Fight or Flight(34)
Stunned, and cornered, and wondering how I could get out of this without upsetting a longtime client I admired, I stuttered for words. “Well … um … Are you … Is this an attempt at matchmaking, Patrice? I’m flattered, but I actually am very busy with work right now.”
“It’s not an attempt at matchmaking, I swear. I just thought it might be nice for you to have something other than work as a distraction during such a trying time. Plus, to be blunt, my other friends are either boring fusspots, functioning alcoholics, or middle-aged housewives who would hit on him. It’s only for a week, maybe two. It wouldn’t take up too much of your time. I just … thought perhaps you could show him around town, take him to dinner a couple times.”
I could practically hear Stella shouting in my head to say yes. We couldn’t afford to hurt Patrice Danby’s feelings or piss her off. And it was only for a week or two. I just had to hope that she was kind enough not to land me with an obnoxious sleaze. “Well, I’d be happy to if it would help you out.”
“Oh, you are a sweetheart!” she exclaimed happily. “Let’s meet for lunch with those samples so I can introduce you two. He’s here on business so he’s occupied during the day but did promise he could meet us for lunch if you said yes.”
“So you’ve told him about me?”
“Well, yes, your name came up. I must have been going on about how wonderful you were because he seemed intrigued.”
Great. Now he had expectations.
“That’s nice.” I winced.
She laughed. “Don’t worry, darling. He’s perfectly charming. We’ll meet at Deuxave, yes. One o’clock.”
“I’ll see you both there.”
Not five minutes later, Stella poked her head around the door. “How’s it going?”
“Patrice Danby is trying to set me up with a guest of hers who’s stranded here because of that damn volcano eruption.”
She grinned. “And you said yes, of course.”
“You owe me.”
“Ava, it’s Patrice. She would never try to set you up with a cretin.”
Ten
Yet, apparently, Patrice would try to set me up with a cretin. My heart was thudding hard in my chest as the hostess led me to Patrice’s table at Deuxave, a French restaurant in Back Bay. Confusion and anger were my foremost feelings.
Because the man rising to stand from Patrice’s table at my approach was none other than Caleb Scott.
The Bastard Scot.
“Darling, don’t you look beautiful as always?” Patrice moved toward me before I’d reached the table and gently took me by the shoulders to kiss my cheeks, one after the other.
I smiled at the attractive older woman, hoping it didn’t come across as brittle as it felt. Patrice Danby wasn’t what anyone would call a typical beauty, but there was something striking and charismatic about her that made her lovelier than mere ordinary beauty. Tall, extremely slender, she had, according to photographs, always had the kind of figure expected of a model. Clothes hung beautifully on her, like works of art, and the designer houndstooth shirtdress she wore with black leather heels was no exception. Her dark blond hair was cut stylish and short, much like Stella’s.
“As do you,” I responded, my eyes involuntarily glued to Caleb Scott as he stared impassively at me.
“Let me introduce you to our guest, Ava.” She guided me over to him and I was sure my expression was screaming at him, What the hell is going on?
He looked different. Although he was still unshaven and his hair was the same, he was wearing a beautifully cut tailored suit. No tattoos in sight. He could have passed for a civilized gentleman, and this look on him was almost as hot as the henley and biker boots.
To my shock, he held out his big hand to me and politely said, “Miss Breevort.”
“Oh, call her Ava, Caleb. Ava, this is Caleb Scott.”
Gingerly, I reached out and took his hand, staring into those amusement-filled ice blue eyes, trying to find the explanation for my current predicament.
“Ava.” His voice rumbled over my name as he gently squeezed my hand. I felt a sparkle of lust fizz in my belly.
Damn him.
“Caleb,” I said softly, all the while feeling extremely confused. About a lot of things.
For some reason my saying his name made his hand tighten around mine, but then it was almost like I’d imagined it, because suddenly we were no longer touching. He took his seat quite abruptly in that well-renowned ill-mannered way of his.
A gentleman always waits for a lady to be seated first.
Oh, who cared? I wanted to know what the hell he was doing here. I took my seat across from him, ignoring the way Patrice was glancing back and forth between us as I studied his face. He just stared dispassionately at me. Had he orchestrated this? How did he manage it?
“Well.” Patrice’s voice drew my gaze back to her. Her eyes were bright, her lips tugging into a delighted smile like she knew a secret we didn’t. “Isn’t this lovely?”
“Lovely,” I murmured, taking a sip from the water glass at the table. “So, Patrice, how do you and Mr. Scott know each other?”
“You must call him Caleb.” She smiled fondly at him, a smile he returned, dumbfounding me even further. “Caleb is good friends with my nephew, Duncan. My nephew and his family are the ones we’re decorating the guesthouse for.”