Yeah, I was. I grabbed the silverware and walked into the dining room.
“Ila, about the fair—” Ray began.
“I can’t.” I dropped the cutlery for her to handle, stepped around Max, and escaped to the kitchen for the sodas.
“God, she can be so stubborn,” Ray grumbled. “Maximus, you’re coming, right?”
“I haven’t been invited.”
“You are my friend, I’m inviting you. Besides”—she raised her voice—“you’ll have fun, unlike some people, I might add. It’s a summer fair, and really awesome. Ila and I usually help out. Dad’s on the committee.”
Sighing, I grabbed the sodas from the fridge. At times, my sister could be as persistent as a bull terrier. I popped my drink and took a sip, then headed back to the dining room with the others.
“Where’s this happening?” Max asked as I left the other two sodas on the table.
“Millbrae, my hometown.”
“All right, count me in.”
My cell rang. Grateful for the interruption, I set my can down, snatched my phone off the sideboard, and answered.
“Ila Logan? Titus Connor. Pierre gave me your business card.”
Thank God! “One sec.” I was so glad I had a legitimate excuse to escape from the fair conversation. “It’s work.”
I headed for my studio to speak to Titus, aware of Max’s narrowed gaze following me.
Ten minutes later, clothes changed, I grabbed my coat and bag and hurried downstairs. “Ray, I’m meeting with a client.”
“Where?”
“At Pirate’s Cove in The Haight.”
Max walked out from the kitchen. “I’ll go with you.”
“No.”
He strolled closer, his gaze pinning mine. “You aren’t walking the streets alone this late in the evening.”
“I’m not, I’m taking a cab.”
His jaw angled in that inflexible jut I was coming to know. Ugh.
“Fine.” I blew out an exasperated breath and headed outside. He was making it so hard to stay apart, worrying about me…caring.
Max flagged down a cab. Moments later, as the vehicle merged into the traffic, he asked, “Why do you meet them at bars?”
“Because I don’t want strange men at my home unless they are genuine clients and their deposit checks have cleared.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
Did he think me mercenary? I cut him a quick look, but his expression remained inscrutable. Figured. When I wanted to know his thoughts, I couldn’t read him. “I don’t usually meet them at bars but at the Starbucks near us. That reminds me, what do I owe you for restocking the fridge?”
“You don’t.” It was said in a tone that allowed no argument and had me reluctantly saying thanks. And shutting up. I really couldn’t see him doing the shopping; it had to be Ray.
A short while later, we walked into Pirate’s Cove in Upper Haight. The smell of malt and spicy tacos permeated the air. The dimly lit, wooden interior added more to the intimate surroundings. Instantly, I spotted Titus. How could I miss the up-and-coming underwear model plastered on billboards and fashion magazines?
“He’s here.”
