On the Clock (Market Garden, #8)(43)

“Is it?”

“It is. All I have to do is sit back, relax.” He winked. “And it is kind of hot—a well-dressed man behind the wheel of a car like this.”

“Well, in that case . . .” Blake chuckled and started the engine. As the Lamborghini roared to life, he grinned at Jason. “Buckle up.”



He left the car in the hands of a wide-eyed valet, and they headed into the restaurant.

Jason glanced over his shoulder. “You let the valets drive it?”

“Why not? It’s insured. And I can almost guarantee they’re more careful with that thing than they are with most cars that come through here. I don’t imagine any of them wants to be known as the guy who dented the Lamborghini.”

Jason grimaced. “No, I wouldn’t think so.”

The tuxedoed ma?tre d’ met them at the podium. He didn’t even bother looking up their reservation since Blake came here often enough to be recognized, but led them to a table by the windows.

Jason took a seat, looking around the posh, dimly lit restaurant but not seeming the least bit intimidated by it. Blake loved that about him—he was never out of his element. Never so much as a hint of “I so do not belong here” in his expression, whether they were in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant or a five-star place like this.

With a single candle glowing between them on the white linen tablecloth, they perused the menus, agreed on a bottle of cabernet sauvignon, and ordered: a spicy scampi appetizer, filet mignon for Blake, and the restaurant’s famous New York strip for Jason.

While they sipped their wine and waited for their food, Jason unfolded his napkin and laid it across his lap. “So I’m curious about something.”

“Shoot.”

“Your career . . . is it what you had in mind when you were young?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“You could, but I asked you first.”

“Fair.” Blake paused. “You want the honest truth?”

“Will knowing it incriminate me in a court of law?”

Blake laughed. “No, it won’t.”

“Then yes.”

“Okay, well, to put it bluntly, I went into banking because I wanted to be rich.” He shrugged. “It’s really that simple. I wanted the type of success that’s measured in dollars. A lot of dollars.”

“You seem to have done quite well in that department.”

“It took a few regrettable decisions, a near bankruptcy, and a couple of strokes of both good and bad luck, but yes, I finally did.”

“Regrettable decisions? Such as?”

“Stupid investments. And right when I was getting back on my feet after those, the real estate market went tits up, and suddenly that adjustable rate mortgage hadn’t been such a good idea after all.”

Jason grimaced. “That’s why I’ve been hesitant to buy anything.”

“Buying is okay. Just don’t be stupid like I was, and you should be fine.”

“Except you know more about this sort of thing than I do.”

“Thanks to the school of hard knocks, sure.” Blake sipped his wine. “I’ve got people who know more than I do—I can certainly connect you to them.”

“That would be appreciated. Any advice you can give me, as well.”

“Well.” Blake set the glass down and folded his hands. “You’re renting your flat, correct?”

Jason nodded. “Whether I want to or not, buying in South Kensington would be . . . somewhat out of my price range.”

“But there are other areas of London where the prices are more reasonable.” Blake quirked his lips. “By London standards, anyway. I’m fairly sure that what I paid for my house would get me a broom closet in London.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Jason half shrugged, idly swirling his wine. “I mean, I suppose if you wanted a renovation project in a dodgy part of town and were willing to eat beans and toast for a few years . . .”

Blake laughed. “You know, you’re probably right. How do people afford to live in that town?”

“Easy.” Jason took a sip and set his glass down with a delicate clink. “We dance half-naked and sell our arses to pay for—”

The waitress appeared, balancing a tray of scampi on her hand and eyeing Jason uncertainly.

He cleared his throat and smiled as color bloomed in his cheeks. “Oh lovely. Appetizers.”

“Right.” She glanced at the tray, then set it down between them. “Can I, um, bring anything else?”

Blake smothered a snicker. “No, I think we’re fine. Thank you.”

She nodded, and got the hell out of there.

Jason covered his eyes. “For f*ck’s sake . . .”

Blake didn’t hold back his amusement this time. “Well, well. Apparently it is possible to embarrass you.”

“Oh, come on now.” Jason lowered his hand. He tried to glare at Blake, but then laughed too and rolled his eyes. “I may be a rentboy, but I do have some couth.”

“Of course you do.”

Another eye roll, and a muttered, “Bloody Yank.”

“Whatever.” Blake chuckled and gestured at the platter between them. “Scampi?”