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"Don't do anything with him, Annie! He's a kid. Just flirt with him a little, nothing more than that."
She shook her head to clear it. "I'm confused. What's this got to do with going to dinner tonight?"
"You need to learn to flirt."
"But why a classy place? Why not a bar or a fast food restaurant?"
"We have to eat, so why not eat somewhere nice? Men are the same no matter where you go. Anyway," he flashed a smile, "I wanted to see you in that dress."
His words warmed her. His reaction to her entrance had been extremely satisfying and worth the pain of the hairpins digging into her scalp.
Jacques restaurant had a perfect view of the sunset over the water. It was a favorite haunt of Hollywood producers and actors with recent box office success and the occasional wealthy industrialist or investor. Annie wasn't exactly sure which of these last categories Zack fit into, or if he did at all, but he seemed at home in the understated style of the restaurant. Even the snooty waiters smiled and greeted him by name.
"Your usual table, Mr. DiMarco?" asked a young waiter who obviously hadn't learned the art of waiting in exclusive restaurants because his smile seemed genuine. They were led to a table by the window with a spectacular view.
The waiter held Annie's seat out for her then discretely disappeared.
"Seems you come here often," she said, studying the menu that had no prices.
"Don't get excited about the table. Everyone in LA has their own table at one restaurant or another."
"But what if someone had been sitting here?"
He hadn't bothered picking up the menu. "Jacques charge a fortune so they can afford to have a favorite table free on any night. It's the way the system works."
She made a clicking sound with her tongue. "So cynical. Especially for someone who thrives on this."
"Thrives?" He leaned forward and studied her. "What gave you that impression?"
"The fact that the waiters know you. The fact that you're always attending one function or another." The fact that he dated publicity-seeking starlets.
He frowned and his eyelids lowered, glaring. "I attend only the things that are necessary for a man in my position. A few charity functions, the occasional movie premier to keep in touch with some people. Nothing outrageous." His eyes narrowed and she picked up vibrations of annoyance from his side of the table. "Let's get one thing straight, Annie. I don't like the limelight. And I hate being pigeon-holed even more."
Oh-kay.
CHAPTER 11
Annie nodded quickly and studied the ocean. Night had descended while she wasn't looking, but she could still make out bobbing boats on the water and the occasional seagull searching for scraps. It seemed like a totally different world compared to the cool air-conditioned environment of the restaurant.
She turned back to Zack. His eyes smoldered. Maybe they needed to discuss something safer.
"What is it you actually do, Zack?"
"I'm an investor."
"What do you invest in?"
"Whatever I think is going to make money. New companies, poorly managed companies with potential, sometimes movies if a good one comes my way." He chuckled, his recent simmering anger now dispersed. "I thought you knew. The curiosity must have nearly killed you."
"Nearly."
The waiter brought a bottle of wine, which was amazing because Annie didn't remember ordering any. He poured a small amount in Zack's glass, waited while he did the ritual tasting and nodding thing, then filled both glasses to a fashionably low level before leaving.
"So you're thirty-four, handsome and rich," Annie said, pretending to study her wine. She was going out on a limb but she wanted to see his reaction. To hell with being safe. "Why aren't you married?"
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. When she glanced up, he was watching her, grinning in that unnerving way that implied he was going to toy with her. "I'm not answering unless you answer my question. Why did Bob give you a job as an agent?"
Hey, no fair. She'd asked first. "Because I'm good."
He leaned back. "No offence, Annie, but you're not. You don't go to parties, you don't know many people in the business and you hate shmoozing with the ones you do."
She choked down her rising temper, not wanting to make a scene in a place like Jacques—although it would be quite satisfying to embarrass Zack in front of his peers.
"Sorry," he said quickly, hands up in defence, "but it's the truth. Now, are you going to answer my question? Why did Bob give you a job?"
She shrugged and picked up the menu again, temper swallowed along with a mouthful of wine.
"Just as I thought," he said with a know-all tone. "Then I can't answer yours."
"Fine," she said. "I don't care anyway."
He muttered something under his breath which she couldn't hear and probably wasn't meant to.
"I think I'll have the quail for starters," she said mildly.
He grunted then made a gesture and their waiter miraculously appeared. They placed their orders.
"Guess you want to change the subject then," Zack said to her.
She shrugged but didn't answer. Damn it, she hated the way his eyes sparkled like a naughty child's when he teased her. He had such an unnerving way of seeing right through her defenses then going in for the kill. Being teased by Zack was like being tickled—funny for the tickler but incredibly annoying for the victim.
Zack sipped the wine but didn't taste it. He had to concentrate on not letting his guard down in front of Annie again. He didn't want any more disasters like the previous night ruining their companionship.
"Okay, lets get back to our safe topic. We came here to learn flirting techniques. Show me what you've got."
She blinked those wide, beautiful eyes at him. "Now? Who with?"
He held out his arms. "Me."
"You? I thought we came here to try it on strangers?"
"After you graduate. Grade schoolers need to start with something easy."
"But I can't flirt with you!"
Oh hell. Were his feelings that obvious? "Why not?"
"Because, well, because you're you."
"Is that a good thing or bad thing?"
"You can take it anyway you want. I can't flirt with you."
He blew out a breath. Damn. It could have been fun. "Okay then." He scanned the room. "Flirt with the waiter."
"The waiter?"
"Yeah. He likes you."
She studied the young man who'd taken their orders. "How do you know?"
"He couldn't keep his eyes off your ass when we walked in."
"Oh." She straightened and cleared her throat as the waiter approached with their entrees. "This is embarrassing."
"You think everything's embarrassing."
"That's because I can't do anything without putting my foot in my mouth. And I'm not used to...this."
"Just relax. Don't worry about being embarrassed."
"Easy for you to say."
"Not exactly. I have to sit with you. Guilt by association."
She frowned at him then turned her attention to the young waiter. He was cute, probably about twenty and he smiled at her as he approached which confirmed her earlier suspicion that he'd never waited tables in an exclusive restaurant before. He was probably a wannabe actor who suspected she or Zack were producers and could give him a ticket to stardom.
He set the plates down in front of them and politely told them to enjoy their meal. Annie, aware that Zack was watching her, thanked him.
She plastered on her brightest smile. "Before you go, please tell me your name."
"Peter. Is there anything else?"
Uh-oh, he was going to leave. Quick, Annie, think of something flirtatious.
"I like what you're wearing."
Peter glanced down at his black trousers, white shirt, black tie and jacket, then back at Annie. "It's a uniform."
"Oh." Not a good start. "Well, you, um, wear it well."
He smiled, looking pleased. "Thanks." Peter switched his gaze to Zack. His smile vanished. When Annie glanced across at Zack his face was expressionless but she had a sneaking suspicion he'd just been scowling. Peter did a short bow as if he'd just ended a performance and stepped away. Damn, she was about to lose her opportunity to show Zack that she was a pretty good flirt when she wanted to be. She had to think quickly.
"Do you come here often?" She did a mental head-slap. Dumbass.
The waiter, coloring, left to the sound of Annie's groaning and Zack's chuckling.
