Secrets Of The Night: A Case of Kiss and Tell

There was a knock on his door and he pocketed his cell phone as he went to open it. Nichole stood there in a pair of skintight jeans and a tank top. Her feet were bare and she’d pulled her hair up into a high ponytail.

“So this is your room?” she asked, brushing past him to enter.

“Yes,” he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she walked around his room. He’d intended for sex to be the thing that kept her from asking him too many questions, but he hadn’t thought that she could distract him in the same way.

She walked over to the walnut dresser and ran her finger along its polished surface. There was a small watch box on the surface and a picture of his mom and sister from the previous Christmas. Otherwise, the room was devoid of personal mementoes.

“Kind of sterile, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I don’t like clutter,” he said. “Especially in here. What did you expect to find?”

“Some clues to the real Conner Macafee.”

“You’ll find more ‘clues’ to him in bed, red.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“I don’t know. You’re fiery and full of passion. It suits you.”

She nodded. “I hated my red hair growing up,” she admitted.

“I hated that everyone thought they knew me growing up,” he said.

“I’ll bet you did. Did you go to a private school?”

“Yes, it was very exclusive. Lots of old-money families. We were pretty much from the same type of background. And our families mostly knew each other.”

“But you were different than the other kids?” she asked.

“I thought so, but then I’ll bet we all did. It’s hard to be a rebel when you have everything,” he said.

“But I’ll bet when you suddenly lost it all it was much easier,” she said.

“You could say that. Let’s go to the kitchen. I have a feeling I’m going to need a drink.”

Nichole followed him to the kitchen, looking around his apartment along the way. It wasn’t sterile, and she realized she shouldn’t have said his bedroom was. It was just that he didn’t have a lot photos on the walls. He had artwork, though.

“I guess rich people put up artwork instead of personal photos?”

“I don’t know. I just put up what I like. My mom and my sister are the only two people I’m close to,” he said, going to the chrome refrigerator. “Want a Corona?”

“Yes, please,” she said.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the bar area.

She hopped up on one of the stools and noticed that his kitchen was state of the art, with a professional-grade cooktop. “Do you cook?”

“No, but I have a personal chef I use for dinner parties and events I hold here. She insisted that the kitchen must be like this. Mainly I use the microwave to heat things up following Mrs. Plumb’s instructions.”

“I use my microwave a lot, too. I just don’t have the time to cook at home,” she said, taking the Corona from him when he handed it to her with a wedge of lime in the top. She pushed the lime into the bottle and then took a swallow of the beer.

“Is Jane the chef you use?”

“Yes, she is,” Conner said, coming over to lean against the counter across from her.

“Why didn’t you just use her name?” she asked.

“I’m used to never talking about her.”

She had known Conner was going to be a tough interview, but she hadn’t realized how much he kept up his guard. If he was never going to let her in, how the hell was she going to get the information she needed?

“It’s okay to use her name with me,” Nichole said.

“I know that. Force of habit,” Conner said. He took a long swallow of his beer and then set the bottle on the countertop. “Let’s see what we have for dinner.”

He opened the bottom warming oven, bending down to see what was inside. She enjoyed the view of his backside and gave a little wolf whistle to let him know. She didn’t want Conner to feel pressured to answer her questions and she knew the only way to make sure he didn’t was to (1) keep him off guard and (2) keep things light. He expected her to go for the hard questions and she would. But not at first.

“Like the view?” he asked, shaking his hips.

“Yes, I do. So what’s on the menu other than you?” she asked.

“Salmon en croute. Mrs. Plumb has been experimenting with some different recipes lately.”

“Sounds good. How long has Mrs. Plumb worked for you?”

“Eight years. I’ve lived here that long, too,” he said. Using oven mitts, he removed two dishes from the oven and set them on the countertop.

“Can you carry both our beers?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

He led the way to the glass door with the automatic sensor that opened it when he approached. Once they were outside, he set the plates on the table, which was already set with glasses, napkins and flatware.

“I like that door,” she said. “Very high tech.”

“I like convenience and I have the money to get what I want,” he said. “Be right back.”

She set the beers down at each of their spots and then took a seat and waited for him to come. He returned with two salad plates, setting one next to her dish and one at his place.

“I probably should serve wine with this, but I don’t care for it.”

“Any wine?” she asked.

“Not really. I’ll drink it at dinner parties because it’s expected, but when I’m at home I don’t touch it.”

“I really love a dry wine, but mainly I drink it with my girlfriends when we’re hanging out.”

“You mentioned that Jane was good friends with Willow and Willow is one of your friends?”