and purple hydrangeas in big pots scattered around the park, provided bursts of color. The upper and main tiers were empty but for two singles, one reading the newspaper, the other meditating, both enjoying themselves in this awe-inspiring city oasis.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” Valen asked, walking up beside her. “This is my favorite spot in the entire city. If you close your eyes, smell the flowers, and listen to the waterfall, you can almost believe that you're in some tropical paradise.”

“You really do believe in serving the public, don't you?” Pia asked, begrudgingly impressed by Valen's sensual nature.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that only a man dedicated to the public good would be willing to share something so beautiful. I've lived in Manhattan for years and never knew about this place. And now that I do, I'm not telling a soul. I'm keeping this amazing secret to myself.”

“And you call yourself a Democrat,” he teased. “Come, let's sit. I promised you breakfast, and as I aim to do with all my campaign pledges, I shall deliver.” Valen led her past the small concession stand and toward the back of the park, then down a short flight of roped-off stairs. There behind the hedges and next to the waterfall was a table—the only one in the small park set with white linen, china, and silverware. At each place setting was a glossy white box tied with a red and white gingham bow.

Pia was stunned. This looked like a setup for a romantic date, not a business meal. Pia was savvy and experienced enough to know that any man who went the extra mile like this did so not because he was interested in a woman's ideas but simply because he was interested in the woman.

“You did this for me?” Pia asked as Valen helped her into the chair.

“You know how we politicians are—anything to get a vote. But in all truth, I do some of my best thinking here, and yes, I did want to share this with you. Mimosa?”

“Uh, no, thank you.” Pia was confused and oddly touched that he'd wanted to share his favorite place with her. Where was the man she'd spent the afternoon sparring with not so long ago?

“You don't drink?”

“Not much lately. Watching my waistline,” she offered. It was the truth, though for reasons other than Valen suspected.

The way he pursed his lips, it was clear to Pia that he had just swallowed a flirtatious comment. And though she was curious, it was probably for the best that she not know what he was thinking. If his thoughts were running parallel to hers, the idea of sharing a romantic breakfast in this beautiful setting should be sending the same uneasy chill down his spine that was currently zipping down hers.

Pia quickly tried to assess her feelings. It wasn't fear that was confusing her; it was something much more dangerous—the delicious agitation caused by the potent mixture of intellectual interest and overwhelming physical attraction to the wrong man.

“I think I owe you an apology,” Pia said, commanding her brain to focus. “I was pretty rude walking away from your meeting like that.”

“Apology accepted. And I offer the same. Sometimes passion can get the best of you,” Valen said in a voice equal parts sincerity and innuendo. So equal, Pia wasn't sure whether he was once again flirting.

“So that's why you…well, you smirked at me.”

“Smirked?”

“Yes. Smirked. Every time I said something you got his look…a smirk…on your face, as if what I was saying was so totally off-base that it was…cute or something.”

Valen's face broke out into a crooked smile.

“That's it! That's the smirk!” Pia declared.

“I don't know what my face is showing, but my mind is and was thinking,
This is really a bright and interesting woman.
So any smirking was strictly complimentary.”

Okay, he's flirting,
Pia thought through her grin.

“May I ask you a question?” she said, choosing to reside on the side of mystery and ignore his comment altogether. “Why politics?”

“I think it was my mother's influence above all else. Whether the Boy Scouts or PTA or Jack and Jill, she was always involved in some sort of leadership position. She said by leading she was sure to make a difference.”

“So what kind of difference do you want to make?”

“I want to give our people options beyond political parties—real options. We need to teach our folk that choice goes beyond someone holding out their hands and saying, ‘Pick one.' And Easter Elizabeth Bellamy was all about creating options.”

“Easter?”

“She was born on Easter Sunday and my grandmother thought it was the perfect name. My mother decided to continue the holiday tradition with me.”

“So Valen is short for Valentine?” Pia asked, drawn again to the gray eyes behind his glasses.

“Yes. My birthday is February fourteenth.”

“Well, it could be worse—she could have named you Cupid. So you don't have any other siblings named Christmas or Cinco de Mayo, do you?” Pia asked, smiling broadly.

“No. I do have one sister named Tina. She was unfortunately born on a regular old Tuesday.”

“And your son?”

“Well, he in fact was born on Arbor Day. So in keeping with family tradition, he's named Spruce Sapling Bellamy.”

Valen's delivery was so deadpan, Pia didn't know how to react. It wasn't until he burst out in warm laughter that she realized he was joking.

“His name is Robert. Maybe we should eat before this gets cold,” Valen suggested, with a chuckle.

“This is all very thoughtful,” Pia commented as she untied the gingham ribbon and opened her box to find a gourmet breakfast of a shrimp and crab burrito and fresh fruit.

“I hope you don't mind. I took the liberty of ordering for you.”

“Not at all. It's wonderful…” A briny whiff of seafood hit Pia's pregnant nose with a vengeance. She quickly closed the box, hoping to stop the smell and the swell of nausea creeping up on her.

“You don't like shrimp?”

“I'm allergic to shellfish,” Pia fibbed, hating to lie but feeling she had no other option. It was rare enough that a man made this kind of effort, and she hated to crush his enthusiasm. “But it looks lovely, and I do so appreciate your thought.”

“Thoughts are nice, but they won't feed you,” Valen said, obviously disheartened. “Looks like I've got two strikes already—you don't drink and you don't eat shellfish. My batting average is looking pretty dismal this morning.”

“Do you think the concession stand over there serves tea and maybe an English muffin?” she asked, trying to salvage his ego and her stomach.

“I'll go check.”

Pia closed her eyes until the wave of discomfort passed. Then she concentrated on the park sounds, merging her thoughts with the rumble of falling water.

She was impressed that Valen hadn't done the typical restaurant thing. She liked that he had instead exercised his creativity and sensual side when picking out this tiny paradise to share with her. His attention to detail said a lot about him, and it was telling Pia that she definitely needed to know him better.

Valen Bellamy was smart, attractive, sexy, creative, attentive, and caring. Did it get any better? She had definitely misjudged him following their first meeting. After this morning's conversation, it was clear that despite the differences in their political leanings, at the core they both cared about their people, their country, and their world—so why was he unattached and a Republican?

Stop. Not an option. He's a conservative man running for office and you're a liberal single woman having a familiar stranger's baby. You're oil and water. Chocolate and beetles. Santa Claus and Chanukah. Two entities that do not mix.

Valen returned with her requested order. Once they'd eaten a few bites in companionable silence, Pia felt the need to learn more about his personal side.

“So, are you excited about becoming a grandfather? This is your first, right?”

“Yes, Robbie is my only child and he and his wife are expecting in late November.”

Me too,
Pia informed him through her eyes.

“Your wife must be really excited,” despite his open flirtation, Pia had to know.

“Ex-wife. I've been divorced for twelve years.”

“And never remarried?”

“No. I ended a long-term relationship with a lovely woman about three years ago. We were good together, but marriage wasn't in our cards. She wasn't interested in my political ambitions. Didn't want to be caught up in the scrutiny of politics. I came to learn later that she probably did me a favor.”

“If you don't mind me asking, why do you say that?”

“Let's just say that there were things in her past that didn't mesh well with a public life. And I know that sounds harsh, but unfortunately, in the current political climate it's one of the things a politician has to think about.”

Valen's answer sent a blast of discomfort through her.

“What about you? Ever been married?”

“No. Guess I've been too busy with my own career aspirations. My kind of job—irregular hours, lots of traveling—doesn't lend itself to the traditional lifestyle.”

“I know that feeling well. No desire to ever have a husband or kids?”

“Never say never, right?” Pia said, deciding to dodge that hot topic and redirect their discussion. “So, Valen. You've explained your passion for politics, but why—”