With a Little T.L.C.. Teresa SouthwickЧитать онлайн книгу.
charmingly around her small face. A becoming pink colored her cheeks. Sunglasses hid the keen intelligence in her eyes. But what really drew his attention was her smile. A rare phenomenon he was beginning to realize. And that was a shame. Because it was very attractive and incredibly appealing.
He was only slightly miffed that driving with the top down had produced the occurrence and not his own witty repartee. No matter. He planned to bring it out more frequently. Everyone needed a challenge. Even a confirmed bachelor like himself.
“This is the spot I was telling you about,” he said.
She sighed. “I can’t remember the last time I drove to the beach.”
He grabbed the brown bag with the sandwiches he’d bought at a stand on Pacific Coast Highway and got out of the car. Rounding it, he opened the passenger door and took the cardboard container of drinks that Liz had been holding on her lap.
“Let’s sit on one of those benches over there,” he said pointing. “Great scenery.”
She nodded and slid out. They walked to the picnic table and she clambered over the bench, settling herself to face the ocean. Joe never missed a chance at that view. This time it was a perfect excuse to sit beside her, his arm brushing her shoulder. She shivered slightly, then shifted a bit to the side.
“You cold?” he asked.
“Nope.” She shook her head. “Not after Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride in that car with the top down. And I meant that in a good way.”
“Which part? The wild ride? Or Mr. Toad?” he asked wryly.
“Let me just say, nice car. Really, really nice,” she finished, glancing over her shoulder to look at it with an exaggerated sigh.
Joe loved his sporty red convertible. But he couldn’t tell whether she really meant what she’d said, or if there was subtle criticism in her voice.
“I like it,” he said cautiously.
She peeked over her shoulder again. “No back seat. That’s good news and bad.”
“How’s that?” he asked. He liked the fact that Liz kept him on his toes, always wondering what she would say. What zinger would she lob his way? And how would he defend himself?
“Well, the good news is that car is a babe magnet.”
“If one were looking to attract ‘babes.”’
She studied him. “Isn’t that what playboys do?”
There was the zinger. And he suspected his best defense was offhandedness. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Well if you didn’t write the whole thing, I’d bet you contributed at least a chapter to the how-to book for bachelors on the make.”
On the make? Defending himself for something he’d done was one thing. But she had him all wrong. For some reason he didn’t have a clue about, she’d pegged him in a negative light from the day he’d walked into her office. It was time to find out what had tied her stethoscope in a knot.
“And why would you think that?” he asked.
“You fit the profile.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re good-looking, smart, and you have a great job.”
“Thank you.”
“Observation, not compliment.” She sipped her soda. “Those attributes are a triple whammy. Women must swarm all over you.”
“You make me sound like the bait for a roach motel.”
She laughed. “Just remember the insect image is yours, not mine. But seriously, you would have to be stupid not to play the field.”
If she was bitchy or nasty, he could get mad and fight down and dirty. But her manner was conversational. Light and breezy. This was one for the books—Nurse Ratchett with overtones of Tinkerbell. Her good nature was infectious even while she was tossing verbal barbs his way. She’d lobbed him so many backhanded compliments, he felt like a tennis player. How could he defend himself against that?
He took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. “I suppose you could describe me as relationship challenged,” he said. “I prefer that to stupid.”
“So being relationship challenged has set in since Trish Hudson?”
Joe remembered his short acquaintance with the nurse. Something about her had put him off and he’d ended things with her in a straightforward way. “What about her?”
“Didn’t you date?”
“We went out a couple times,” he answered carefully.
“What happened?” Liz seemed tense, as if she was ready to pounce on his response.
He was no stranger to the need for diplomacy in employee relations. Liz and Trish worked in the same hospital. Just because he’d ended things on account of the negative vibes she’d given off, there was no need to spread that to her co-workers. “Things just didn’t work out,” he finally said.
“So that’s what you call it?” she asked, an edge to her voice.
“What?” he asked, honestly at a loss.
“Never mind.” She stared at the water for a few moments before asking, “Relationship challenged? Does that mean you don’t fool around?” she asked skeptically.
“I used to. Not anymore.”
“And you don’t flirt?”
“Flirt is a relative term. I’m a people person. Friendly. It’s a management style. An asset for the Human Resources Director of Marchetti’s, Inc.”
“There are assets, and then there are assets. In your position, you get to scope out the territory right off the bat.”
“What does that mean?” he asked sharply.
“You can check out every new female employee.”
“Red light,” he said, shaking his head. “No way. It’s my job to make sure that kind of thing doesn’t happen. We stop short of restricting employee fraternization. But it’s strongly discouraged.”
“That could explain why you’re a volunteer.”
He wondered what she meant by that—nothing good probably. Watching her for a moment, he tried to figure out why he cared whether or not she thought badly of him.
Tamping down his annoyance he said, “Does the phrase ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’ mean anything to you?”
“Have you ever heard ‘if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it must be a duck’?” He stared at her for a few moments and she said, “What?”
“I’m just trying to figure out when I quacked or waddled. What behavior have I exhibited to make you think so poorly of me?”
“The very first time I met you, you were trying to impress me with your charm.”
“And you nearly ripped my ear off. Apparently my technique could use some fine tuning. Or I need a brush-up course.”
She shook her head. “Don’t waste your time on my account. I’m immune.”
No kidding, he thought. The question was why?
He wiped his hands on a napkin. “Turnabout is fair play and I’ve been getting a grilling that would do the CIA proud. Let me ask you something.”
“Fair enough. Shoot,” she said, chewing contentedly.
“How long have you been divorced?”
She almost choked. “What makes you think that?”
“You have a chip on your shoulder the size of Texas.