Fiona And The Sexy Stranger Page 7

  “It’s Turner,” Bridgette corrected. There was almost a wistful note as she confessed, “I’m married.”

  “The prettiest ladies usually are. Until tomorrow, then.” Hank hung up.

  “Until tomorrow.” Bridgette sighed, her eyes fluttering shut as she let the receiver drop in the general vicinity of the telephone cradle. He could make her feel sexy just by saying goodbye. The man definitely had a gift. “Really, Fiona,” she murmured, curling up on the sofa, “you’ve got to get this one before I decide to dump Brian and make a play for him myself.”

  “Are you talking to me?”

  Startled, Bridgette looked up just as Fiona let herself in the front door.

  Muttering under her breath, Fiona wrestled the lock for possession of the key. Someday she was going to remember to oil that thing, she thought It was one of the things on her endless list of things to do that she never got around to.

  Bridgette was on her feet, trying hard to appear nonchalant. “Um, no, I’m just talking out loud to myself.” No time like the present to spring the trap, she decided. “That was your gorgeous waiter on the phone. Hank,” she added when Fiona said nothing.

  Fiona stopped dead. “He’s not my waiter,” she corrected. Her expression never changed, but her heart was doing handsprings. “What did he want?” She tried to sound disinterested, but she doubted she was fooling Bridgette. “Did he forget something Saturday?”

  “No, but apparently you did. He said he had mentioned that advertising your business would get you the kind of customers you want”

  Fiona extracted a huge spiral notebook she kept on the bookshelf. Walking into the kitchen, she made herself comfortable at the counter. “I changed my mind about advertising. I have the kind of customers I want. Paying ones.”

  Bridgette sighed. “All right, more of the same. Lots more of the same.” She could see that Fiona was trying to ignore her. “Did you or did you not say you wanted to make a success of this business?”

  To be a success at something had been Fiona’s goal ever since she’d overheard her father declaring that she would never amount to anything or accomplish anything. She’d been determined to prove him wrong about something when it came to her.

  “Yes, I said that, but—”

  “Well, then, why are you dragging your feet about this?” Bridgette wanted to know. “Advertising can get you there.”

  They’d already danced around this pole. “Bridgette, advertising takes a lot of money. I do not have a lot of money. If you remember your basic geometry, if A equals B and B equals C, then A equals C. And thus I cannot advertise.”

  “I remember nothing about basic geometry other than the fact that Scott O’Hara had shoulders from here to Catalina and that he turned out to be a great kisser.” Bridgette allowed herself to grin foolishly for a moment before getting back on the track. “And the only equation you should be interested in is that money makes money.”

  Pressing her lips together, Fiona prayed for strength. Bridgette certainly wasn’t stupid, but there were times that she thought education had been a total waste in her sister’s case. But then, she’d done very well for herself just by being Bridgette. Four beauty contest titles and a husband who was an independent producer of minor renown. Fiona knew Bridgette was only dabbling in her life because she was bored and felt she needed a hobby. Unfortunately for her, she was Bridgette’s hobby.

  “That’s not an equation, that’s a saying, and yes, I am familiar with it. I promise that as soon as I have some money to spare, I’ll put it to work. Until then—” Calling an end to the conversation, Fiona opened the compilation of personal recipes she’d put together, looking for a specific one she’d mentioned to the Goldbergs.

  Bridgette placed a hand over the open book, determined to get her attention. In her hand was a small rectangular piece of paper. She waved it in front of Fiona’s face like a starting flag at a race. “You have the money.”

  Fiona stared at the moving piece of paper, but made no attempt to take it. “What’s this?”

  Exasperated, Bridgette took her sister’s hand and thrust the paper at her.

  “My God, Fiona, can’t you recognize a blank check when you see one?” Bridgette blew out a breath.

  “Yes, I recognize a blank check when I see one.” Fiona looked up at her sister. “I want to know why I’m seeing one.”

  Though Fiona held it out to her, Bridgette refused to take the check back. “I want to help finance the business.”

  Bridgette had come to her two months ago, offering to pitch in after Fiona’s assistant had gotten married and moved to San Francisco. Fiona had fully expected Bridgette to be tired of playing by now.

  “Since when?”

  “Since now. C’mon, Fiona,” Bridgette pressed eagerly, as if she could see Fiona was weakening. “It’s not like I had to mortgage my firstborn. We’re more than comfortable. Brian keeps encouraging me to spend my money on anything I want to.”

  Fiona thought of one of her sister’s typical shopping sprees. Bridgette shopped as if it were not only her calling in life, but her patriotic duty, as well. “You do. On clothes and jewels and—”

  Bridgette cut her short, her voice serious. “I want to spend it on my sister. On a dream, all right? Brian has his world and he’s always busy. For once, I want to be part of something that’s exciting, that has a chance to grow.”

  Bridgette really meant that, Fiona thought. She saw the urgency, heard the unspoken plea. It was enough to shake the foundations of the world she lived in. Setting the book aside, she looked at Bridgette, compassion in her eyes. “I always thought you were in the center of everything that was exciting.”

  “What, you mean beauty contests?” Bridgette hooted. “After the thrill wore off, there was this gaping, hollow feeling that snapped me up. When we got married, I thought maybe that I could become part of what Brian was doing. Every time I ask, he just pats me on the head and gives me another charge card. It’s not enough,” she confided quietly. “I want to be part of something, Fiona, something that grows and needs to be nurtured. I can’t really build this business,” she said, gesturing around the kitchen. “That takes your talent, your drive. But I can fund it.” She looked at Fiona hopefully. “What do you say?”

  It was the first time Bridgette had ever asked her for anything. There was no way she could turn her down. Especially when she was placing her pride on the line, as well.

  “What can I say? All right.”

  Bridgette threw her arms around her. “Thanks. I’ll be your silent partner.”

  Fiona laughed. Did Bridgette actually expect her to believe that? “That’ll be the day.”

  But it was a warm feeling, knowing her sister was actually there for her.

  This was a meeting, just a business meeting, Fiona told herself for the dozenth time as she looked around the inside of McGonigle’s. The restaurant, decorated to resemble a turn-of-the-century English pub, was dimly lit. Finding her sister was out of the question, at least until after her eyes had acclimatized to the restricted light.

  She hoped it wouldn’t be impossible after that. Bridgette was always late. For once she hoped her sister wasn’t running true to form. Fiona didn’t relish the idea of having to face Hank alone.

  There was no reason in the world to feel this agitated, as if every pore in her body was dilated and alert. So she would be seeing Hank again, so what? So he had kissed her and melted every bone in her body, putting them out of commission, so what? She’d returned to normal again. Was functioning again. And there was absolutely no chance of history repeating itself. This meeting was taking place under the best of conditions. She’d be seeing Hank in a populated restaurant with her sister sitting by her side—if Bridgette would just turn up.

  When she did, it would be the kind of situation Fiona knew she functioned best in. Shy by nature, she’d forced herself to develop people skills, to talk and be assertive and present herself well. When she met with a prospective client, she wasn�
��t Fiona Reilly the loudly lamented runt of the litter; she was Fiona Reilly the sole owner of a growing catering firm.

  She couldn’t say that anymore, Fiona realized. There was a check in her purse that negated that claim. Bridgette was her partner now and would undoubtedly want a say in things, no matter what she’d insisted yesterday. Fiona knew Bridgette. It was going to be a daily struggle just to keep her sister from taking over. But it was a struggle Fiona knew she was up to. Bridgette had never intimidated her. She’d only been envious of Bridgette while they were growing up. But even that had fallen by the wayside after yesterday.

  She supposed that in certain respects, she’d come a long way from that timid mouse her father always cowed. She could hold her own now in the world. As long as “her own” didn’t involve the thought of a personal relationship with a man.

  Little danger of that, Fiona mused, seeing a couple in the corner booth, their heads together as if they were sharing some secret only they were privy to.

  Damn, where was Bridgette?

  She thought of yesterday again. Who would have ever thought that Bridgette had an insecure side to her? And that she actually envied her. Bridgette had gone on to confide that she’s always envied her spirit, her tenacity. Up until now, Fiona had never considered that beauty might have its drawbacks, that it might make you lazy because everything came to you so effortlessly. Pampered, spoiled, Bridgette didn’t know how to fight for things that mattered.

  Live and learn, Fiona mused, still scanning the immediate area, hoping to find her sister.

  The instant she made eye contact, her heart began to hammer wildly. Instead of Bridgette, she’d found Hank. And he was sitting alone.

  Fiona had a bad feeling about this.

  “May I help you?” The question came from behind her.

  Turning, Fiona saw that a waitress was making the polite inquiry.

  Yes, don’t block the exit. Bracing, Fiona took a deep breath, then indicated Hank’s table. “I’m meeting him,” she murmured.

  The waitress looked clearly impressed. “Lucky you. Right this way.” Picking up a menu from the hostess table, she led the way to the rear of the restaurant.

  Hank rose in his seat as Fiona approached. “I was beginning to think I was being stood up.”

  “That would be a first, I’m sure.”

  Fiona Reilly, businesswoman; Fiona Reilly, businesswoman. The mantra played itself over and over again in her brain to no avail. She felt her bones going even as she took her seat.

  She’d been wrong about his looks; they were even better than she recalled. She spread the forest-green napkin on her skirt. Bridgette, where the heck are you?

  She forced a smile to her lips. “I guess my sister hasn’t arrived yet.”

  “Haven’t seen her,” Hank confirmed. And he had a sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t, but that was all right with him. Business or pleasure, it was Fiona he was interested in seeing.

  The waitress returned to their table and paused for a moment, as if making up her mind. “Are you Fiona Reilly?” she finally asked.

  Puzzled, Fiona nodded. “Yes, I am. Is anything wrong?”

  The waitress smiled, pleased that she had guessed correctly. “Your sister said you’d be sitting with the best-looking man in the restaurant.”

  The sinking sensation in Fiona’s stomach went down below sea level. “My sister?”

  “Yes, she just called to say that you should go ahead without her. She’s come down with the flu and won’t be able to join you,” the waitress recited, her eyes never leaving Hank, “but you shouldn’t worry.”

  “We’ll have two glasses of white wine, please,” Hank ordered. “That’ll give us time to look over the menu.”

  Fiona shut her eyes, mortified. I’ll get you for this, Bridgette. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll get you. When she opened them again, she found herself looking directly into Hank’s.

  “Is everything all right?” There was a very strange expression on her face, Hank thought, as if she’d been caught completely unaware, completely defenseless.

  Annoyed with Bridgette, Fiona forgot to be nervous. “No, it’s not. And it’s going to get worse.” She blew out a breath. How could Bridgette have done something so transparent? Had yesterday’s brief moment of sharing been a ruse, too? A lie just to set her up for this? “No one in my family’s ever gone to prison before.”

  “Prison?” He didn’t follow her, but he was beginning to think that wasn’t such an uncommon thing when it came to Fiona. Her mind seemed to hop from one thing to another. “Who’s going to prison?”

  “I am, after I kill Bridgette.” She gathered her purse to her. Hank was probably dying to get out of this poorly set trap. “Look, I’m sorry, it’s obvious that my sister set this whole thing up.” She began to rise, only to have him place his hand on her arm, silently urging her to sit down again.

  “As a matter of fact, she did. She said that you changed your mind about advertising your catering business.”

  Was he being kind, or did he really not see what was going on? Hoping for the latter, Fiona clutched at the excuse he’d just offered. There was no way she could pull off a dignified exit otherwise.

  “Well, yes, actually. I have been thinking about what you said.” Business, remember the business. She leaned forward, fixing him with a serious look and trying very hard to appear the hardened, driven career woman. “Exactly what can you do for me?”

  This was a switch, Hank thought. She’d been so dubious the other night. He smiled into her eyes. “More than you could possibly guess.”

  The next moment Hank was pushing his chair back in a vain attempt to escape the cascading water from the glass Fiona had accidentally knocked over.

  Things were going from awkward to immensely humiliating. The expression on his face had unsettled Fiona. When she’d drawn back, she’d hit her elbow against the water glass. A flood aimed at his crotch was the result.

  A bright shade of pink washed over her face. “I’m so sorry.”

  Without thinking, she hurriedly began wiping the damp area. When it dawned on her that she was being far more intimate than she’d ever intended, Fiona dropped the napkin. Pink turned to scarlet as she prayed for an earthquake. A small one just under her chair that would open up the earth and mercifully swallow her.

  Hank bit his lip, but he wasn’t quite successful in holding his laughter back. He picked up the napkin she’d dropped.

  “That’s okay, I can take it from here,” he assured her. For a moment back there, he’d almost bought her serious act. But this, he knew, was the real Fiona. He found her far more preferable to the other. “Besides, it’s only water. It’ll dry and the pants’ll be none the worse for it.”

  Which was more than she could say for herself. Whatever made her think that she could just talk to him as if he were like anyone else?

  “Look, maybe we should hold off until Bridgette gets over her ‘flu.’” And if she didn’t have the flu, she was going to wish she had, Fiona promised her sister silently. She picked up her purse again, ready to flee. “I’m not any good at this.”

  “‘This?’” he asked innocently.

  Why was he torturing her like this? He knew what she meant. “Talking to men.” Talking to you when you look at me like that.

  Hank slipped his hand over hers. “Then don’t think of me as one. And I’ll try not to think of you as a beautiful woman. Deal?”

  A half smile twisted her lips. She remained where she was despite her common sense, which told her to leave now, before she did something worse, like set him on fire. “You got the easy part.”

  She meant that, Hank thought. Just as she meant all the disparaging remarks she’d made about herself. He frowned. “Why do you do that?”

  His frown had an odd, calming effect on Fiona’s nerves, deadening them. She raised her chin in a gesture of defiance that was lost on her, but not on Hank.

  “Do what?”

  “Run yourself down l
ike that?” Hank said. She didn’t do it because she was fishing for compliments; that much he’d already figured out.

  Fiona looked away. This was the last thing she wanted to discuss. With anyone, least of all with him. “I’m not running myself down. I’m just being realistic— and truthful.”

  The hell she was. Someone had clearly done a job on her. A lover? Hank wondered. She didn’t strike him as the type to be in an abusive relationship, but he’d been wrong before. Morgan was the last person in the world he would have thought could fall victim to that trap, but she had. And remained in it for almost six months until she woke up one morning and realized how much better she could do for herself.

  “Fiona, there’s modesty and then there’s myopia. Take it from me, you’re a very attractive woman.” In a certain light, she was even beautiful, he thought, but he knew she wasn’t ready to believe that. “Especially where it counts.”

  And where had she heard that before? Fiona thought. Her mother had tried to comfort her with almost those exact words. Though well-meaning, her mother’s weak assurances had never done any good.

  “Right, spirit.” Fiona said it bitterly, unable to cut the bad taste from her mouth. It dredged up too many bad memories for her. “Okay, let’s you, my beautiful spirit and I get down to basics.” All business now, she looked at him. “What kind of advertising did you have in mind for my company?”

  Hank was tempted to comment on the trio she’d cited so sarcastically, but left it alone. He could appreciate her wanting to retreat to the topic that had originally been the excuse they had both used to be here.

  “For starters,” he told her, “TV.”

  “Starters?” she echoed. Advertising on television was the pinnacle, not the starting point. “My sister’s last name is Turner, however, there is no relation to Ted. Translation—I haven’t got the kind of money TV requires.”

  Hank knew there were ways of doing things. One of his old friends was down here, working at a station that broadcast out of Bedford. “I was thinking of local independent stations.”

  She shook her head. “Still too high.”