Feet First

Surprised at the question, he looked at her. “Okay. She was pretty, nice, a good listener. High maintenance,” he couldn’t help adding.

“Ah,” she said with a knowing nod. “You’d prefer no maintenance.”

“Low or medium,” he corrected her.

“You should probably start with a dog,” she said.

The suggestion seemed to come out of nowhere. “Why?”

“It would be like training. If you’re not used to maintaining, dogs are very forgiving. They won’t make you sleep on the sofa or freeze you out, but if you ignore them too long, they make themselves known.”

“With a mess on the floor,” he said and shook his head. “I don’t want a puppy.”

“I wouldn’t recommend a puppy for you. Older dog.”

“Are you with some kind of animal shelter group or something?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I was just suggesting a solution for your problem with maintenance.”

“Who said I had a problem?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it as if she were editing herself.

That irritated him. He wanted to know what she’d been about to say.

She dug around in her bag. “Want another peppermint patty?”

“A diversion?” he asked.

“A sweet one,” she said.

He took the candy and narrowed his eyes at her. She was an odd one. Nice skin, he thought, and he could tell since any makeup she may have been wearing would have washed away. Her hair was trying to puff up from the humidity. Her eyelashes were long and black, her eyes true blue behind the red frames of her glasses. He wondered why she wore those glasses.

“Would you please not look at me?”

He felt a frisson of amusement. “Why not?”

“Because this is not how I want the hotshot vice president Marc Waterson to remember me.”

Curious, he studied her. “How is it that you want the hotshot vice president Marc Waterson to remember you?

“Pulled together, a terrific performer, someone you’d want to promote.”

His lips twisted at her lack of pretense. She laid all her stuff on the table. He leaned toward her. “Everyone has an off day every now and then.”

“Maybe,” she conceded. “But you make it look like you never do.”

He was surprised she noticed. “If that was flattery,” he began.

“It wasn’t,” she said before he could finish.

He felt a kick of something in his gut. Her directness unsettled him. He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. Maybe it was a good thing that she wore glasses. Her eyes looked as if they could burn steel.

“There’s the tow truck,” she said, and he allowed the distraction.

After they followed the tow truck and car to the garage, she put her keys and information in the drop box and gave directions to her apartment.

He heard a little moaning sound at one point.

“What was that?” he asked, slowing.

“Nothing. Just me being silly. Take the next left.”

Marc didn’t like his questions not being answered. He pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. “What?” he demanded. “You made a sound like a mewling cat.”

She groaned. “Couldn’t you have just ignored it?”

“It was distinctive,” he said, thinking there’d been something oddly sexual about the sound she’d made.

She covered her face. “We passed Chick Fil-A.”

“And?” he prompted, waiting for an explanation.

“Chick Fil-A is my favorite fast-food place.”

“If you’re hungry, why didn’t you just say so?” he asked and made a U-turn.

“Because you really don’t need—”

“Already on my way.”

“You’ve already done too much.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah, but I bet Chick Fil-A isn’t your favorite.”

How would she know? “Okay, which do you think is my favorite?”

He felt her gaze on her for a long moment. “You’re big on delivered pizza, but if you’re forced to stop for fast food, you go for Arby’s.”

He stared at her as he pulled into the drive-through lane. “How do you know?”

“Just a lucky guess. I get these gut feelings every now and then. I’ll take an eight-piece chicken tender meal with waffle fries and a coke. And Polynesian sauce.”

He repeated the order, and they drove through. He paid and she put money in the center dash. “You’re a little anal about the paying thing, aren’t you?”

“Well, this isn’t a date.”