Chapter Ten
Drew’s eyebrow twitched as Terese exchanged air kisses with a grinning maître d’. Who was he? He seemed awfully happy to see Terese. Drew studied the man—early thirties, handsome, well dressed. Drew scowled, his inner caveman thumping a club on the ground.
“Drew, meet Pierre.” Mr. Elegant stuck out his hand for a shake. Drew obliged, saying nothing, refraining from grabbing the douche by his lapels.
In a pretentious French accent, Pierre said, “Nice to meet you, sir.” Repressing a snarl, Drew tugged at his collar, releasing a sudden buildup of heat. Terese placed a hand over her mouth, then playfully punched the maître d’ on the arm. “Just kidding, man.” Pierre’s accent slid south to Brooklyn. “Terese and I know each other from way back. I gotta do the French, gentlemanly thing for the job.”
“A job I found for you,” Terese said. Pierre nodded. They shared a glance Drew interpreted as both gracious and friendly. The green monster settled down a bit.
“So then not Pierre?” Drew asked.
“Nah. It’s Joey. You guys want a table? I got a nice one for ya. Give me a minute.” Joey snapped his feet together and bowed. “Un moment, s’il vous plait.” Drew chuckled. Joey’s French sounded perfect.
Terese slid her arm through Drew’s and curled into his shoulder. “I’ve known him forever. He studied French while he worked with me at the bar during college.”
“A French major?”
“I know. Not your typical student. He loved the language and the culture so much, he totally bathed in it. Then boom, college ended and he had nowhere to go. I hooked him up here, and he’s been in a state of bliss ever since.” She smiled, scanning the dining room.
“And you two dated for how long?” He patted her arm, pleased his voice sounded calm and aloof.
She laughed. “Oh please, Joey’s not into me. I’m not French, and I don’t have the right equipment downstairs.” Her gaze dipped to his crotch and back up.
He grinned. “Well, then. Good to know.” He stole a glance at Joey.
Tilting her head to the side, she pursed her lips. “If you wanted to hit on the maître d’,” she said with a heap of sarcasm, “why bother standing here with me?”
“Because you make me look good,” he replied, matching her tone. She punched his arm. He dodged and feigned an injury.
“You’re such a drama queen. I should set you two up.”
“Nah.” He watched Joey skirt tables on his way back. Drew leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Joey’s got nothing I want.” He ran his fingers along her arm. As he brushed past her breast, he placed a soft kiss on her neck.
“Drew!” she said in a harsh whisper. Heat rose off her like a mist. He rolled his shoulders. Spinning her up wasn’t easy, but very fun.
“Wanna leave?”
She slapped at his arm. “I want to eat. This is a date, remember? First socializing, then smooching.” The slapping transitioned into petting. It was all he could do to resist throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her home.
“Just smooching?”
Joey/Pierre waved them to a table near the back. Terese started forward, pulling him along.
“We’ll see.”
****
Terese smiled to herself. Drew seemed to have a little jealousy problem. How cute. She’d planned a whole night of bar hopping—drinks and food at half a dozen places around town. If he got hot under the collar at each stop, he’d be exhausted and useless later.
Sitting at one of the best tables at Enrie’s, thanks to Joey, she scanned the specials for new items. Drew sat across from her, also perusing the menu. After a moment, the brush of his fingers on hers snapped her focus back to him.
“So,” he said in a stage whisper. “How do we do this? Should I be an ass and order for you, pretending I know what the hell I’m talking about? Or do I sit quietly and let you lead me around? What’s our plan tonight?” He did have such a knack for putting things right out there.
Her lips twitched up. “I usually do the circuit…”
“Circuit?”
“Yes, a tour around town, either Monday or Tuesday night. I hit some of the local spots—popular or new and check out the competition. I survey menus, sample new items, and schmooze my ass off.”
A light sparked in his eyes. “Ah, so all work and no play?”
“No, there’s play.” She shrugged. “Some anyway. I become friendly with the other managers, chefs, wait staff. I treasure-hunt for new people, new ideas, and new menu items.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “Why do you think the Oakwood Tavern is such a great bar? I get the best people, the best food, the best everything.”
“I didn’t realize you’re so dedicated to your job. Manager, recruiter, spy—what else do you do?”
She inclined her chin, pride welling in her chest. “I do it all, the club, the bar, and the food. Alan trusts me to handle everything.”
Drew sat back, his eyebrows raised. “So you basically run three businesses for him?” She nodded. Biting his lip, he fiddled with his menu. “I heard about his financial troubles.”
Terese’s stomach dropped. She prayed he wouldn’t know about the situation. Smiling blandly, she shoved her sweaty hands under the table and shrugged.
“I’ve heard rumors he’s selling off his restaurants left and right,” Drew continued. “Is it going to affect you?”
Straightening her shoulders, she stared Drew right in the eye and deflected. She didn’t want to confirm any rumors, nor did she want to spend the night talking about Alan (nor thinking about the stories floating around town). “Oh, the gossip…” She waved a hand, dismissing the issue. “The Tavern is fine. I run a tight ship. Alan has relied on me for years to ensure we operate in the black.” She folded her hands in front of her plate. “Everything’s perfect.”
The waiter popped over, and in elegant French, Terese ordered for both of them without a second thought. Her gaze met Drew’s after she finished, and heat rushed to her cheeks. Her stupid pride shoved her foot in her mouth again. She regretted her impulsive move as edginess washed over her. Her fingers were like frozen fish sticks as she twisted them together.
Furrowing her eyebrows, she asked if they were cool. He nodded. Relief flooded through her. Some men hated when she took charge, but Drew seemed to like it.
“Sorry about that. I wanted to try the new chef’s Cassoulet and…”
“No, worries. I defer to the expert, here.” He paused. “So you’re happy with the Tavern, then?”
Terese cleared her throat, stealing a peek at Drew. A man she’d only known for four days. She liked him, but enough to share her life plans? Her financial issues? Maybe. Maybe not. She chewed her lip for a split second, then tapped into her professional reserves.
“Honestly, working at the Tavern is great with Alan behind me, backing up my decisions, overseeing the big stuff. But I never planned to be a bar wench—knee-deep in beer and vomit—for the rest of my life.” Images of the IRS goons loomed in her mind, freezing her gut. “A new challenge might be nice.”
He hunched over his plate. “Like a career or a new place to hang your hat?” She blinked in surprise. “Are you a long-term gal or do you go with the flow?” For some reason, the question seemed intimate and important. An odd feeling settled over her.
Her chest tightened as if all the air in the room disappeared. Before she recovered, the waiter dashed in with the wine. He went through the whole ritual of presenting the cork, having her taste the wine, then pouring, chatting through each hour-long step. Every time she tried to butt into his spiel, the waiter cut her off with another fun fact about the wine. By the time he finally departed from the table, Terese was ready to rip her hair out. Usually, she loved the ceremony, the formality, the class. Tonight, she wanted to kick the guy for his rotten timing.
When the waiter finally left, she studied Drew again. How would he answer that question? How would she? The reality of her empty checking account reared its ugly head. “I’m heading toward long-term,” she said flatly. The words dropped slowly from her lips as she considered each syllable. Her gaze locked on him, waiting for his reaction. With luck, his answer might give her a clue to his prospects and his age.
He settled back in his chair, sipping his wine. “That’s a good thing. You’re never too young to start planning a career.” She caught her jaw before it fell in her lap. A warm, fuzzy feeling raced up her spine.
Recovering, she asked, “What about you?” Might as well put it all out there. She tasted her wine, eyeing him over the top. Unfortunately, the wine tasted superb, and she closed her eyes to savor the taste.
“The wine is really good,” he said. Her lids fluttered open. Drew held up the glass and inspecting the contents. “I didn’t realize you were such a connoisseur.”
“I’m not. Not really. I know a good thing when I taste it,” she said. His eyebrow shot up as a smug grin spread across his lips. “Well, Drew. Aren’t we full of ourselves?” Lifting her own glass, she rolled with it. “Too bad these tablecloths are so short.” He sputtered, almost spitting out his drink. Terese awarded herself a mental point.
Choking, laughing, Drew stuttered, “I…I don’t know where your mind is, Miss Brock, but I was merely pointing out the wine is excellent.”
She leaned in, struggling to keep a straight face. “No, you weren’t.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
They gazed at each other across the table. The air thickened. Terese gasped to catch her breath. Drew opened his mouth when the stupid waiter plunked their food down. Items from both plates spilled onto the table, and the waiter snatched them up barehanded. He hid them behind his back, a trickle of sweat rolling down his cheek. Terese stared at her plate, then up at the young server. His nervous expression caused her eye to twitch.
“Is there something wrong, miss?” He quickly deposited the spilled food on the tray behind him and snatched up a spare napkin. Twisting it in his hands, he searched over the elaborate presentation of food. Finally, his gaze came back to Terese. His brow furrowed. Her jaw tightened as heat rose up her neck. Bad food was one thing, but at these prices, bad service was unforgivable.
“Thank you. No,” she said shortly. And he disappeared. She motioned to Joey who slid over quietly.
“Something the matter, mademoiselle?” he asked, his French accent thick. Then conspiratorially, he added, “What’d you think of Bob?”
“Joey, train him some more.” The maître d’s eyebrows shot up as Terese explained all of Bob’s errors and clumsiness. Finally, she paused, hating to share every little detail, but Joey relied on her. “He spilled food on the table too.” She twisted the napkin on her lap, self-conscious in front of Drew. But she expected a certain level of professionalism in such an establishment.
Joey genuflected. His voice lowered, and the accent disappeared again. “I thought maybe he was ready. You’re an intimidating client, my dear. I think the other guys spooked him when they saw you sitting here.” He winked. Standing, his voice resumed the accent. “Enjoy your meal, mademoiselle.” He nodded tersely and left.
Chewing her lip, Terese struggled to meet Drew’s gaze. God, he’d think her a snob. She swirled her wine. Finally, she glanced up to apologize or something. A brilliant smile beamed on his lips. His eyes shone with pride, respect, and a little bit of lust. He nodded and they continued with dinner.
****
Drew wasn’t a foodie. Indifferent to the finer things, he usually macked on take-out meals and pre-made grocery store offerings.
Tonight was different. With Terese, dining transcended into an event. She handled the waiter with aplomb, and the food—fantastic, every bite ambrosia. He never believed it before, but the wine actually enhanced the food’s flavors. The whole thing epitomized class itself. More dinners like that would be a great change of pace.
As they ate, the conversation settled into benign topics. A thousand questions bubbled in his mind, mostly about her ambitions. With that level of dedication, she must love her job. She was so invested in the Oakwood Tavern, running the whole show, managing the bar, restaurant, and the club upstairs.
The convention center and the hours of endless interviews with unqualified people rose in his mind. Specifically, the gobs of mindless, yuppie women who thought they could manage events, conferences, and conventions on a grand scale because they ran their kids’ Brownie troops.
The convention center needed a woman like Terese. Someone who’d take the bull by the horns and ensure the place succeeded from the start. But if he suggested a job there, would it reveal who he was? She’d land the concierge or event planner job easily. But he couldn’t hand it to her. That wasn’t who she was.
After dinner, they hit four bars in quick succession. By the time they sat down at the last one, Drew believed with his whole heart she was the exact person they needed for the convention center. At each place, she pointed out what worked and what didn’t. She actively recruited the bar staff for the tavern. A few times, she produced a thin notebook from her purse to jot down names or ideas.
By scouting, analyzing, and observing these other places, she made Alan’s bar better. Her dedication tonight proved she was more than a talented manager. A surge of admiration washed over him. She was the perfect woman for him, dedicated to her work but still having fun as she did it.
At their last stop, a quiet little pub one block off the main drag, they sat at table al fresco, enjoying the night air. They sipped whiskey sours and people-watched, their own conversation at a lull. A nice, comfortable silence, the kind established couples kept. Watching her sit, with an air of ease and style, Drew wanted to take her home now more than ever.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said, breaking his reverie. He hadn’t realized how hard he was staring, probably with “I want you now” eyes too. He smiled into his drink.
“Yeah. You can probably guess.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “You’re probably thinking about how amazing I am.” Her words purred out with complete confidence and sophistication.
“That was exactly what I was thinking.” A blush rose on her cheeks. “What an eye-opening evening.” He raised his glass to her, and she scowled at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m humbled by your level of devotion.” He bowed from his chair. “I’m awed by your awesomeness.” Her blush deepened.
She tried to shrug his compliments off. “I wanted to show you what I do, I guess.”
“Color me impressed. I hadn’t been to most of the places before tonight. You have excellent taste. I should’ve known from the way you dress.”
“What about the way I dress?” She fished for praise, and he could do nothing but oblige.
“I love the way you dress. You are always so…” He waved his hand, unsure of the words to describe her properly.
“I have a problem, I know. Fashion is my demon.” She drained her drink. “Thankfully, tips are good, or I’d be out living in my car with a trunkful of fantastic shoes.” They both laughed, but hers died behind her hand, her brows deeply furrowed.
Drew rummaged for a game-saving comment. “But you’d look good.”
“Damn, right, I’d look good.” She raised her empty glass to him, and he clinked it.
“So…” He wanted to press, to ask her about finding a better job with more money, say one with The Center. His stomach churned over the idea of finally telling her the truth. But hell, it’d been only four days. She might not freak when she found out he was Spencer Drake’s son.
She stared at him expectantly, and he continued. “Didn’t we talk earlier about long-term plans? I mean your job won’t support you forever if you have a serious shoe fetish.”
Her expression darkened. Maybe he should’ve let sleeping dogs lie. She toyed with her glass, glancing down at the bottom of it. She seemed to avoid meeting his eye. He zipped his lip.
Finally, she said, “I love working at the tavern. It’s a good place for me. I have the freedom to do what I want when I want. I hire. I fire. I choose the schedule, the menu, and even the music. Where will I ever find a place like that?” Her voice held a note of sorrow.
“Great.” He hoped his words didn’t sound as dry and strangled as they felt. Guess she wasn’t interested in moving up after all. He misjudged her ambition. It was probably for the best in the end. Working together might be weird or suffocating…or maybe be the best thing ever.
Reaching over, he grasped her hand. Rubbed his thumb along her fingers and down her wrist, he asked, “So…” His gaze lingered on her lips, then slid back up to her eyes. He drew little circles on her palm. “Ready to call it a night?”
He watched her carefully, hoping she’d comply. But Terese was no dummy, rather a worldly woman who made her own choices.
“You’re not too tired? Out so late on a weeknight?” she asked, turning the tides and running her fingers under the cuff of his sleeve. “Some people can’t handle my schedule, the odd hours.” She licked her lips, sending chills up his spine.
Sleep was for the weak.
He wrapped his fingers around her hand tighter, edging her toward him. “Don’t worry, Terese. I can handle it.” He kissed her, slowly and sweetly, lingering over her lips. She kissed back with a deep passion. Heat surged through him, right down to his toes, setting his blood on fire. His caveman wanted to drag her off by her hair, but somehow, he didn’t think Terese would approve.