Must Like Kids (12 page)

She shook her head. Wayward curls bobbed. “That’s all right. You don’t need to wait. I’ll catch a cab. Thanks again.” After she got out, she leaned down to smile back at him through the open door. “I’ll call you later. I’d feel better if we went over the talking points one more time.”

Alec wanted to be more irritated than he felt. What did it say about him, he wondered, that he was actually looking forward to it?

He refused to think about it. Likewise, he refused to think about what meaning might be attached to the fact that, just up the block, when he spied a parking space, he pulled into it and placed a call to his secretary.

“I’m going to be out of the office for the rest of the afternoon,” he told her. “You can reach me on my cell if something important comes up.”

“Okay.” There was a slight hesitation. “Is everything all right, Mr. McAvoy?”

“Fine.”

In a strange way, it was.

SEVEN

Alec was leaning against a lamppost, finishing up an ice cream cone, when Julia exited the school with a herd of other departing parents. She no longer looked harried. Rather, she was smiling absently, something he’d never seen his own mother do after spending any length of time in his company when he was a kid. Or as an adult for that matter. As hectic as Julia’s day had been, it was clear that she’d enjoyed herself.

She saw him and crossed to where he stood.

“You didn’t need to wait. I thought I told you that.”

“You did. I decided to stick around anyway. I didn’t have anything pressing.”

She cocked an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. It was out of character for him and they both knew it. He motioned toward the school with the ice cream cone. “So, how did it go?”

The smile was back, more focused this time, when she told him, “It was a lot of fun. The kids acted as servers for the adults. They brought our food to our tables and then took away the dishes afterward.”

“Full service.”

“Yes. If only I could get them to do that at home without complaining.”

“What was on the menu?”

“Deep-fried chicken nuggets—heavy on the breading—French fries and a side salad of iceberg lettuce that came doused in the house dressing, which I think was creamy Italian, although it might have been ranch.” Julia wrinkled her nose. “It was hard to tell.”

He grimaced on her behalf. “Hungry?”

“I’m starving!” Her laughter bubbled out. “I picked just enough to be polite, but I didn’t actually finish anything.”

“There’s a deli up the block. I could buy you lunch. Repay that debt.”

“But you’ve eaten.” She pointed to the ice cream.

“Technically, I haven’t. I’ve only indulged in dessert.” He tossed what remained of the cone into the large garbage can that was chained on the opposite side of the lamppost.

“What’s the saying?
Life’s short. Eat dessert first?
Hmm. I wouldn’t have taken you for the sort of person who subscribed to that philosophy.”

For the most part, Alec wasn’t. He’d made it a point to be the polar opposite of his feckless and free-spirited parents. Still, he said, “You don’t know me, Julia. You only know my image—the besmirched one and the one you’ve been hired to create and replace it with.”

“True,” she agreed with a slow nod.

“How about we remedy that? Besides, I still have an appetite.”

His gaze lowered to her mouth after saying so and he watched her lick her lips. They both were hungry and it went well beyond food. Alec had the advantage and he knew it. He could press and she would buckle, at least momentarily. Then she would spell out the ground rules again. Where was the fun in that? Next move, if there was one, would be hers.

He made the decision, but it didn’t stop him from taking her bag from her and then tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. The gesture could be interpreted as merely polite. Old-school manners of the sort his grandfather had complained were sorely lacking among the younger generations. He studied Julia’s right hand. Slim fingers were tipped with tidy nails that were painted in clear polish. He’d shed his suit coat out of deference to the heat. He swore he felt his skin tingle through the fabric of his shirt.

* * *

They sat in a booth that was snugged up against the windows that faced the street. The spot was prime real estate for people-watching and Julia told Alec as much. He got the impression she would rather keep her gaze trained on the pedestrians wending their way past than let it fall on him for any length of time. Whenever it did, she seemed flustered. His ego took that as a compliment, his libido as a challenge. Regardless, Alec played along. He’d meant it when he’d told Julia that she really didn’t know him. Despite some personal details she’d shared with him, he really didn’t know her, either. But he wanted to.

“If clothing and body language say so much about a person, tell me about that guy.” He pointed to a man clad in black bike shorts and a T-shirt emblazoned with an off-color adjective. His hair was dyed bright green and, thanks to either natural curls or a really bad permanent, it billowed about his head in a frizzy, neon halo.

Instead of answering his question, Julia asked, “Would you hire him to work at Best For Baby?”

“Maybe for the mailroom.”

“Image. Fair or not, people make up their minds just that quickly.” Julia snapped her fingers. “Now, what if you saw on his resume that he was a Rhodes scholar or graduated top of his class from a prestigious university?”

Alec glanced at the guy again and then shook his head. “It would still be hard to get past the bright hair and offensive T-shirt. That’s where you come in, I suppose. What would you do to him?”

“Nothing he wouldn’t agree to have done,” she remarked dryly.

Alec allowed his grin to show this time. “But you’d exert some pressure, make your preferences known.”

The waitress came by with a couple of glasses of ice water and took their orders. A club sandwich for him. Julia went with grilled chicken on a whole wheat bun.

When she was gone, Julia said, “Okay, I’d make my preferences known. But subtly.”

“Or not. You know what you want and that’s what you go after.”

She seemed to consider his assessment before nodding slowly. “I do.”

He held up a finger then. “I take that back. I think sometimes, you hold back.”

“Of course I do. It’s called restraint.”

“It’s more than that,” he challenged.

Her eyes narrowed. “We’re not talking about my job now, are we?”

He shook his head. “I want you to get to know the real me. I guess I wouldn’t mind if you returned the favor.”

“Why?”

“I think you know why.”

She reached for her water glass and took a sip.

Alec decided to let that statement sink in for a bit, and returned to the subject they’d been discussing before the waitress’s interruption.

“So, back to our guy, suit and tie? Military-style haircut?”

She blinked, and he got the feeling she’d lost her train of thought. It was small of him, but he claimed that as a victory of sorts.

“Oh. Um, it would depend on the kind of job he’s after. Creative types have a little more latitude when it comes to their looks and wardrobe.”

“I can’t think of a position at Best For Baby that has
creative type
in the job description.”

“Fine. Then I’d strongly suggest that he lose the hair.”

“Shave it?” Alec asked, enjoying himself.

“I was thinking trim it and subdue the color so that it was something a little more natural, but shaving would work, too. Still, long hair doesn’t have to be a no-no.”

“Do you like long hair on a man?”

She shrugged, but a smile crept into her voice when she said, “I don’t mind it on musicians. Take David Lee Roth. I saw some pictures of him where he wore his hair shorter. It looked better long.”

“I never would have taken you for a heavy metal groupie.”

“Groupie? Please. I’m too old to be a groupie.”

“You’re what? Thirty?”

“Add a couple years.”

“Ancient,” he agreed. “Definitely too old to like head-banging music.”

“As it happens, my husband played lead guitar in a local band back in the day.” She smiled as she shared the information.

“Yeah? Is that how you met?”

“No. We met in chemistry class in the eleventh grade.”

“High school sweethearts.” Alec whistled through his teeth. He felt strangely envious. The kind of life Julia had led was alien to him, but alluring. His parents, on the other hand, would consider it pedestrian if not downright boring. No jaunts aboard borrowed jets or yachts. No access to private clubs. No butlers or chauffeurs to tend to their needs.

Alec bet that when Julia was a kid, her folks rose at a respectable hour even on the weekends. No lazing abed until well after noon and then starting the day with a cocktail.

“Actually, we weren’t high school sweethearts. I thought Scott was a jerk at the time.”

That pulled Alec’s domestic daydreaming up short. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So much for first impressions.”

Her shoulders lifted. “We didn’t start to date until a few years after high school graduation. His band played at a little pub near Loyola’s campus. He’d outgrown most of his jerkiness by then.”

Since it didn’t seem to bother her to talk about her late husband, Alec asked, “What was the name of his band?”

“The Grommets.” Her laughter was infectious. Alec joined in.

“The Grommets? Seriously?”

“Seriously. And their music was only marginally better than the band’s name.” She leaned her elbows on the edge of the table and nibbled the inside of her cheek. “In fairness, their cover of The Beach Boys’ ‘
Good Vibrations’
was decent.”

“The Grommets,” Alec said again with a shake of his head. “Am I to assume he didn’t go on to make his living as a musician?”

“No. Thank God! He was an accountant.”

“With long hair?”

“It was a respectable length by the time he became a CPA, although not quite as short as yours. Anyway, long hair can be attractive, especially if it’s kept clean and looks healthy.” She tipped her head toward the window. “Even from here I can tell that Mr. Neon’s is full of split ends.”

“What would you have him wear to, say, an interview for a midlevel executive’s job?”

“Well, assuming that is what he’s after, I wouldn’t automatically put him in a suit and tie.”

“No?”

“Some people look so uncomfortable in certain clothes that it defeats the purpose. The idea is for them to put forward the best version of themselves. You don’t necessarily want to create a false image.”

“That’s good to know,” he said wryly.

“In your case, it’s more a matter of
dispelling
a false image.”

“I’m glad you see it that way.” He reached for a sugar packet to have something to do with his hands. “I don’t think you did at first.”

She glanced away before admitting, “I wasn’t sure.”

“And now?”

“I’m having lunch with you, aren’t I?” She flashed a smile, but he wasn’t willing to let her off the hook so easily.

“The jury’s still out, though. You’re not completely convinced.”

“I don’t know you all that well, Alec.”

It was another dodge. Let it go, he told himself. Instead, despite his earlier decision that she would have to make the next move, he called her on it.

“Do you want to get to know me? And I’m not talking about so you can do your job, but because you’re interested in, well, dotting the
i
’s and crossing the
t
’s for your own benefit.”

“Alec—”

He shook his head, cutting her off.

“Forget it.” He wasn’t sure why he’d pressed. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish. A date? An affair? When it came to women, he’d always taken the path of least resistance. He chose women who were fun, uncomplicated, fully interested in him. Women who were easy to dismiss when he grew tired of them. And he always grew tired.

He motioned toward the window again. “Let’s get back to Mr. Neon Hair. Would you let him wear bike shorts to a job interview?”

“No, but there are a wide range of options to be found between a suit and what one puts on to hang out with friends,” she said.

The waitress was back. This time with their glasses of iced tea, a couple of straws and a small plate piled with lemon wedges.

Alec unwrapped a straw. Before putting it in his tea, he used it to point to another man who was perched on a planter box just outside the deli. The guy was wearing olive-green cargo shorts, sneakers and a benign white polo shirt that managed to look dingy even against a backdrop of red geraniums. He was listening to music on an iPod, head bopping in rhythmic fashion.

“Okay, how about that guy? What’s your first impression?”

“Well, I’d say comfort is his main priority. The image he projects isn’t all that important to him.” At Alec’s raised brows, she clarified, “His hair is overdue for a trim, he looks as if he hasn’t shaved in a couple days and the shorts he’s wearing are wrinkled and distressed to the point of fraying around the seams.”

“That’s the style right now.” When her expression registered surprise, he added, “I’m not completely clueless.”

“They may be considered fashionable at the moment, but they are still a reflection of the wearer.” She smiled. “You wouldn’t own a pair of distressed shorts, would you?”

“No.”

Her smile turned smug. “I’m guessing that every pair of shorts you own has a crease down the front of the legs that’s sharp enough to cut paper.”

It was true. “Your point?” he asked dryly.

“You’re very...precise, I guess is the word I’m looking for. That’s true of more than your appearance. You don’t believe in coloring outside the lines.”

“Okay, but I might be persuaded otherwise. Under the right circumstances and with the right set of incentives, I can be flexible.” At her audible gasp, he frowned. “What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “I...it’s just an interesting word choice.”

“Flexible?”

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

He frowned. “I’m having a hard time deciding if I’ve just been insulted.”