Page 16 of High-Priority Asset

The grill was a large place that stayed busy from open to close. The hostess escorted them to a table near the front, handing them poster-sized menus. They were lucky to get a table without a wait. Sometimes eating at the bar was the only option for a quick bite.

She sat where she could see the entire bar and all the tables while Dutch faced the door.

A server came to them straightaway and took their order. What were the odds? Sometimes you had to flag one down. The universe seemed to be conspiring to get her through lunch as quickly as possible and Isabel wasn’t sure that was what she truly wanted anymore.

“I’ll have the salmon burger with garlic truffle fries,” Isabel said, as Dutch looked over the menu. “And can I get the veggie burger wrapped in lettuce, no fries, to go.” She glanced at Dutch. “It’s for Brenda. She’d kill me if I didn’t bring one back for her.”

“That’s considerate of you. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” He turned to the waitress. “The monster burger for me, medium well, with everything on it. Thanks. And one check.”

“No, separate bills,” Isabel said, then leaned over toward Dutch, dropping her voice. “This isn’t a date. Remember?”

“If you could bring the one check as soon as you can, that’d be great.” He gave the waitress a wheedling smile that was downright irresistible. “We’re in a bit of a rush.”

“No problem.” The waitress flashed a pleasant grin and left, ignoring Isabel’s request.

“Before you say anything, please let me explain.” His tone was soft and unassuming.

She bobbed her head once for him to go ahead.

“I invited you to lunch and I was raised that the person extending the invitation pays. If not for Brenda’s help, I’m not so sure you would’ve agreed to come with me to begin with. As far as I can tell, I owe you both.”

Not wanting to make a thing out of it after she saw the logic of his rationale, she said, “Your accent. Where are you from?”

“New York and Chicago are both sort of home to me.”

“What do you do?”

“I was in the military. Special Forces,” he said, casually like it was no big deal. “I’m on terminal leave, using up the last of my vacation days. Before you ask, the answer is no, I have nothing specific lined up. And I’m okay with that.”

She’d never gone out with someone on the verge of unemployment and once again he was easy-breezy about it. Leaning toward him again, she put her hand on the table between them. “Let me pick up the tab for lunch. You should conserve your resources. And you did save my purse.”

He laughed and covered her hand with his large palm. Her skin danced beneath the warm weight of it, the solidity. “I don’t know what kind of fellas you’re used to, but that’s not how I operate. Financially, I’m good, not destitute.”

The down-to-earth air about him, devoid of pretenses, wasn’t what she was used to. It was refreshing.

“I’m renting an apartment in Ocean Park.”

Nice area. Close to her gallery. “Why did you pick California to call home?”

Moving his hand from hers, he sat back and held her gaze. “I’ve been stationed and deployed to some hellholes. I wanted sunshine. Perfect weather. The ocean. But continental US. What about you? Why do you own an art gallery? More specifically, how does one come to own one?”

The waitress brought them two ice waters and a basket of bread.

“I was an art history major. In college, I did internships at museums. I wanted to be a docent, giving tours and talking about my passion.” She took a warm roll and slathered butter on a piece. “But my uncle told me to set my sights higher, to own a gallery instead, where I could control my own destiny. When I decided to buy one, he didn’t want me to use my inheritance from my father and bought it for me.”

“So, he owns the gallery?” Dutch asked.

“On paper yes, but it’s mine. Other than using his accountants, I run it freely.”

“Who’s your uncle?”

“Dante Emilio Vargas.” Her uncle was a bit of a celebrity on the West Coast, and she waited for the usual reaction of awe, but Dutch’s eyes didn’t so much as light up. For once, someone who didn’t know him. “To me, he’s just Uncle Emilio. Dante was my grandfather and my uncle has never appreciated the title junior and doesn’t use it.”

Dutch sipped his water. “I think I might’ve heard the name.”

“He’s a huge venture capitalist. What Elon Musk is to the car industry and space exploration, my uncle is to advancements in farming organically and education. Building a better world is so important to him.” Her uncle was driven, shrewd and tough, but he had the biggest heart and would do anything for her.

“Are you some kind of socialite who comes from old money?”