Blessing in Disguise (34 page)

Benjamin felt his breath catch. He found himself thinking of Howard Roark in
The Fountainhead
—which he’d devoured by the buggy light of a bedside lantern the summer he was head counselor at Echo Lake. He’d loved the part where Roark, following the brilliant summation at his own trial, took his seat and yet somehow left the impression that he’d remained standing.

He imagined Nola was like that. He didn’t know her, of course, but he guessed she’d be as uncompromising as Roark, and as dedicated to her vision. Though he’d been standing here a good ten minutes, sticking out like a sore thumb, she hadn’t noticed him, or even glanced in his direction.

Benjamin blew out his breath, leaving a trail of vapor in the chill air. He felt apprehensive and at the same time as if he was about to embark on a thrilling adventure. She looked inaccessible ... and delicious.

Now she was looking his way. Did she recognize him? Then a lifting of her chin, a widening of her eyes—yes, it looked as if she did. He watched her start toward him along a plank set in the rubble-strewn mud ... and hesitate ... then, as if resolving to deal with what might turn out to be a sticky situation, continue on.

Ben, for no really good reason, felt immensely pleased.

Her coat was not fully buttoned, and when she stopped short of him, he glimpsed her charcoal slacks and a gold sweater that hugged her curves. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek bun, and large gold hoops swung from her ears. He felt his heart leap, reminding him disturbingly of when he was Hannah’s age and every gorgeous female had had that effect on him—like a bolt of lightning hitting him dead center.

“You’d think someone who’d been in construction for twenty years would know enough to grout around a tendon after it’s stressed.” She spoke aloud, as if to no one in particular, shaking her head in disbelief while her gaze remained fixed on the inept foreman.

Ben sensed her wariness, her curiosity, but in tossing the first serve she’d succeeded in throwing him off-balance. Score one for Nola.

“How do you know so much about construction?” Benjamin responded deftly. “I thought all architects did on a site was just make sure the design got carried out according to their plans.”

This time, she looked right at him and smiled. “My ex-husband put himself through school on construction crews. I liked hanging around. You know, designing a building like this one is something like driving a car—you don’t need to be a mechanic, but if you’re ever stuck out in the middle of nowhere with your engine acting up, it could save you.”

“Sort of like publishing,” he said. “The trouble with editors is, we can tell an author what’s
wrong
but we can’t always come up with a way to make it right.”

“Except that, with a not-so-good book, no one loses a finger or a foot ... or their life.” Nola turned and looked up at the concrete-and-steel-girder tower sketched against the sky. “Ben, right? You’re Grace Truscott’s stepson-to-be.” Her tone was casual, but her eyes and the faint blush along the sharp line of her cheekbones told him that she remembered him.

“Not quite,” he laughed. “I suppose I will be if my father ever gets around to popping the question.” He thought of the day after Dad had moved out, how his mother’s face—despite numerous eye tucks, lifts, tightenings—had been transformed into an old woman’s. Ben felt a pull of anger, so familiar it was like a force of gravity, making him heavy, powerless.

But now Nola was meeting his gaze with a directness that made Ben forget about his father, squinting slightly, as if she were sizing him up for a business opportunity ... or maybe just trying to figure him out.

“Did you just happen to be passing by, or was there something particular you wanted to see me about?” she asked.

Ben became fixated on a speck of ash caught on the tip of one of her eyelashes. Each time she blinked, it fluttered, seeming almost to drop away before being pulled back into the dark thicket of her lashes. He felt an insane urge to reach up and brush it away.

“This may sound dumb”—he was doing his best to sound ingenuous—“but I was hoping I could get you to join me for lunch.” He glanced at his Rolex. “I don’t have to be back at the office for another hour or so.”

“Can’t,” she told him, briskly, but not—he sensed with relief—trying to brush him off. “I’ll be tied up all afternoon with this. I was just going to grab a sandwich at the deli around the corner.”

“Mind if I keep you company?”

“You have better things to do, I’m sure.” In other words, bug off.

“Can’t think of any at the moment.”

She shot him a narrow look. “Give me a break.”

“It’s true. After the morning I’ve had, I’d welcome a trip to Belfast.”

With a shrug, she finally said, “Okay, but the place I’m thinking of is strictly takeout. Belfast might seem like a better alternative than sitting outdoors in this weather.” Her glance, as it dipped down to take in his lightweight cashmere overcoat, seemed wise to the fact that he was dressed more for show than for warmth.

Ben felt the chill, all right, but he wouldn’t have traded his cashmere for the warmth of L. L. Bean, not even to impress Nola. Thank God for his grandmother’s trust, he thought, grateful that he didn’t have to depend on his miserly salary at Cadogan. The only downside was his mother’s constantly reminding him
which
side of the family that money was coming from.

Fifteen minutes later, he was sitting on a bench in Rockefeller Plaza, freezing his ass off and wishing he’d campaigned harder for a table, comfortable chairs, a bottle of wine. Nola, he marveled, didn’t seem to mind the cold at all. She was tucking into her turkey sandwich as if this were a Fourth of July picnic.

Watching her, Benjamin forgot for a moment about the cold. He found himself searching for a chink in her armor, a muss in the hair pulled tight over her head and knotted at the nape of her neck. As if such a thing might be a key to some vulnerability of hers, some small portal, like the spot on an oyster where a knife can be worked in far enough to pry it open.

He saw that she was having trouble with the lid of her hot tea, and gently took it from her. “Here, let me do that for you.” His fingers, warm from the fur-lined gloves he was pulling off, found the tab on the side of the plastic lid and yanked it free.

Nola didn’t thank him when he handed it back. She just sat there, her head cocked to one side, squinting at him.

“Thanks,” she said. “But why do I have the feeling there’s more to this lunch al fresco?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. There’s a catch somewhere—I just haven’t found it yet. Did Grace send you?”

“No,” he answered honestly. Through his overcoat he could feel his heart beating. “Look, maybe I should have called first. ...”

She touched his sleeve. “No, I’m sorry. It’s just that ... Lord, have you ever been woken up at midnight by a reporter calling from Los Angeles to pester you with a lot of nosy questions about your father?” Clearly, she wasn’t aware that he knew who her
real
father was. “I’m just tired of all this, and crabby as hell, and there’s gonna be eighty more minidisasters back at the site to go over with Fred before I’m through.”

“I don’t blame you for being gun-shy,” he told her. “But the truth is, I wanted to see you.” It
was
the reason he was here ... part of it, anyway.

She turned to watch a group of little girls bundled in parkas and leg warmers sail out onto the skating rink on the level below. Then she was facing him once more, her smoky eyes piercing him. “Why?”

“Do I have to have a reason?”

Seeing the skepticism she wasn’t even trying to hide, Ben suddenly had a wild thought. What if he forgot about the letters and just let this thing with Nola take its own course, whatever that might be?

But, no. He needed them, badly. ...

“Am I supposed to conclude that you’re interested in
me,
personally, aside from any connection I might have with Grace?” Now she sounded sharp, suspicious.

“Yeah, I know how it must look,” he admitted. “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. I’m really not sure why I’m here, except I like you. I’d like to get to know you better.”

Looking away from her, at the multicolored banners whipping at the end of the flagpoles bordering one end of the rink, he felt the pressure of her hand on his arm. Even through his coat and the wool sport jacket he wore underneath it, the contact brought a tingling to his groin.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” she told him, her voice softening. “Subtlety just isn’t one of my talents.”

“Lack of subtlety can come in handy with foremen,” he teased, bringing his gaze back to meet hers. “I’m sure it’s not easy with guys like that ... your being a woman.”

“I manage.”

“Did you always know you were going to be an architect?” Ben asked suddenly.

“I used to love walking past other people’s houses, imagining what it would be like to live in them,” she told him, brushing crumbs from her lap. “When I was little, I played with Lincoln Logs instead of dolls. My mother ...” Nola paused, like someone wading in the shallow end who suddenly finds the bottom of the pool snatched out from under her. He saw the hesitancy in her face, the worry over plunging into deeper water.

“Until I was six years old,
my
mother had me convinced that F A O Schwarz was a toy
museum.”
Ben quickly guided them onto safe ground. “When I finally discovered you could actually
buy
stuff there, I went totally nuts. I made her ante up for six years in about six minutes.”

“You were lucky,” Nola said with a rueful chuckle. “Your parents could afford to indulge you.”

“Yeah ... except my dad was almost never around.”

“Do you like kids?” Nola asked.

“Sure.” Had another woman posed that question, he’d have instantly been on guard ... but Nola wasn’t feeling him out about marriage, he was certain. She was just making conversation. “How about you? Grace tells me you have a couple.”

“Two girls.”

“Both in school?”

“If you can call it that.” He caught the bitterness in her voice.

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“You wouldn’t be, either, if you had to watch your kids get knocked around, day after day, by the lousy public-school system.” She crumpled her sandwich wrapper and tossed it into the paper bag by her side. “Oh, hell, don’t get me started on
that,
or we’ll be here all day.”

Ben experienced an unfamiliar pang, a feeling of wanting somehow to make things better for her.
Careful, Ben-o,
he told himself.
Don’t let yourself get carried away.

He touched her arm. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?” He smiled. “It’s the best I can do, offer you a table somewhere warm.”

“Ben, I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Nola ducked her head so that her expression was hidden from him.

“Give me one good reason.”

“Look, my life is really complicated ... and, right now, you’d just be another complication.”

“Like taking a chance on a guy you’re not quite sure you trust?”

“Last time I did that, I wound up married with two babies.”

“Dinner, that’s all I’m offering.” He held his hand up. “Scout’s honor.”

He could sense Nola relenting. “Well, I suppose one dinner wouldn’t hurt,” she told him. “But it’ll have to be early. I’m warning you, keep me out past my bedtime and you’ll be stuck carrying me home.” She tucked the cup into the deli bag and stood up.

Ben felt pleased and uneasy both. He could sense that managing this woman was going to be a lot harder than he’d imagined. Any man who ended up carrying Nola to bed, he thought, would be getting a lot more than he bargained for.

“Nice place.” Ben looked around him as he climbed the last step into her second floor living room, pursing his lips in a soundless whistle.

Nola hadn’t realized how uptight she was about asking Ben back to her place for coffee after dinner, until now, feeling the tension begin to leak out of her. It
was
a nice apartment. And she’d earned it—nine years of being suffocated by Marcus.

Which is exactly what could happen, you let some other man in your life,
a bitchy voice warned her.

As if it were a needle on a gauge, she felt her apprehension creeping back up into the red zone, where it had been just a moment ago, when she’d been fumbling with her keys, dropping them twice before she managed to get the front door unlocked. What could she have been thinking, asking Ben in? And even before that, taking Florene up on her offer to keep Tasha and Dani upstairs at her place for the night.

Dinner at Raoul’s had been fun, for sure. But now ... she ought to tell him to leave. This minute. Before he got any ideas. Where could this lead?

He wasn’t even her type, not really—a bit too slick, too sure of himself. On the surface, that is. Underneath was a different story. In Ben, she sensed a dimension that was missing in all of Marcus’s big talk and flash. Hidden depths ... or some secret pain? She didn’t know ... and she didn’t
want
to know. She’d had enough of trying to heal the wounded little boy in supposedly grown-up men.

At the same time, how long since she’d shared a bottle of wine with a man who could make her laugh? And who could draw her out of herself with his seemingly genuine interest in everything she had to say?

Shit.
She cursed herself, knowing she was not going to tell him to leave. Not tonight, at any rate. She’d been listening to Florene for too long, imagining this kind of thing was as easy as falling off a log.
More like falling off a cliff,
she thought.

“It’s not exactly Park Avenue,” she said, moving to one of the tall French doors that overlooked Twenty-second Street. “Listen to realtors talk and they’ll tell you the neighborhood’s coming around. But streets like mine—it looks like they already came around and
went.
Still, a ceiling like this is enough to make it all worthwhile.”

As if seeing it all through Ben’s eyes, Nola took in the white walls and lofty ceiling sponged with a bluish shade of white that made it almost seem as if you were inside a huge, nearly transparent eggshell, with the sky showing through here and there. The old parquet floors stripped and varnished, with a single pale Chinese runner in front of the fireplace with its incised slate mantel.