The Million-Dollar Question

“Are you some kind of workaholic?”

“I believe that when you love your job, it’s not exactly drudgery to put the time in.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I work a lot, and I like it. How’s that?”

“That’s a good answer. I might have to use that myself in the future.” He paused as the server brought their drinks. Then he lifted his glass to her. “And congratulations on landing the new job.”

She accepted his toast, a real smile replacing the hesitant one. “Thanks. It’s exciting. MMBC—the company—normally chooses its principals from inside, but they decided to open the search this time. I knew one of the company members from years ago when I first went to New York, and he brought my name up to the artistic director. All the stars just aligned perfectly to get me here.” She seemed as if she was just winding up, but caught herself instead, reaching for her wineglass and sitting back against the leather seat. “But what about you? Jory says your agency’s doing really well.”

“I can’t complain. We’re only three years old, and we still have some growing to do, but we’re good.”

“That’s great to hear. I’m happy for you.” Olivia stared at her glass, pondering the depths of pinot gris, and silence settled again. Then she looked up at him again with that smile he was beginning to think was definitely fake. “Jory’s coming down with my parents in a couple of weeks to see the performance.”

“I know. We’re planning to get together while he’s here.”

“Oh, good.”

“He says your parents are very excited.”

“They don’t get to see me in action very often because I’m usually so far away. I send videos and stuff, but it’s not the same for them. And honestly, I’m excited they’re getting to come, too. You know,” she added casually, “if you’d like to come with them to the show, I can get you a ticket.”

“Oh, hell, no.” The words slipped out before he could check them. Damn it. Insult the woman’s career. That’s always a great dinner conversation topic. “I mean, no thank you. I’m not really a fan.”

“Of The Nutcracker or ballet in general?”

“Both. No offense,” he added. “It’s just not my thing.”

“None taken. We like what we like.” She was being gracious, but he still felt as though he’d offended her. “Are you into the arts at all?”

He shrugged. “I used to have a membership to the art museum. I like the Egyptian stuff. There are a few local bands I keep up with.” Lord, he sounded like a cultural wasteland. He justified it by saying, “Getting the agency off the ground has kept me pretty busy.”

“I’m not judging.”

Her smirk implied otherwise. “Yes, you are.”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, maybe a little. The arts celebrate what makes us human. They are the cornerstone of civilization and the heart of a community.”

He nearly laughed, but swallowed it at the last second. Olivia obviously believed what she was saying. “You should work in advertising. That sounds like copy straight from a fundraising brochure.”

She inclined her head. “That doesn’t make it less true.”

“That doesn’t make them less boring, either.”

Her eyes widened. “No offense intended again?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“You could still support them financially, you know.”

He shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” she asked innocently.

“Like I’m some kind of miser. I give to charity. I just lean toward the more practical. You know, like food, housing, medical care …”

“Those are all very worthy causes.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“No. It’s hard to enrich the mind and soul when the body is hungry. I’m sure your philanthropy is much appreciated.”

Evan felt as if there was something else that needed to be addressed. An undercurrent he was missing. But they were interrupted by the arrival of their meals.

Olivia greeted the food with a genuine, “That looks amazing.” She inhaled the aroma with a blissful look on her face before taking a bite.

The steak with cream sauce was one of Tourmaine’s signature dishes, and rightly so. Olivia obviously agreed; chewing her first bite with her eyes closed while making little happy noises. “Oh, man. That’s so good.”

He swallowed hard. He knew that look. Remembered it as if he’d seen it yesterday. But Olivia hadn’t been eating steak with cream sauce the last time he’d seen it. He’d put that look on her face.

His blood rushed to his lap with a speed that left him feeling slightly light-headed. That one look had opened a floodgate of memories—memories he’d safely locked in a box to forget until just now. But that look …

He could practically feel those long, strong legs wrapped around him.

When she opened her eyes and saw him staring, she looked a little abashed. “I said I eat. I can’t eat like this all the time, though, so I enjoy it very much when I do.”

If she was going to enjoy her entire dinner like that, he’d be dead by dessert.

Thank goodness Olivia couldn’t read his mind.

CHAPTER TWO (#u5de8cc87-28c5-50d2-a2ea-7dc7a042a94b)

EVAN FOUND THAT concentrating on his food helped. Some. Tourmaine’s owner, Harry, came by, nicely distracting his attention as he introduced Olivia and she complimented everything from the steak to the music. Harry was duly flattered and invited her back to try everything on the menu.

By the time it was just the two of them again, Evan had himself basically back under control, thankfully.

They ate for a little while, the conversation carefully kept to the simple topics of the excellent food, Jory’s successes, her parents and the weather. It was oddly easy. Even fun, at times. There was the occasional overlong pause, but they didn’t last. He’d nearly forgotten how smart and funny Olivia could be, and that had only improved in the intervening years. They had very little in common—no overlapping tastes in music, TV or movies, and some widely differing stances on politics and social issues—but that worked in their favor, keeping the conversation moving and interesting. And while he might be shallow, this was what had actually tipped the attraction all those years ago and made him risk Jory’s wrath.

And it was almost enough to let him ignore that little voice nagging him now.

Almost.

When he decided they’d had enough of the small talk, he charged ahead. “Well, you seem to be settling in fine, so you don’t need anything from me in that area, everything is okay with the people we have in common, and,” he couldn’t help but say through a chuckle, “I don’t want to buy season tickets to the ballet. Care to tell me why we’re actually here?”

She chewed, but he figured that was more of a stalling tactic than anything else. Finally she swallowed. “To eat dinner?”

“Come on, Liv, you’ve been in town since when? August? If you’d wanted my company for dinner, you’d have called long before now.”