“Are you free tonight?” His voice was back to businesslike, the mood shift so sudden that she was grateful she was already sprawled on the ground. Leo left her unsteady.
“Y-yes.”
“Olive Twist, seven o’clock. I’ll give you the details then.”
That no-nonsense tone again. None of it was making sense, but she didn’t have any choices left. “Okay. Do I need to prepare anything specific? Bring any documentation?”
“No,” he said. “But it’s a nice after-work drinks place, so…”
She laughed at his unspoken audacity and at his assumption that she wouldn’t be familiar with one of the fanciest drinks spot in town. “Are you about to tell me to wear something appropriate?”
Another Leo sigh. So far the constant sighing was the only unattractive part of adult Leo. Well, that and his immense dislike for her.
“I wouldn’t dream of telling a grown woman how to dress,” he said tersely. “See you tonight. And for God’s sake, don’t call me Leonidas.” Then he hung up.
SIX
Leo was nervous, and it pissed him off.
He straightened his leather binder a fraction of an inch on the table in front of him, frowning at the Digham logo deeply embossed on the cover. He was pretty sure this folder cost more than his first car.
“Can I get you a drink, sir?”
He dragged his gaze up to see a cutely freckled waitress. On a different night, he might consider trying to charm her, but tonight was not the night for that. “Bourbon. Neat.”
Her glossy lips curled into a smile as her eyes flicked from the folio to his suit jacket to the third finger of his left hand, ringless. “Top shelf?”
He hesitated. As always, his first instinct was to economize. But behind the waitress’s halo of curly red hair, the sun hung low in the early August sky, glinting off the high-rise windows visible from the rooftop bar. He was sitting in a prime seat near the glass-paneled railing, and he didn’t have to glance around at the tables dotting the concrete patio to know that he looked like he fit in among the other white-collar warriors.
“Sure.”
The waitress gave him a wink before she headed to the bar, leaving Leo wondering yet again how the hell he’d gotten here.
Well, he knewhow,of course. The son of Digham’s CEO had spent his spring break tramping through a Peruvian forest under Leo’s watchful eye. The kid had been flabbergasted that he shared a hometown with the Protect Our Rainforests liaison overseeing the reforestation project he was volunteering for and had returned to Beaucoeur, raving about Leo’s leadership at POR. The very next week, Leo’d gotten a call he never in his life expected to receive. The Big Dig CEO himself—the man who called the shots at the helm of the global leader in development, manufacturing, and sales of large-machine engines—had an offer he couldn’t refuse: move back home to head a new division designed to funnel Digham Foundation money into projects that would help people in Beaucoeur. As a bonus, he’d get paid an embarrassingly large salary to do it.
Speaking of. The waitress set a tulip-shaped glass in front of him, lingering as he took his first sip.
“Good?” she purred.
The liquid burned down his throat. It tasted expensive. “Good. Thank you.”
She dimpled and sauntered off, leaving him to enjoy his pricey liquor. He'd loved working for POR, loved that he was making a difference every day with his sweat and his muscles and his labor. But the opportunity to make a difference in a new way was too tempting. He could put his nonprofit experience to work, helping the people he’d grown up with. He might even be in a better position to identify local needs that others at the foundation were blind to. But there was also a deep, dark corner of his heart that wanted to prove to people like Franklin Fox that he was good enough to sit at a desk in Big Dig HQ. At the very least, he was good enough to sit at this fancy bar drinking fancy booze.
The worst part of the deal might be trading his cargo shorts and sweat-stained T-shirts for a suit that suffocated him every day as he rubbed elbows with Vice President This and Corporate Counsel That. And right now his tightly buttoned collar was pressing into his neck.
Fuck it.With a vicious tug, he undid the knot on his tie and slid it off, popping the top button of his shirt. The conversation he was about to have was bound to be uncomfortable enough; he didn’t need to feel strangled while he was having it.
Speaking of. The woman who’d occupied every one of his free thoughts for weeks appeared in the entryway to Olive Twist, her gaze sweeping across the space until she spotted him. Like usual, every molecule in Leo’s body strained in her direction, as if his cells hadn’t gotten the message that she wasn’t for him.
She’d apparently gottenhismessage loud and clear; she was wearing that tweed suit again, and he almost regretted bringing it up on the phone with her. Even though she was dressed similarly to many of the women at the tables scattered across the concrete rooftop, she looked uncomfortable in the outfit, maybe even more uncomfortable than he was. Stiff in a way that didn’t suit her body—a body that he was annoyingly interested in exploring.
Christ, this was a bad idea.
“Hi.” She slid into the chair opposite his, barely glancing at him as she set her purse on the floor and picked up the drinks menu, fidgeting with her hair. The blue streaks were gone, and Leo felt a pang at their loss. He’d kind of liked the rebellious look on her.
Within moments the redheaded waitress materialized, her eyes dropping to his newly exposed throat before she pivoted to take Faith’s order. Once she’d given her order, Faith folded her hands in her lap and looked at him square in the eye.
“Why am I here, Leonidas?”
