Closer Than She Thinks Page 6

  They were halfway down the hall to the elevator before she thought of anything to say. “Do you always work this late?”

  “Late? It’s still early. I’m hungry and I need to talk to you.”

  Instead of riding the elevator, Jake took the two short flights of stairs to the lobby, and she followed, his words seeming more ominous with each step. What did they have to talk about?

  “Tony,” Jake greeted the security guard as he opened the door to the lobby for her.

  The man posted at the desk turned their way, smiling more broadly than necessary. Obviously, he knew Jake well. Why not? TriTech owned the entire building.

  “This is Alyssa Rossi,” Jake told the guard. “Sometimes she’ll be working late. If she does, keep an eye on her.”

  “Sure thing.” He opened the door for her.

  She stepped into a street that glistened with humidity, causing halos around the street lights. The spring air was cool, but the moisture level was high, a harbinger of the sweltering summer days she remembered from her youth.

  “This way.” Jake took her arm and guided her around the corner.

  ZUBIE’S HOT MUFFULETTAS DRESSED TO KILL blared a neon sign above a café wedged between two office towers. Despite the late hour, the place was crowded.

  “I’ve been dying for a muffuletta,” Alyssa confessed, her stomach rumbling at the thought of the Italian cold cuts and cheese stuffed into round Italian bread and slathered with olive salad dressing. “I guess I’ve been gone too long. Muffulettas weren’t served warm when I left.” Her eye caught the misspelled handwritten EXPRESSO sign taped to the window. “And you wouldn’t dream of ordering an espresso with your muffuletta.”

  Jake might have smiled slightly as he held the saloon-style door for her. “Things change. The city with the best coffee in the country now has a Starbucks on every corner. The world changes. Heated muffulettas are the latest.”

  The mouth-watering aroma of homemade bread and spices whirled through the café, driven by a bamboo ceiling fan hanging above the bar. A vintage stereo system was blasting Cajun music. Alyssa remembered it sounding more like a hybrid of blue grass and country music played on accordions and raspy fiddles, but this had a faster beat, featuring a strong drummer. She recognized the hipper Zydeco version of Cajun music.

  Jake nudged her toward a table in the corner where a couple was rising. Several other people were converging on the same table, but one look at the determined set of Jake’s jaw kept them at bay. Jake pulled out a chair for her as the table was being cleared.

  “Abita’s on draught,” he informed her, dropping into the chair opposite her.

  “Perfect,” she said. “Things haven’t changed too much if they’re still serving beer with muffulettas.”

  A waitress in leather shorts and a midriff-baring bustier handed them menus while Jake ordered the beer. Zubie’s had other things on the menu, but it was clear that hot muffulettas were their specialty. Over the top of the tattered menu, Alyssa watched Jake, wondering what he wanted this time. Once again, they were face-to-face across a table no bigger than her pocketbook.

  “Two muffulettas dressed to kill, right?”

  Alyssa nodded to the waitress, knowing “dressed to kill” meant they’d put everything on the muffuletta. “Yes. Everything on mine.”

  “Me, too. The works.”

  The waitress snatched up their menus and left. Alyssa gazed into Jake’s dark eyes, once again feeling the way she had in Florence. He seemed to expect her to say something. What? She was so exhausted from the move that she couldn’t guess.

  His dark eyes assessed her face, never wavering, never inspecting the buttons on her blouse that she’d unfastened while sifting through dozens of boxes and becoming hot. There was a subtly dangerous glint to his eyes, a slightly feral cast—or maybe it was just her imagination. Since their first meeting, she’d been dreading seeing him again.

  “You wanted to talk to me,” she said finally in an upbeat tone to disguise how much he unnerved her.

  Before he could answer, the waitress appeared with two mugs of dark amber beer. He took a swig, then nodded his approval with a slow smile she found disarming.

  “There’s nothing like draught beer.”

  “True.” She sipped her Abita, chatting companionably. “Italians are masters of a lot of things, but making beer isn’t one of them.”

  Jake yanked off the tie that was hanging noose-like around his neck and stuffed it in his pocket. His cuffs were already rolled back to the elbow, exposing forearms dusted with dark hair. He made a show of taking a long look at the titanium watch on his strong wrist.

  “Eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds,” he said with a husky chuckle some women might have found sexy.

  “It hasn’t been that long since we ordered, has it?”

  Another low chuckle revealed a set of even, white teeth. “No. We’ve been together that long, and you haven’t gotten huffy yet.”

  “Huffy? What do you mean?”

  “Okay, bitchy.” This time his chuckle became a deep-throated laugh. “I just said huffy to be polite. Last time we were together, you got real huffy before I had a chance to introduce myself.”

  “I did?” she mumbled, knowing she had, but reluctant to admit it. She thought she’d kept her inner feelings concealed, but Jake was far too perceptive.

  “Damn right, you did.” He flashed her another wicked grin. “We’re on the same team, you know.”

  She wasn’t sure how to take what he was saying. He seemed to be joking but there was a definite undercurrent to his words. “Meaning we work for the same company?”

  “Right. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Well, no. It’s just that I was expecting …”

  He leaned toward her. “What were you expecting?”

  “Burt told me I would be independent. Next thing I know, you’re breathing down my neck.”

  “Who in hell is Burt?”

  The waitress chose that moment to plop two enormous platters with muffuletta sandwiches in front of them.

  “Burton Anders. He negotiated the sale of my company to TriTech.”

  “Yeah, right, right. I was out of the country—”

  “You were hiking in Patagonia and couldn’t be reached.”

  That got him. Jake laughed; this time he seemed to be laughing at himself. “Just what did Burt promise you?”

  “He said I would continue to run the company the way I had without corporate interference.”

  “You thought we’d hand you a bunch of cash and walk away?”

  “Of course not, but I expected to be given some time before … before I had to account for everything I do.”

  He held up his hand. “You’re getting huffy again.”

  Did she really sound bitchy? She was merely sticking up for herself, she thought, taking a bite. The olive salad dressing was oozing out of her muffuletta, and she put it down long enough to wipe her fingers with the red checkered napkin. Eating a muffuletta after all these years was a religious experience but a messy one. She had to resist the impulse to lick the sticky dressing off her fingers. When she looked up, Jake was staring at her.

  “Burt gave me an addendum to the sales agreement. I’m to operate independently and file quarterly earnings reports.”

  “Did you happen to notice who signed the addendum?” he asked.

  She kept chewing, thinking about the signature scrawled across the document. It was a scribbled name resembling something a physician jots across a prescription. She washed down the sandwich with a sip of beer. “I couldn’t read it. The typewritten name beneath started with a C, I think.”

  “Could the signature have been Clay Duvall’s?”

  The name detonated on impact, tearing at something deep inside her, a wound that still ached even after all this time. Clay Duvall. What did he have to do with this? She tried to swallow, her throat working up and down.

  “Wh-what?” Her stomach rose, then fell with a si
ckening lurch. Her voice was so tight it was all she could do to croak out the question. “Why would Clay Duvall’s name be on a TriTech contract?”

  Something flashed in his dark eyes, and she drew a deep hitching breath, her mind suddenly clearing. “No. I remember now. The name was Chevalier. Troy Chevalier.”

  He didn’t respond immediately, and the name was drummed out by the Afro-Caribbean beat of the Zydeco music blaring from the stereo.

  “Ah, Troy. That explains it,” Jake replied, apparently not noticing her panicked response. “My executive assistant.”

  Alyssa dropped the sandwich, her eyes locked on Jake’s. Something was going on; she could sense it in that mysterious way a wild animal senses danger. She forced herself to ask, “Do you know Clay Duvall?”

  “Of course, he’s a minor partner in TriTech. He negotiated the deal to purchase your company.”

  She heard his answer, but for a moment the words didn’t quite register, the pulsing beat of the Zydeco drums becoming one with the hammering at her temples. Her usual black belt in verbal self-defense vanished, replaced by a juggernaut of panic that curdled her blood. She shoved back her chair, vaulted to her feet, and bolted out of the café, elbowing people aside.

  Jake called her name, but she didn’t stop. All she could think was her worst nightmare was now reality. If she’d hoped to avoid Clay Duvall, it would now be impossible.

  Why had she sold her company? Her sixth sense had warned her, but she hadn’t listened. Now she would have to pay the price.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Aw, hell!” Jake threw a couple of bills on the table, then grabbed the pocketbook that Alyssa had forgotten when she’d stormed out of Zubie’s. He was through the small café and on the street in less than a minute, but she wasn’t in sight.

  Taking his time, thinking, Jake walked back to TriTech. Since his discussion with Clay that morning, Jake had been convinced the acquisition of Rossi Designs wasn’t a conspiracy between Clay and his former girlfriend. Alyssa’s reaction confirmed it.

  “This is my lucky day,”

  First Duvall had stonewalled him about his reasons for purchasing Rossi Designs. Then Sanchez had told him about the nurse’s murder. Next, the inconsistencies in Duvall Imports’ books that he’d discovered needed to be sent to forensic auditors. It was probably nothing more than an accounting glitch, but he wanted to be certain. Now, Alyssa had gone ballistic. What next?

  He knew better than to get involved with women. The only time Jake had luck with them was in the sack. The image of Alyssa between the sheets almost—almost—made him smile. She’d probably claw his eyes out if she even suspected it had crossed his mind.

  Alyssa wasn’t his type, not at all. He preferred petite brunettes with ready smiles. Besides he knew better than to mix business and his private life. Okay, so what was he going to do about her?

  He had no choice but to convince her to remain at TriTech. The last thing he needed was a time-consuming lawsuit over a minor acquisition. Enough storm clouds were gathering on TriTech’s horizon. He didn’t want to add to any problems the company might be developing.

  “Alyssa went upstairs,” the security guard told Jake the second he walked into the lobby. “Boy, was she in a hurry.”

  Rather than take an elevator, which he avoided whenever possible, Jake trudged up the two flights of stairs to Alyssa’s office. He spotted her inside, cramming files into boxes. Not a promising sign.

  “You forgot your purse.” He dropped the leather bag on a stack of papers that covered a nearby desk.

  She didn’t look up.

  “Listen, I realize you had no idea Clay Duvall was part of TriTech. How could you? It’s a privately owned company. We’re not subject to all the disclosure rules publicly held companies are. His name wouldn’t have appeared on the purchase agreement you signed.”

  Alyssa didn’t spare him a glance.

  “Can’t we discuss this rationally?”

  “Talk to my lawyer.”

  “I would never have thought of that. You’re so-o-o clever.”

  She stopped, clutched a stack of files to her partially unbuttoned blouse and zapped him with a what’s-your-problem look that would have sent the devil to his knees.

  “Jake, you’re a real jerk.”

  “You’re not the first to bring it to my attention.”

  The corners of her mouth tilted upward. Could she be fighting a smile?

  “Is this what it’s like to work for you?”

  “No, babe. I act strange at times.”

  She actually cracked a smile, but she still looked royally pissed. What was it about him that made women lose it?

  “You know, Jake, this isn’t the least bit funny. I would never, ever have sold to TriTech had I even suspected Clay Duvall had anything to do with the company.”

  “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  “Quit it!” she cried. “This is not a joke. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I am halfway across the world, having sold my company, and all you can do is make wisecracks. You must be nuts.”

  He lifted a stack of papers off a chair, then dropped into it. Putting his feet up on the nearby desk, he said, “Poor people are nuts. Rich people are eccentric. I’m just eccentric. Know what your problem is?”

  “Dare I ask?”

  She ventured a step closer, and he thought he had her, but with women it was hard to tell. He waited a moment, letting curiosity get the better of her.

  “Alyssa, you’ll never make it in business because you can’t think like a man.”

  An astonished gasp escaped her lips, then in a lightning-fast move, she hurled a file folder at him. He grabbed her, swinging her sideways and anchoring her to his lap before she could throw anything else. Arms pinned to her sides, she wiggled, attempting to stand up, but he was too strong for her.

  Fury smoldered in the depths of her eyes as she sat, her lips within a scant inch of his. He tried not to feel how soft her butt was or how sexy it felt to have her on his lap wiggling with her skirt hiked up exposing most of her thighs. He couldn’t help noticing her lips the way he had the first time they’d had coffee in Florence. Again, he wondered what would it be like to have Alyssa smiling up at him, her hair flung wildly across a pillow.

  She must have read his mind. “Don’t you dare kiss me.”

  He didn’t have the good sense to let go of her. Instead, he traced one thumb down the curve of her jaw. “Are you kidding? Then you’d have your lawyer add sexual harassment to your lawsuit.”

  “Can’t you be serious?”

  He released her. She could have jumped up, if she’d wanted, but she remained on his lap. At least she’d stopped wiggling, or he would have really been embarrassed.

  “Did you mean what you said about not making it in business because I’m not enough like a man? Or was that just one of your weird remarks that you come up with to confuse the issue?”

  “Pul-eeze! Clay insists he purchased Rossi Designs because it’s such a great investment. You go ballistic because Clay’s involved. Who’s confusing the issue? Not me.”

  As he spoke, letting her have it with both barrels, she seemed to realize she was still on his lap and rose. With a little shake of her hips, the skirt dropped into place, and she buttoned her blouse.

  “You meant every word, didn’t you? A man would have handled this differently.”

  Jake stood up to take advantage of being slightly taller than she was. Okay, he didn’t know what to do next. He was making this up as he went.

  “You’re right,” she conceded, running her hand through her tousled hair. “I went a little crazy. It just came as such a surprise. I had absolutely no idea Clay had any involvement with your company.”

  “How would a man have responded to the news?”

  She cocked her head to one side, looking at him, her eyes wide. Clueless.

  “Don’t get mad. Get even.”

  “Don’t get mad,” she repeated, a spark appearing in h
er eyes. “Get even.”

  “That’s right. Get even.”

  “How? I don’t know what he’s up to.”

  He wasn’t going for it. “Come on. You must have some idea.”

  “No. I haven’t spoken to him in years.”

  “Think about it while we head back to Zubie’s. I’m starving.”

  Alyssa let Jake pull out a chair for her at a table by the window. Zubie’s was almost deserted now. An elderly man in gangsta jeans was mopping the floor and the bartender was wiping down the wooden counter. Zubie himself was in the back fixing fresh muffulettas for them.

  “If I were a man, how would I find out what Clay Duvall is up to?” she asked.

  He stared at her, then rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

  “What’s wrong now?”

  “Comparing you to a man.” He flashed her a devilish grin. “It’s not working.”

  “Come on. You may think this is a hoot, but it’s my career, my business that’s at stake.”

  He nodded, the teasing light going out of his eyes. “If you’d known from the get-go, it would be different. You would have refused to sell, but you’re here now. If you back out of the deal, you’ll make a pack of lawyers rich, and you’ll lose business, right?”

  “True, so …”

  “Trick Clay into tipping his hand. Once his cards are on the table, you’ll deal with it.”

  Zubie delivered the muffulettas and made small talk with Jake about the Saints’ upcoming season. Alyssa took a small bite, but she was too upset to eat.

  “I don’t want anything to do with Clay Duvall,” she told him when Zubie walked away. “You must know what happened last time.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  From his tone, she realized Jake knew all about the missing baby. It was old news, but an unsolved mystery involving a prestigious family like the Duvalls was never forgotten. She stalled, taking another bite of her sandwich and wondering how little she could get away with telling him.

  What would a man do in this situation, she asked herself. Keep emotions out of it. Stick to the facts.