Ringing in Love (5 page)

“I know that, Dominic. I don't know why.”

“Why what?”

She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. “Stop playing games. Tell me why you've been sending me roses every day.”

“I thought the note was clear. I want to have lunch with you.”

“This … response, or whatever it is … seems out of proportion to extending a simple lunch invitation, doesn't it?”

“I confess I expected you to catch on before we got to sixty-four roses, so perhaps it is. But I don't give up when I want something. And I want to have lunch with you.”

“Why?”

“You're a very attractive woman. Some people think I'm an attractive man. We seem to enjoy talking to each other, and we both eat lunch on occasion. Why not?”

“I told you. I don't do social things. And it feels odd. You're my landlord. We compete for the same work.”

“I promise we won't talk about the building, your lease, or our work. And everyone needs a personal life. Even you, Catherine.”

“It isn't going to happen, Dominic. It just isn't.” She pushed the cart across the room to his desk. “I'm leaving the roses here. You can do whatever you want with them. Call after you take care of the flowers, and I'll send someone to retrieve the cart. And please stop sending them.”

“As I said, I don't give up when I want something. The florist will double the number of roses arriving every day at your office until I call him and say you've agreed to have lunch with me. Tomorrow will be …”

“One hundred and twenty-eight. I can do the math.”

“Even as we speak there are young girls in some Central American country packing up the flowers they've clipped and made pretty for you. You've probably been responsible for a shortage of roses in the Mid-Atlantic region or at least in Center City Philadelphia because …”

“Stop.” She closed her eyes for a few seconds and took a breath or two to clear her head. “Okay. Lunch tomorrow. Downstairs in the deli.”

“Friday. I'll meet you in the lobby at eleven thirty, and we'll drive to the place I have in mind. It's not within walking distance.”

“Why would I agree to that?”

“You've already agreed in principle. Now we're settling the details.” When she hesitated, he added, “Keep in mind, one hundred twenty eight tomorrow and two hundred fifty six the day after.”

Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “Friday, then. Eleven thirty.”

He escorted her to the hall. “I'm looking forward to it, Catherine.”

She could have sworn he was about to lean down and kiss her but pulled back at the last minute. Or maybe it was her imagination.

• • •

Thank God the mystery of the roses was solved, because it ended up being the workweek from hell. Catherine needed all her focus to get everything done—a complicated response to a request for proposals for a potential project, an unexpected chance to submit qualifications to a new client, and the kick-off of a major public involvement campaign, on top of the usual workload for retained clients.

By the end of the week, when all the deadlines had been met, Catherine was actually glad she had a lunch outside the office. She'd have a pleasant meal with Dominic, a break for an hour or so, then come back refreshed so she could sort out her office. All week, she'd had little chance to clean up from a meeting about one project before she'd had the next group of people come in to talk about another one. The evidence was strewn around her small conference table, the couch, and her desk. She hated to work in clutter and needed to get it taken care of.

When she came into the office on Friday morning, Melody greeted her with a knowing smile and a raised eyebrow. “You don't often wear a dress to work. What's this all about? As if I didn't know.”

“Summer's almost over and I haven't worn this yet. It seemed like a good day for it.” Catherine smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of the beige pencil dress she wore then tugged the edge of the v-neckline up to make sure there wasn't too much décolletage showing.

She'd brushed out her hair after her shower and left it loose instead of pulling it back in a low ponytail or twisting it into a soft bun, as she usually did. The dark brown platform sandals she wore matched the narrow belt around her waist. A thin gold chain, small hoop earrings, and coordinating gold bangle bracelet completed the look.

“Yeah, right. Airing out the dress.” Melody shook her head in disbelief. “Fess up. You wore it because you're going on a lunch date with Mister Sex on Legs.”

“How do you know who I'm having lunch with?”

“Half the people in the building know. Dominic's assistant said it's the talk of their office. They got to take home all your roses, by the way, which annoyed me. I would have thought you'd save at least one vase for me.”

Catherine had never thought about who might know about the lunch. Of course, more than a few of Dominic's staff had seen her walk in with the cart and out without it. May have even heard their conversation. He hadn't shut the door to his office while they talked, which, at the time, she'd thought was a good idea. Now she wasn't so sure.

“Okay, yes, I'm having lunch with him today. It was the only way I could get him to stop sending roses. He's quite determined when he's after something, apparently.”

“Obviously what he's after is you.” Melody was all-out grinning now. “Don't hurry back. Everything we had to get out is out. And everything that needed your okay has been okayed.”

“He's meeting me in the lobby at eleven thirty, so I'm sure I'll be back by one.”

“Only if you're very unlucky. And I have a strong feeling today is
not
your unlucky day. Besides, I won the pool, and I'm blowing it on lunch with a cute guy. If you're out for a long lunch, I can be, too.”

Catherine started toward her office, then halted, her back to Melody. “Okay, my curiosity's killing me. How much did you win?”

“A dollar for every rose. I bet on Dominic and sixty-four.”

Muttering, “I need to hire a staff with more respect for me,” Catherine stormed down the hall to her office with Melody's laughter in her ears.

At eleven twenty, Catherine punched the button for the elevator. A few minutes later, the door opened, and there he was, Mister Sex on Legs himself, grinning and holding out his hand as if he were welcoming her to his personal elevator. Okay, he owned the building, so in a way it
was
his personal elevator.

And what was with his clothes? He was wearing a navy blazer with tan pants and a white shirt with no tie. The top two buttons of the shirt were undone, and the merest hint of dark chest hair peeked out. It was the most informal she'd ever seen him during the workweek. What was he up to? And why was she even noticing his chest hair?

“Ready for lunch, Ms. Bennett?” he asked.

Ignoring his hand, she walked to the opposite corner of the elevator then scolded herself mentally. The man didn't have to be avoided as though he were nuclear waste. Although, come to think of it, he might be as dangerous.

“As long as there are no roses involved, I guess I'm ready. I think I'm off that particular flower for a year or ten.”

“I'll make a note to remind myself to send something else the next time.”

She wasn't sure if he was in a good mood or making fun of her. She decided to believe it was a good mood. “I trust by agreeing to this lunch I've put an end to your need to inundate me with flowers.”

“My goal is to put an end to your resistance to spending time with me. I can go either way with the flowers.”

“Remember, I said I don't have a social life. I'm looking at this as a business opportunity.”

“Really? I'm not. It's definitely personal. I hope I can change your mind about that, too. I can be very persuasive.”

“I'm sure you can. But I'm hard to convince
.
”

By this time, the elevator had reached the lobby. She was happy to be out of the enclosed space that seemed to have heated up considerably in the time it took to descend ten floors, thanks to the damn late summer weather. Or something.

Dominic waved her out ahead of him, followed her to the building exit, and, reaching around her, pushed open the door for her. She could have sworn she felt more heat. Weather again. What else could it be?

Sitting at the curb was a black Cadillac Escalade with smoked windows. Dominic said, “Here's our ride,” and surprised her by opening the back passenger door for her. When she climbed in, she got a second surprise. There was a driver in the front. Dominic made the introductions when he joined her in the back seat and added, “We're good to go, Jack.”

Jack smoothly inserted the vehicle into the traffic moving toward Broad Street.

Catherine glanced back and forth from the driver to her lunch date several times before saying, “A driver? A bit extravagant, isn't it?”

“Not according to the Philadelphia police and my insurance company. I got so many tickets, they both suggested I find another way to transport myself. Even with benefits, Jack's cheaper than paying the fines and the increased premiums.”

“Are you really such a bad driver?” Catherine asked.

“I'm not a bad driver. I'm a very fast driver. And a major illegal parker. In fact, the last judge I appealed to in the futile attempt to have the fine reduced said I might hold the all-time record for illegal parking. Apparently I've been ticketed at least twice in every possible illegal spot in the city.” He sounded almost proud.

“You drive fast in this behemoth?”

“No, I have a Maserati.” This time he was definitely proud.

“Ah, I'd probably drive fast if I had one of those, too.”

“I'd like to see that. Maybe I'll let you get the chance to show me sometime.”

At Dominic's request Jack touched a view screen and the sound of a man singing filled the vehicle. It was
Norma
, and maybe Pavarotti, Catherine thought.

“If you don't like opera,” Dominic said, “we can listen to something else.”

“I grew up in an Italian home. Of course I like opera.”

“Who's your favorite composer?”

A discussion of the virtues of the two great Italian composers, Verdi and Puccini, ensued, with Dominic defending Puccini and Catherine taking Verdi's side.

Caught up in the conversation and the music, she hadn't paid attention to where they were going until she glanced out the window and was startled by what she saw. “We're on the Walt Whitman Bridge. Where are you taking me?”

“To a small seafood restaurant I like. A business acquaintance of mine owns it. I thought it would be nice to have lunch there. I'm sure you'll like it.”

“And this restaurant is located where, exactly?”

“Brigantine.”

“As in the Jersey Shore?”

“I'm not aware there's a Brigantine any place else.”

She wasn't sure whether she was outraged or amused by his presumption. “I can't go down the shore for lunch. I have work to do. My staff will wonder where I am.”

“Melody said you've been working twelve-hour days for a couple weeks, which meant they had to work twelve-hour days. You need a break and so does your staff. She knows you won't be back until late this afternoon.”

“How do you know what Melody says—or knows?”

“I talked to her yesterday and again today before I left my office.”

Now Catherine was sure what she was, and it was outraged. “I'll kill her.”

“No, you won't. You'll thank her for being an understanding friend and loyal employee.”

“What did you promise her, Russo?”

“I said we'd bring her back a box of saltwater taffy.”

“I had no idea she could be bought off so easily. I'm going to have to rethink how much I tell her about my business operations.” She tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Jack, I need to get back to my office. Would you mind turning around and dropping me off? Then you can take Dominic wherever the hell he wants to go. Or you can rearrange the words in that sentence and take him there.”

Jack's shaking shoulders indicated he was stifling a laugh. Dominic didn't bother to hide his amusement. “Do you really think you can convince my driver to do what you want when I've asked him to take us to Brigantine? You're a beautiful woman, which probably means most men do what you ask, but I don't think it'll trump the salary I pay him.” He looked up and seemed to catch his driver's eye in the rearview mirror. “Right, Jack?”

“Whatever you say, Dominic. At least this time.”

“I'll have you charged as an accessory to kidnapping when I report your boss to the police, Jack,” Catherine said.

Jack laughed. “If Dominic hasn't gotten me in trouble, Ms. Bennett, I don't think you can.”

Dominic was clearly enjoying her reaction as well as his driver's responses. “Catherine, relax. Your staff has known about this since yesterday. They know where I'm taking you and how long we'll be gone. No one's kidnapping you. If you have to have a motive behind it other than my wanting to have lunch with you, think of it as a way to help a restaurant trying to claw its way back to life after Hurricane Sandy.”

“Guilt? Now you're using guilt?”

“I assume you were raised Catholic. Guilt usually works on those of us who were.” He was grinning at her still.

She shook her head. “You're like a freight train. You don't stop when you have a goal in mind, do you?”

“I told you. When I go after something I want, I get it.”

“Then explain to me why you want to have lunch with me so badly.”

“Excellent. Let's talk about you. But first …”

From a small ice chest by his feet, Dominic extracted a bottle of sparkling wine. Two glasses followed. He popped the cork with a deft twist, poured the wine, and offered a glass to Catherine. She hesitated for a few seconds, finally taking the glass although she held it away from her body as if not sure what it was.