Authors: A.K. Lawrence
“Let’s have some confidence in your abilities, first. I have enough clients to keep me going for a few months. I can only go up from there, right?”
“Indeed,” he replied.
“This whole conversation is making me tense. Do you need anything else from me?”
The rest of your life,
Wit thought. “No, but we can change the subject, if you like.”
“Okay.” Marie cocked her head and prepared to ask the question she’d been dying to since he’d removed his sunglasses. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Pardon me,” he replied
coolly, “but there’s nothing wrong with me.”
Marie thought about what she’d said. “Oh man, t
hat’s not what I meant. There are dark circles under your eyes. Your face is pale under that killer tan and, well, it looks like you’ve lost weight recently.”
“You know I’ve been travelling. Perhaps I’m merely re-acclimating.” He felt her stare.
“It’s more than that but if you don’t want to talk about it then that’s fine. I have other things to take care of today. If you have what you need I’ll be on my way.”
She started packing her things into her computer case and Wit wanted, no needed, to stop her. This was the first time he hadn’t wanted to be alone in six months. His arm shot out and he gripped her forearm lightly. “Let me tell you about it over lunch.”
She used her free hand to grab his wrist and remove it from her arm. “When?”
“Right now?”
“I have a dinner to prepare for a client. I’m running behind as is so, no, not right now.” The panic in his eyes stirred her. “If you’d like, we can have a meal tomorrow.”
“Surely you need an assistant? Especially if you’re running behind.” Wit pulled his most beguiling smile out of the bag of tricks he hadn’t used in ages. “I’m great at following directions.”
“I highly doubt that,” she told him.
He scrambled to find a way to convince her. What could he offer to change her mind? “Did I mention that I live in the high rise down the block? The Mercury Building?”
“No,” she said, curious as to the change in subject, “what’s your point?”
“One of the amenities is a full on professional kitchen.” He waited.
“With the double oven?”
He nodded. “And microwaves
ranges and a serious refrigeration unit.”
Marie’s eyes lit up. “That’s what I was going to have at C U There. Along with various implements that make cooking a true pleasure.”
“I’m sure I have most of those and if I don’t I have an amazing concierge service.” When she didn’t say anything he pressed on. “We can pick up your supplies and you can completely destroy my kitchen. I’ll clean everything. It’ll cut your work in half.”
“More than half if I make use of your double oven.” She was wavering on the line. From previous negotiations Wit knew better than to press his advantage. She’d either agree or not. “That’ll work.” His heart soared. “I have to go to the market, yet. That’s one of the reasons I’m running behind.”
“God bless you, woman. I haven’t gone shopping since I got back so my cupboards are bare.”
“How do you live?”
“Take out, the concierge and CoffeeBot,” he answered testily.
“In that case, you’ll eat like a king tonight.”
If the counter had not been made of granite it would have groaned under the weight of the fifteen grocery bags that now covered its surface. Fifteen at last count, Wit reminded himself as the bellboy had gone down for yet another load. He calculated the tip in his head, decided a semester’s tuition ought to cover it, and blessed the fact that he wasn’t hauling the bags up himself. He debated paying for the young man’s books as well and considered that overkill.
While he patted his pockets and wondered where he’d left his checkbook Marie reached into the satchel she used as a purse and brought out a bundle of cloth. “Where can I change?”
Wit raised an eyebrow.
“You didn’t think I was going to cook in a pencil skirt, did you? The heels, too, I suppose?”
“It’s not that so much as I’m surprised you were carrying those with you.”
“Like a Girl Scout, I am always prepared,” Marie responded tartly.
“Nice. There’s a bathroom just down the hall
; second door on the right. Is there anything I can do or start while you change?”
“You could
start unloading the grocery bags. Most of those are yours.” At his look of disbelief she nodded. “Oh, yeah. There’s a reason people don’t go grocery shopping when they’re hungry.”
“I’ll remember that next time,” He replied dryly.
“If you happen to run across the wine, please put it in the fridge.”
Wit saluted. “You’ve got it, C
aptain.”
“Smart ass.” Marie smiled, turned away and stopped abruptly. “Wow. Your apartment is really, um-.” No matter how she tried Marie could not come up with a suitable adjective.
“Classical?” Wit supplied.
“I was thinking floral.” She stepped closer to an ottoman. “Yeah, definitely floral. Did you know there are little flowers carved into the furniture? And on the wallpaper and, if I’m not mistaken, even the curtain rods
? Who designed this place?”
When he named an up and coming decorator Marie nodded. “That explains it.”
“What?”
“You went out of town to get away from this place. You can’t possibly tell me I’m wrong.” Wit gave a surprise bark of laughter as Marie continued. “She was close to being run out of town after what she did to that apartment in the Arms. A rearing pink horse that neighs whenever someone walks by it in the entranceway, for sweet pity’s sake.”
“After hearing that I think I may have gotten off lucky. I didn’t care for how the place turned out but at the time I was never here. And I kept her away from my home office.”
Marie nodded sagely. “That was probably an excellent idea. I shudder to imagine what she’d have done. On that note, and with differing degrees of curiosity, I’m off to see the bathroom,” she shuddered exaggeratedly as she walked away and Wit gave another quick burst of laughter before turning to the kitchen.
“So what are we making here?” Wit asked. He sat on one of the bar stools placed strategically around the island in his kitchen and was carefully cubing potatoes to Marie’s specifications while she went all Ginsu with a knife on some herbs.
“Susan’s in-laws are from Minnesota so I thought I would go with something a little hardier. Personalized shepherds pies.”
“That explains all those little white dishes.”
“Yep.” Marie spun back to the ovens and began pre-heating.
“If we’re going to cook them here, how will they still be hot when we drop them off?”
“Susan is under orders to have her oven turned on at 6:00 on the dot. We’ll fully cook them here and then she’ll reheat them to serve. The nice thing about this dish is that it doesn’t dry out if it’s baked for too long.”
“You bought more than the makings for the food,” Wit noted.
“Well, yes,” Marie replied. “I believe hosting friends or family for a planned dinner should include some basic amenities. Speaking of which,” she reached for a corkscrew and one of the bottles of wine, “I like to have a glass of the wine to be served while I’m cooking the meal. Also, if you’d be so kind,” she removed a CD from her satchel, “why don’t you put this in for us?”
“What is it?”
“Something I put together for background.”
“And the candles, too, I take it?”
“Those or twinkle lights. For family I prefer candles and Susan agreed.”
Wit shook his head. “You weren’t joking about becoming a premier party planner. You definitely think out each aspect.”
“Everything but the cleaning up,” she agreed. “And I’ll stick around and do that for the right clients or money.” She shot him a grin. “How are those potatoes?”
“Done.” He slid the bowl with the cubed potatoes toward her and put the CD into the player under the cabinet. Light, upbeat classical music spilled from speakers around the room. “This is nice.”
“I thought so. And it shouldn’t overwhelm anyone. Susan said they prefer country but I can’t cook to that.”
“I don’t blame you. Are you using three different types of meat?”
“Yes. Apparently the father prefers lamb, the mother likes veal, etc.”
“Seriously?”
“So they claim but I believe they said that just to mess with the daughter-in-law. They’re not that close of a family and, from what I can gather, they weren’t exactly approving of the marriage.”
“And somehow shepherds pies are supposed to make that go away?”
“The small things count,” she told him. “We’ll be ready to pop these into the ovens in about 20 minutes. Then we can sit over a glass of wine and you can tell me your story.”
“Story?” Wit had already forgotten he’d agreed to bare his soul so that this woman, this intriguing, whirling dervish of a woman, wouldn’t leave him alone that day. “It may take more than a glass of wine,” he told her.
Marie shrugged. “It is what it is. You don’t have to talk about it, whatever it may be, but I have a feeling you need to.”
“They suggested I seek counselling when all was said and done.”
“Intriguing,” she muttered as she spooned mixtures into various dishes. “My imagination is running wild. Need I remind you that I’m not a counsellor?”
“It is what it is,” he said back to her. “I haven’t talked about this at all so either way it’s a step in the right direction.”
“It s
eems like it would have to be.” Marie finished topping the dishes and slid them into the oven. She set the timer, looked at Wit and said, “Whenever you’re ready, Bradley.”
He groaned. “No one but my mother calls me Bradley.”
“Somehow I had a feeling you would say that. I’ll stick to calling you Wit. God forbid I be mistaken for your mother.”
“That is something that would never happen.”
Two glasses of white wine sat upon the ornate coffee table in Wit’s living room section. Wit and Marie sat on the leather couch that Wit only now noticed had flowers in the scrollwork on the short legs. His leg started bouncing and he rose, paced around the room and sat down again. He took a deep drink of the wine and when he set the glass down he wasn’t as gentle as he could have been.
Marie chose not to comment on the show of nerves, nor would she push him to start his story though by her timer they had 45 minutes to devote to the subject. As she waited she realized this whole situation felt surreal.
Less than 5 hours ago she had met this man for the first time and it hadn’t been a real meeting. It had been a ruse orchestrated by him in order to help her exact revenge on a money hungry, thieving boyfriend. If this wasn’t the stuff of movies, she wouldn’t have known it. And to top it off, the sexy lead character in her new mental movie was hot and had a secret in his past, some sort of tragedy. This was the stuff that sent shivers down a girl’s spine.
Luckily Marie snapped out of it before she’d pictured herself in love with the very jittery man standing before her. Well, not standing as he was still taking short jaunts around the room. She amused herself by imagining him in a gothic movie, the tragic hero with inner scars that ran so deep only the love of a good, honest woman could save him. There would be a fireplace roaring in the background because a storm had knocked the power out. Lightning would flash behind him each time he turned and paced anew.
Marie nearly giggled before she remembered where she was. With a small sigh she set the wineglass back down on the table and turned her full attention to Wit. He hadn’t noticed that she’d spaced out and for that she was grateful. It wouldn’t have been the most polite way to encourage him to tell his story.
The aroma of cooking meat wound its way through the condo and Marie adjusted her mental timer. Wit finally stopped pacing and looked at her. “Did you run me through any search engines when you first heard from me?”
Startled as that wasn’t what she’d been expect
ing, Marie nodded. “I did some, enough to notice that you had dropped completely out of sight for six months.”
“Only by the standards of the news,” he said. “People who really wanted to know what I was doing knew how to find me.”
“That’s not cryptic in the least,” Marie noted. “They called you the Midas of Wall Street or something.”
“Kid Midas, actually, because I had a baby face and everything I touched seemed to make a profit. I was a top earning associate and on the fast track to becoming a partner at the firm, one of the youngest.”
“That’s quite an achievement. Being one of the best in your field has to be exhilarating.”
“It definitely had its moments,” he agreed. “Do you remember the bombing that happened at that club about six months ago?”
Marie didn’t have to think long. “Everyone assumed it was a terrorist act.”
“It was one but of the domestic sort. A couple of farm boys got it in their heads to blow up a business of someone of the Muslim faith. They didn’t really care who they hurt or if the people they hurt were innocent Americans.” Wit drained his glass and wished for a snifter of brandy. Or a hard shot of whiskey. “I was there that day, with four of my friends.”
“Oh my God,” Marie exhaled. “That had to have been terrifying.”
Wit nodded curtly. “I had gone outside to take a phone call. I actually saw one of the bombers as he passed the bag inside. One of the bombs went off in the VIP room. We were sitting in a booth on the other side of the wall. When it blew, it took out the wall and my friends with it.”