Part 8 (1/2)

He wrapped his arms around her and waited until her tension drained away. It took a moment, but she relaxed and leaned into him. He gave her a soft kiss, not a peck, but not a kiss that would keep him up the rest of the night, either.

”'Night, Lee. I'll call you tomorrow.”

Tension returned to her body. Maybe she was afraid she'd never hear from him again. He tipped her chin up to look in her eyes. She moved away, her fingers busy twisting the drawstring of her pants.

”Um... I'm starting with a new client tomorrow. I'll be working late the rest of the week.”

Nick stepped back. She wasn't worried she wouldn't hear from him again. It seemed if anyone had to worry the other wasn't interested, it was him. Not that he would. Still, he couldn't imagine why she wouldn't want to see him. He'd made sure she'd had a good time in bed. Maybe she was p.i.s.sed about getting all dressed up for nothing, or because he hadn't told her how nice she looked. Or maybe she was telling the truth and had a busy week ahead.

”You know, you've never told me what you do.”

”I'm a corporate turnaround expert. I go into failing companies, take over as their interim chief financial officer, and try to turn things around. It takes me at least a week to get up to speed.

”Okay, let's get-together on Friday night then.”

”I'm sorry, Nick, but I've got a status meeting with my boss Friday afternoon that will probably run late.”

Nick groaned. He had box seats for the Islanders at New Jersey Sat.u.r.day. He would love to take Rosalie, but mechanics couldn't afford box seats. Besides, too many people knew him there. Someone would let the cat out of the bag. But it was an afternoon game, so it should be over by three or four. ”How about Sat.u.r.day night?”

”That sounds good. I'll call you.”

She'd call him him!

Rosalie looked around her new office at Premier Motorcars and picked through the unappetizing salad she ate at her desk. Why did she always relegate herself to eating salad when she started dating someone new? It was useless, because by the time dinner came around, she was starving and ate everything in sight. Even the fact she hadn't stopped at the store wouldn't help, since ordering in and eating an entire pizza in one sitting wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Why did she do this to herself?

She took another bite of salad, wondering what they used to make fake crabmeat and if it was naturally that shade of orange, or if she was ingesting carcinogenic dye in the name of losing weight. A soft knock sounded, and Gina poked her head in.

”Rosalie... can we have a minute?”

We? She pushed aside the lifeless salad and the spreadsheet she'd been studying, slipped on her jacket, and stepped into her pumps.

”Come in.”

Gina walked in carrying a file, followed by Sam, her brother-in-law the cop. From the look of the two, Rosalie knew something was wrong.

”What's the matter? Is my family all right?”

”It's nothing like that. Everyone's fine.” Gina was halfway to the desk before she realized Sam was still standing in the doorway. She laid the file on the desk, turned around and posed, hands on hips, head c.o.c.ked. Rosalie could very well imagine Gina's expression. It had the desired effect. Sam, the big bad homicide detective, looked as if he wanted to run crying for his mommy. Rosalie knew the feeling well and had the urge to cross herself and thank G.o.d Gina hadn't pointed that look at her.

”Do I really need to be a witness to what is obviously a private family matter? I have a lot of ground to cover...” Sam was squirming, the poor guy. ”... not that it isn't always a pleasure to see you, Sam.”

”Sam.” Gina stomped her foot and pointed at Rosalie. ”Tell her.”

”Tell me what?” Rosalie slid forward in her chair.

Sam closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose before letting out a sigh worthy of old Mrs. Goldstein, Rosalie's neighbor. All he was missing was the ”Oy vey.”

Sam straightened and stood, shoulders back, chest out, head held high. ”Gina, give me a break here. I did what you asked. I'm done.”

For the sake of all New Yorkers, Rosalie hoped his intimidation routine worked better on the perps than it did on Gina. She walked right up to him, grabbed his tie, pulled him into the office, and pointed to a chair in front of the desk. ”Sit.”

He sat.

The fear-factor wielded by the tiny woman was amazing. Sam stood over a foot taller and outweighed her by a hundred pounds, but she had him well trained. Rosalie expected Gina to pat his head and say, ”Good boy.”

It was time for diversionary tactics. Poor Sam looked as if he wanted to disappear, he was so embarra.s.sed. ”Gina, what's this all about?”

”Nick.”

Whoa, hold on. ”My Nick?”

”So he's your Nick now, is he?”

Uh, oh. Rosalie winced. Gina had turned on her.

”You don't even know his last name yet. Do you?”

Rosalie looked toward Sam and then scowled at Gina. It was a waste of time. Gina was the pus.h.i.+est woman Rosalie had ever met, and she always spoke her mind, however inappropriate.

”Gina...” Rosalie growled. She didn't take the warning.

”I worry about you, Rosalie. I asked Sam-”

Sam guffawed. ”You mean threatened-”

Gina speared him with a look of boredom and a wave of her hand. ”Whatever.”

She turned to Rosalie, sympathy rolling off her in waves. Oh, G.o.d. Gina was beginning to scare her.

”The only person working at Romeo's whose name is Nick and fits the description you gave me is Dominick Romeo. The Dominick Romeo.” The Dominick Romeo.”

Rosalie laughed as relief swept through her. ”Right, I'm sure Dominick Romeo was driving around in a wrecker Sunday night on his way to a costume party at some chichi Westside Club and thought he'd stop to tow a car. Why not? It makes a great prop.”

”Here's proof.”

Gina picked up the file she'd placed on the desk and tossed it in front of Rosalie. She opened it. There were copies of several pictures of Nick, each with a different woman on his arm. In most of the pictures, he wore a tuxedo. Nick at the Tony Awards with a Broadway starlet, at a charity event with a blonde anorexic, at a benefit concert for hurricane victims with another tall, blonde, and busty Barbie clone.

Then she pulled out a piece of paper with notes scratched on it and stared at the underlined words. 1990 juvenile arrest-nonviolent crime. Record expunged. 1990 juvenile arrest-nonviolent crime. Record expunged. Rosalie couldn't believe Gina had done this. And Sam. What was he thinking? Rosalie couldn't believe Gina had done this. And Sam. What was he thinking?

”You ran a check on him? Sam, how dare you invade his privacy like that? Isn't it against the law?”

Sam squirmed in his seat. ”Gina was worried.”

”Gina, I told you to leave it alone. Didn't I? How could you do this?”

”You're angry at me! me! I'm not the one lying to you.” I'm not the one lying to you.”

Rosalie remembered Nick's scowl when she'd teased him about... well, being him. And the way he'd looked when he asked if she was out to land a rich guy. No wonder he'd let her think he was a mechanic.

”Now that I think about it, Nick never lied to me. He is only guilty of failing to correct my false a.s.sumptions. So, he's a sneak. But knowing his reputation and how women talk, can you blame him?”