Talking to Kyle was like taking a break from all that tension. He was like a holiday.
Maybe it was the steak that finally let her relax, the buttery filet that melted in her mouth, richer and more satisfying than any meal she’d eaten in months. Maybe it was the oaky rioja she sipped, the single glass of gran reserve costing more than any bottle she’d ever bought for herself. Maybe it was the soft velvet draperies that surrounded them, the quiet alcove that cut them off from the rest of the restaurant, from the rest of the world.
She’d come to the restaurant that night ready to tell Kyle she was done. She wouldn’t be his sunglass muse any longer, wouldn’t support his absurd superstitions. She’d planned to tell him that until he got her off balance with his flattery.
But that wasn’t all. She’d meant to say she wouldn’t keep his money, either. The idea of blackmailing him had come on the spur of the moment, boiling over in her superheated brain after that horrible morning with the banks. It had been a stupid plan—dangerous and cruel—even if it had worked, even if it had solved her immediate problem of the partnership buy-in. She’d tell him the truth about why she’d asked for the money, and then she’d figure out a way to pay him back, dime by dime until she won the UPA case, until she got the bonus she deserved.
But every time she started to say the words out loud, palpitations stole her breath away. Instead, she heard her mother: “We don’t tell anyone about our family problems, Mandy. Child Protective Services could take you away forever.” She heard Alex: “Don’t tell anyone Daddy pawned my bicycle. They’ll laugh at me forever!” Anyone, anyone. Forever, forever. She’d never get away from Warren’s damage. Just thinking about saying the words made the room spin.
So she didn’t talk to Kyle about money.
Instead, she told him what it was like growing up as a freakish girl who loved science and math and couldn’t get enough of chess tournaments. She told him about participating on trivia teams in high school, about winning a state tournament because she’d memorized the digits of pi out to five hundred places.
She listened as he talked about his parents, both still alive in Kansas. One sister was in San Francisco, another in Chicago—he got to see them on road trips, a couple of times a year.
He’d always known he’d play ball, from his earliest days in Little League. She’d set her heart on being a lawyer the first time she watched a courtroom drama on TV, the first time she saw the logic of the evidence transformed into a conviction.
He’d come to Raleigh because the team drafted him. She’d moved to the Research Triangle because she’d carefully mapped out potential clients around the country, companies that would require her undergraduate double-major in mathematics and chemical engineering, her law school degree, her patent bar certification.
He’d buckled down as he hit his journeyman years in the majors, revamping his batting stance, learning to maximize his good instincts. She’d reached her stride in the two years before she became a partner in her firm, mastering the long hours, annealing the mandatory combination of pit-bull and client counselor.
And all that conversation was interspersed with the most amazing meal she’d eaten in Raleigh. The perfect steak was followed by deep, rich coffee, so flavorful she couldn’t believe it was actually decaf. She was still savoring the cup when the proprietor carried in a massive slice of peach pie. The lattice crust was crowned with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and two spoons balanced on the plate.
“I can’t,” she said, as Kyle edged the dessert closer to her.
“Live a little,” he said, a challenge sparking from his eyes. And those three words sent a hot knife through her, melting all her insides as if they were butter.
She wasn’t a naive little girl. She’d felt curls of lust before, sparks of
Maybe it was the steak that finally let her relax, the buttery filet that melted in her mouth, richer and more satisfying than any meal she’d eaten in months. Maybe it was the oaky rioja she sipped, the single glass of gran reserve costing more than any bottle she’d ever bought for herself. Maybe it was the soft velvet draperies that surrounded them, the quiet alcove that cut them off from the rest of the restaurant, from the rest of the world.
She’d come to the restaurant that night ready to tell Kyle she was done. She wouldn’t be his sunglass muse any longer, wouldn’t support his absurd superstitions. She’d planned to tell him that until he got her off balance with his flattery.
But that wasn’t all. She’d meant to say she wouldn’t keep his money, either. The idea of blackmailing him had come on the spur of the moment, boiling over in her superheated brain after that horrible morning with the banks. It had been a stupid plan—dangerous and cruel—even if it had worked, even if it had solved her immediate problem of the partnership buy-in. She’d tell him the truth about why she’d asked for the money, and then she’d figure out a way to pay him back, dime by dime until she won the UPA case, until she got the bonus she deserved.
But every time she started to say the words out loud, palpitations stole her breath away. Instead, she heard her mother: “We don’t tell anyone about our family problems, Mandy. Child Protective Services could take you away forever.” She heard Alex: “Don’t tell anyone Daddy pawned my bicycle. They’ll laugh at me forever!” Anyone, anyone. Forever, forever. She’d never get away from Warren’s damage. Just thinking about saying the words made the room spin.
So she didn’t talk to Kyle about money.
Instead, she told him what it was like growing up as a freakish girl who loved science and math and couldn’t get enough of chess tournaments. She told him about participating on trivia teams in high school, about winning a state tournament because she’d memorized the digits of pi out to five hundred places.
She listened as he talked about his parents, both still alive in Kansas. One sister was in San Francisco, another in Chicago—he got to see them on road trips, a couple of times a year.
He’d always known he’d play ball, from his earliest days in Little League. She’d set her heart on being a lawyer the first time she watched a courtroom drama on TV, the first time she saw the logic of the evidence transformed into a conviction.
He’d come to Raleigh because the team drafted him. She’d moved to the Research Triangle because she’d carefully mapped out potential clients around the country, companies that would require her undergraduate double-major in mathematics and chemical engineering, her law school degree, her patent bar certification.
He’d buckled down as he hit his journeyman years in the majors, revamping his batting stance, learning to maximize his good instincts. She’d reached her stride in the two years before she became a partner in her firm, mastering the long hours, annealing the mandatory combination of pit-bull and client counselor.
And all that conversation was interspersed with the most amazing meal she’d eaten in Raleigh. The perfect steak was followed by deep, rich coffee, so flavorful she couldn’t believe it was actually decaf. She was still savoring the cup when the proprietor carried in a massive slice of peach pie. The lattice crust was crowned with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, and two spoons balanced on the plate.
“I can’t,” she said, as Kyle edged the dessert closer to her.
“Live a little,” he said, a challenge sparking from his eyes. And those three words sent a hot knife through her, melting all her insides as if they were butter.
She wasn’t a naive little girl. She’d felt curls of lust before, sparks of
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