If He Only Knew.... Debbi RawlinsЧитать онлайн книгу.
Yet she wore really expensive shoes and, according to his sources, her purse cost a bundle, and it wasn’t a knockoff.
Nothing wrong with desiring the finer things. He settled for nothing less. But he knew how much money she made as a temporary office worker. Something didn’t add up. And that should have made him nervous. Not intrigued.
In fact, he almost hoped that he’d find out she was one of those women. The kind that lived in dives and spent all their money on expensive accessories and hung out at ritzy bars in the hope of finding a rich husband.
A couple of law school friends had been taken to the cleaners by women of that ilk, but he’d been lucky to avoid the trap himself. Actually, luck had nothing to do with it. He was careful. Selective. Although he had no political ambitions at this point, he had no intention of screwing up his career or any future options.
He looked again at the colorful restaurant sign. Café Tu Tu Tango? Maybe it was a Southern thing.
Taking a deep breath, he looked at his watch. One week. That’s all he’d be in Atlanta for. He’d probably have dinner with Sara a couple of times. Maybe even invite her back to his hotel for one discreet night. Then he’d head back to New York. How much trouble could he get into?
He headed for the door of the restaurant, his step quickening at the thought of seeing Sara. If he didn’t like the place, he’d persuade her to come back to the hotel with him, to the Atlanta Grill.
Just as he opened the door, a couple stumbled out. He quickly moved back, but the woman’s stiff blue spiked hair scraped across his chin, the heavy smell of gin assaulting his nostrils.
“’Scuse us,” the young man with an unfortunate tattoo scrawled around his neck said, and then guided his partner down the sidewalk.
Cody adjusted his right cuff. This obviously was not a good idea. Stepping inside the restaurant further convinced him. Not only was the place packed with people, but the room itself was a dizzying avalanche of color. And noise. God almighty.
There were paintings everywhere, on practically every surface. Everything from contemporary oils to copies of masterpieces. There was a rather loud three-piece band on a second-story stage, and dancers with big blue twirling skirts.
“Hi, do you have a reservation?” A pretty blonde, or she might have been had she not had both her nose and left eyebrow pierced and bolted, approached him.
“I don’t think so.” He glanced around, hoping Sara had also arrived early.
“Oops.” Sighing, the blonde consulted a list, using the tip of a bright pink fingernail that matched her short tight spandex dress. “We’re full up tonight.”
“Thank you, anyway.” He’d wait outside and give Sara the bad news. Meanwhile, he’d get them another reservation.
“Were you meeting someone?”
He’d already started to leave and withdrawn his cell phone to call the hotel concierge. “Yes, but that’s all right.”
“What’s the name?”
“Sara Wells.”
“Ah, yes. Chloe made a reservation for the two of you. The lady’s not here yet, though.” The woman smiled, and Cody caught a flash of a silver stud embedded in her tongue. “You can wait at the table or the bar.”
Damn. He jammed his cell phone back inside his suit jacket. “The table, thank you.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the door, futilely hoping to see Sara, and then followed the blonde to a table in the back of the restaurant.
Although the patrons were an odd assortment of yuppies and bohemian types, none appeared to be financially lacking. Judging by the abundance of Louis Vuitton and Chanel purses sitting on tables, and the gold Rolexes encircling many a wrist. Of course the accessories could all be knockoffs, or then again, supporting evidence of social climbing.
God, he didn’t want to think that about Sara. But he wasn’t going to be taken for a fool, either.
He sat down, taking the seat that faced the entry, and was promptly approached by a waitress who took his scotch order. While he waited, he glanced around and noticed that a young man was actually painting on a canvas while three others at his table watched. The abstract he worked on was actually pretty good. He couldn’t say the same for the acoustics. The music was too loud, and so was the laughter and chatter all around him. He’d wanted a nice, quiet dinner. One where he and Sara could talk.
The waitress returned with his drink, but before he could ask her anything, he saw Sara heading toward him. A simple, sleeveless cream-colored blouse was tucked into the slim waist of her jeans, and her blond hair seemed slightly wilder than he remembered her wearing it. Longer, too, skimming her shoulders. She looked so beautiful.
He started to rise but she waved for him to stay seated. To his amazement, his heart beat faster the closer she got to him. That hadn’t happened since he was twenty. In court, at times, while awaiting a verdict. But he hadn’t been this attracted to a woman since…
Since that damn kiss.
“Traffic was brutal,” she said as she pulled out a chair and gracefully sat down. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Just got here. And I’m early.” He’d forgotten how much he liked her lilting Southern accent. Not too pronounced. Soothing. Which was odd, because accents generally annoyed him.
She glanced at her watch, frowned and then promptly lowered her wrist and smiled. “Interesting place, huh?”
“That’s an understatement.”
She looked past him, her gaze narrowing as it flitted around.
“It’s got a lot of energy.” He caught their waitress’s eye as she served drinks at another table and she gave him a nod.
“I’ll say.”
“You seem surprised.”
She shifted, clearly uncomfortable, but only shrugged a shoulder. “I was getting my hair done when you called and I asked my hairdresser for a recommendation.”
“Ah. I like it.”
“What?”
“Your hair.”
“Oh.” She absently tugged at a curl that wound its way toward her cheek. “Not my usual.”
“No,” he agreed. At work she’d always worn her hair in a sleeker style, one he normally preferred on women. But this sexy tousled look suited her heart-shaped face and contradicted those clear, innocent blue eyes. “So where do you usually go?”
“Me?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
Sara gave a self-deprecating shake of her head, her lips curving. “I don’t go out much.”
He found that hard to believe. She had to have a lot of dates. “Really?”
She briefly met his eyes and then turned her attention to the waitress who’d finally shown up. Sara ordered white wine, and then changed her mind and asked for a frozen margarita. “Dakota got me hooked on those,” she said as the waitress walked away. “How is she, by the way?”
“Great. Busy as usual.”
Sara’s gaze narrowed. “So what are you doing in Atlanta?”
“Representing a client.”
“I didn’t think you ever left New York.”
He smiled. Basically, that was true.
“Seriously. I would’ve thought you’d have sent Matthew or Sterling.”
“Yes, well…” Of course he should have. Everyone in the office was probably wondering the same thing. Dakota had been the only one to call him on his decision to come himself. She’d even had the nerve to ask if Sara