Rebound (Boomerang #2)(16)

Her eyes don’t budge from the view as she says, “Okay.”

I swing by the cubicles outside to pick up Alison, who I find perched on the edge of the desk, looking more like a movie version of an executive, with her long legs and her stylish clothes. She stops talking to the accountant and lawyer on her team when I walk up.

“Adam,” she says, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she starts to blush.

“Hey,” I say. “You’re all set up in my office.”

“Our office,” she says, smiling, and I can’t tell if she says it jokingly or not.

“You two okay if I steal Alison for lunch?” I ask Nancy and Simon.

Nancy giggles. “Oh, definitely! Steal away!” she squeals, but her smile drops when Simon glares at her.

My assistant, Jamie, made reservations at a restaurant in the mall across the street, so Alison and I head there on foot. Ali’s already met briefly with Rhett on some HR matters, and as we walk, she tells me she’s impressed with our benefits package, health insurance options, and our pledge to support the continuing education of our employees.

It’s obvious she’s studied up, and the girl is smart; her intelligence shines through when she speaks. Maybe she’s Quick’s daughter, but as far as I can tell she’s not here just because of her DNA. It’s a relief. I need this deal to go right. I couldn’t have worked with someone incompetent. No matter how hot she is. Hot and off limits, I remind myself.

We reach Houston’s, and the hostess takes us to a booth toward the back. Surrounded by dark cherry wood and black leather, and away from the windows up front, it almost feels like night back here. Which reminds me of being in the Murano with her. How her blue eyes had almost fluttered closed when I’d pulled her against me.

We’re quiet for a little while after we place our orders. Me, because I’m replaying that moment over and over again. Alison, I imagine, because I’m acting like she’s not right across the table from me. Because the version of her in my mind is impossible to ignore.

We both order the sea bass special and make a successful transition to business talk. I play the part of the interested company president, ready with an answer to her every question.

Last year’s numbers? Stellar.

This year’s projections? Even better. Our trade show in Vegas gave us a good spike in Boomerang memberships, and even with the investment we made in the new office space, it will be a banner year.

As the food arrives, I make a watertight case for Boomerang’s continued success. I find that as I talk, I can’t look at Alison directly for long periods. It’s a shitty consequence of Saturday night.

The stupid hang-up I have—thanks, Chloe—of letting girls look into my eyes hasn’t been a problem. Nothing’s personal at work, so there’s no danger there. Cookie’s not exactly going to gaze deeply into my eyes during our weekly marketing meetings. And when it comes to the girls I date, some notice it and don’t comment. Others comment on it, and I don’t answer. I’ve gotten by.

But Alison is different. Tougher. I told her things I’ve never told any girl. When she’s looking at me, I can’t place what it is I see in her eyes. Interest? Gentleness? Compassion? Some combination of the three that makes me want to get up and leave. Luckily, a solution presents itself before I suffer too long.

Alison wears earrings. Diamonds in the shape of the letter “A.” With her hair swept up, I can see them perfectly. If I focus on those, it doesn’t feel as much like she’s trying to pop my soul open with a crowbar.

When we’re finished with our food, we both order coffees. Double espresso for me, cappuccino dusted with cinnamon for her.

This is going to work just fine, I tell myself. With the exception of the minutes I spent fantasizing about her when we sat down, and while we ate, and the fact that I can’t look into her eyes for long, we’re both being perfectly businesslike.

Which is good news. And also damn disappointing.

Where’s the girl who straddled me in the back of a car two nights ago?

Suddenly I feel the need to goad her. I want to know if Catwoman’s in there, beneath the pale pink blouse and the professional attitude.

“I think you’re going to enjoy the initiation dates,” I say.

Alison pauses, the coffee hovering at her lips.

“It’s something most of my team does to learn the business,” I explain. “Creating a profile and trying the service is a great way to learn the service we provide our clients first hand. It’s become a sort of rite of passage for new hires. You’re obviously not in that category, and there’s no obligation, but I thought they might be of benefit to the due diligence. And, who knows. You might end up meeting a good guy.”

As she looks at me, I can practically see her thoughts rewinding back to Saturday night. If her costume hadn’t stopped me, I would have taken her in the back of a car after knowing her for less than an hour. Not exactly a good guy.

Alison takes a sip and sets her cappuccino down. “Okay.” Her eyes sweep over me, probing me for something, though I’m not sure what. “Well, I’m one step ahead of you. I know about the dates. In fact, I’ve already gone on one of them.”

“Have you?” I’m relieved that I only sound mildly surprised. “How was it?”

“He was a nice guy, but . . . we weren’t a good match.”