short table or two. Let her live with them for a few days, and she's bound to reconsider."
"But, Kate—"
"Don't worry. I'll come by tonight and have a talk with her."
"You promise, Kate?"
"I promise. Now, we'd both better get busy. I'm going straight up to McClary Hill."
Even working at the house did not help Kate, however. Her sense of contentment was gone, replaced by a restless unease. The atmosphere was still charged after the way Steven had kissed her last night. By the time she had to leave for her appointment with him, Kate's insides had twisted into one big, apprehensive knot.
Lendal's Restaurant, located deep among the skyscrapers of the financial district, was famous for the high-powered business deals transacted over its tables. The decor had been borrowed from San Francisco's late-nineteenth century Bonanza era. Kate glanced around at the mirrors framed in gilt, the walls covered in maroon satin, the lush ferns cascading from marble pedestals. All the patrons, men and women, wore somber business suits. Kate nonchalantly straightened the collar of her brightly flowered shirt and tucked one hand into the pocket of her corduroy jeans, clutching her briefcase with the other. She felt out of place here, but she certainly wasn't going to show it.
Then she saw Steven. He was just rising from a table in a leather-upholstered booth, shaking hands with two men outfitted in drab suits. But there was nothing drab about Steven. His tweed jacket had a casual flair, and his vigorous good looks hinted at the untamed. As the two men walked away, Steven turned to scan the restaurant. His eyes locked with Kate's, and suddenly she seemed to have forgotten how to walk across a room. Steven wasn't any help; he just stood there, looking at her intently without smiling or even nodding an acknowledgment. At last Kate was able to put one foot in front of the other, propelling herself toward him.
"Hello, Steven," she said as breezily as possible.
"Thank you for coming, Kate," he answered, his tone formal. "I had a business meeting here, and thought it might be a good idea if you and I met here, as well—on neutral ground." Steven stood beside her as she slid into the booth, his hand brushing her shoulder. Kate was left with a warm, tingling sensation.
Steven sat down across from her. "Would you like something to eat or drink?" he asked, the gravity of his expression relaxing slightly as he watched her.
"I'll have a cranberry juice, thank you, with a slice of orange."
Steven's expression relaxed still further, almost into a smile, and he ordered two cranberry juices with orange slices. Kate pulled her notepad from her briefcase, ready with her pen. But Steven leaned back against the rich leather of his seat, apparently in no hurry to explain the purpose of the meeting. Kate found herself gazing at his generous, expressive mouth, her body remembering that kiss.
"I bought something for the house on my way over here today," Steven said.
"Oh?" Kate answered distractedly, hanging on to her notepad.
"Yes. I'd like to show it to you." He produced a roll of paper from the seat beside him and spread it out on the table in front of Kate.
It was a print of Monet's
Red Boats at Argenteuil
. She contemplated the subtle, shimmering contrasts of water and sky, the sailboats heading lazily out from the wharves. After a long moment she looked up and gave Steven a beneficent smile. The knot inside her was slowly beginning to unravel.
"This is wonderful. I can have it framed—and I think one of the upstairs rooms would be perfect for it."
"Good," he said, rolling it up again.
"I didn't know you were interested in art."
"Why does that surprise you?" he asked.
"I don't know. The problem is, I don't really know you at all." She found herself gazing at his mouth again, and had to avert her eyes. "I mean, I do try to have an idea of my clients' personalities. The house should reflect
you
…" Kate paused, forehead wrinkled in
"But, Kate—"
"Don't worry. I'll come by tonight and have a talk with her."
"You promise, Kate?"
"I promise. Now, we'd both better get busy. I'm going straight up to McClary Hill."
Even working at the house did not help Kate, however. Her sense of contentment was gone, replaced by a restless unease. The atmosphere was still charged after the way Steven had kissed her last night. By the time she had to leave for her appointment with him, Kate's insides had twisted into one big, apprehensive knot.
Lendal's Restaurant, located deep among the skyscrapers of the financial district, was famous for the high-powered business deals transacted over its tables. The decor had been borrowed from San Francisco's late-nineteenth century Bonanza era. Kate glanced around at the mirrors framed in gilt, the walls covered in maroon satin, the lush ferns cascading from marble pedestals. All the patrons, men and women, wore somber business suits. Kate nonchalantly straightened the collar of her brightly flowered shirt and tucked one hand into the pocket of her corduroy jeans, clutching her briefcase with the other. She felt out of place here, but she certainly wasn't going to show it.
Then she saw Steven. He was just rising from a table in a leather-upholstered booth, shaking hands with two men outfitted in drab suits. But there was nothing drab about Steven. His tweed jacket had a casual flair, and his vigorous good looks hinted at the untamed. As the two men walked away, Steven turned to scan the restaurant. His eyes locked with Kate's, and suddenly she seemed to have forgotten how to walk across a room. Steven wasn't any help; he just stood there, looking at her intently without smiling or even nodding an acknowledgment. At last Kate was able to put one foot in front of the other, propelling herself toward him.
"Hello, Steven," she said as breezily as possible.
"Thank you for coming, Kate," he answered, his tone formal. "I had a business meeting here, and thought it might be a good idea if you and I met here, as well—on neutral ground." Steven stood beside her as she slid into the booth, his hand brushing her shoulder. Kate was left with a warm, tingling sensation.
Steven sat down across from her. "Would you like something to eat or drink?" he asked, the gravity of his expression relaxing slightly as he watched her.
"I'll have a cranberry juice, thank you, with a slice of orange."
Steven's expression relaxed still further, almost into a smile, and he ordered two cranberry juices with orange slices. Kate pulled her notepad from her briefcase, ready with her pen. But Steven leaned back against the rich leather of his seat, apparently in no hurry to explain the purpose of the meeting. Kate found herself gazing at his generous, expressive mouth, her body remembering that kiss.
"I bought something for the house on my way over here today," Steven said.
"Oh?" Kate answered distractedly, hanging on to her notepad.
"Yes. I'd like to show it to you." He produced a roll of paper from the seat beside him and spread it out on the table in front of Kate.
It was a print of Monet's
Red Boats at Argenteuil
. She contemplated the subtle, shimmering contrasts of water and sky, the sailboats heading lazily out from the wharves. After a long moment she looked up and gave Steven a beneficent smile. The knot inside her was slowly beginning to unravel.
"This is wonderful. I can have it framed—and I think one of the upstairs rooms would be perfect for it."
"Good," he said, rolling it up again.
"I didn't know you were interested in art."
"Why does that surprise you?" he asked.
"I don't know. The problem is, I don't really know you at all." She found herself gazing at his mouth again, and had to avert her eyes. "I mean, I do try to have an idea of my clients' personalities. The house should reflect
you
…" Kate paused, forehead wrinkled in
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