Read Online A Date You Can't Refuse by Harley Jane Kozak - Free Book Online

van Gogh of greeting cards. What's this job thing?”
    “Simon, tell me something. All these security measures we do—the cryptic phone messages, the code names—are we hiding from the bad guys or the good guys?”
    “Why are you asking?”
    “I mean, I assume Lucrezia can't know about me, but now I wonder, are you keeping me from your boss—you know, the FBI—too?”
    “And why do you wonder this now?”
    “It… I don't know, it occurred to me.”
    Simon reached up with his other hand and the map light went on. His eyes, when he turned to me, were so ice blue they startled me. They always did. They were also bloodshot. “My God,” I said. “Talk about tired-looking. When was your last good night's sleep?”
    “Let's stay with you,” he said. “What's going on, Wollie?”
    “What do—”
    “And don't say ‘What do you mean?’ You're flitting from subject to subject, a diversionary tactic that could work on someone who doesn't know you and love you, provided that person was also stupid, but I'm not that person, so let's cut to the chase.”
    “Okay,” I said. “Here's the deal. I have a new job. And it starts tomorrow. So I can't meet you at the hotel, and I'm sick with disappointment over it.”
    “What's the job?”
    I turned off the map light. “I'm working for a company that does media training and I'll be working odd hours.”
    “How odd?”
    “Tomorrow there are clients arriving at the airport and I think I'm picking them up. A lot of my duties involve transportation. At any rate, I have to be available to them.”
    “What hours?”
    “I'm not sure, but I get the impression … twenty-four/seven.” I mumbled this.
    He switched on the map light. There were those eyes again, blue, blue, blue, with laserlike intensity. “You're a chauffeur?”
    “Among other things. Why?”
    “Because you dislike driving, and you're not particularly good at it. What other things?”
    “Showing them around L.A. Whatever. Playing cribbage with them in their off-hours. I'll find out more tomorrow.”
    “Right after you learn cribbage. How did you find this job?”
    “They more or less found me. It came about through jury duty in a circuitous way and the pay's good, and it's just temporary.”
    “How temporary?”
    “Three months.”
    “Three months?”
    “Okay, okay,” I said, cringing. “I'm not hard of hearing.”
    “You're spending the summer babysitting a bunch of—what? Who are these people?”
    “Simon, I don't know all the details, but I'm more than a glorified bus driver. These are international celebrities. It's a prestigious firm, I'm well-treated, it's not menial labor—”
    “What's the name of this firm?”
    I hesitated, then turned off the map light. “MediasRex.”
    He switched the light back on. “What aren't you telling me?”
    “I'm not—nothing. It's just that—see, I knew you wouldn't be crazy about—not that I blame you—the idea of seeing less of you than I already do depresses me, and—”
    “I thought you wanted to focus on your art,” he said.
“And
your marketing efforts.”
    “Well, yeah, but—”
    “So why are you doing this? It's not a career move, it's a temp job.”
    “I told you, it's—”
    “—money. What are they paying?”
    I looked out the window. “Five minutes ago that moon looked so romantic.”
    “Salary?”
    “Fifty grand. For three months. Not bad for a babysitter.”
    That quieted him. I took advantage of this by turning off the map light one last time. Then I took his face in my hands and moved towardit. When he showed no signs of resistance, I closed the gap, put my mouth on his, and switched to nonverbal communication. We'd been working on these skills a lot over the last six months and were getting good at it. I had to block out a vision of Alik Milos that jumped in uninvited, but Simon didn't seem to notice and I thought I was home free, until his mouth moved to my ear.
    “I'm curious to know,” he said softly, “what else