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“You must be tired of hearing me rattle on about my landlord problems,” she said as the conversation lagged. “I haven’t seemed to shut up.”
He shook his head. “You’re easy to talk to.”
“You haven’t been doing much talking…just listening.”
“You’re easy to listen to,” he replied with a small smile.
Nice answer. And it was mutual, because he was also very easy-easy to like. But she still didn’t feel like she knew anything about him. “So how do you like working for Marty? You’ve sold more cars in the month you’ve been there than any other salesman has sold in the past three.”
He shrugged. “It’s not hard when you have good products to sell.” Lowering his gaze, he reached for his cup. “I guess you’d know that since you’ve worked for Marty longer than I have.”
Sighing, Bridget shook her head. “Not much longer.”
“Really?”
“I started just a couple of months before you did so I don’t know much of anything, either.”
He frowned. “But you keep the books, surely you know how things are going. I bet the place is raking in the bucks, huh?”
Grunting in annoyance, she admitted, “I have no idea. I see just enough to keep the books balanced and not much else.”
Dean stopped stirring his tea and lifted his eyes to hers. Leaning forward over the table, he asked, “You don’t know anything about what’s going on at Honest Marty’s Used Cars?”
“I know Marty’s a bit of a con artist,” she said tartly. “Honesty is just one of his…embellishments.”
She suspected her boss also embellished some other things-like stuff he told the IRS. But she didn’t have proof and was not about to say such a thing to anyone else.
He persisted. “But you must make the deposits, pay the invoices, keep an eye on the accounts receivable.”
“I take what he gives me and do what I can.” Shrugging, she added, “Honestly, I don’t know much of anything about the business, it’s all I can do to keep the checkbook balanced.”
He held her stare, his blue eyes looking searchingly into her face, as if he was trying to find the answer to some question. She couldn’t imagine what. She had no idea why he was so interested in the financial dealings of their employer.
Then she thought of something. It could be a matter of job security. Dean was personable and a good salesman, but he didn’t exactly dress like someone who had a lot of money. The sports coats he wore to work usually didn’t fit well across his broad shoulders, and his pants were sometimes a little shabby.
Dean hadn’t said a lot about what he’d done before coming to Honest Marty’s. For all she knew, he’d been put out of work by poor management at his last job. That would certainly be enough to make anybody ask questions, especially somebody who lived paycheck to paycheck, as she suspected he did.
Not wanting to embarrass him, she carefully tried to set his mind at ease. “Look, I don’t know specifics, but I know the dealership’s doing well. I see the number of cars coming onto the lot and the number leaving it. You don’t have to worry.”
He frowned, as if not understanding what she meant. Some impulse made Bridget reach across the table and put her hand on his. She almost pulled her hand back right away, surprised to feel a warm tingle where skin met skin. But, swallowing for courage, she left it there. Like Izzie would.
If this was a date, he’d interpret her touch as a signal that she wanted more. If it was not a date, he’d interpret it as concerned friendship. Bridget considered it a little of both. “Your job is secure.”
He was staring at their hands, still touching. “My job?”
He sounded-distracted. As if he was as affected by their touch as she was, which gave her a little thrill. “Marty would be a fool to let you go. You’re the best salesman he’s got.”
He said nothing at first, he just slowly twined his fingers in hers, rubbing at the fleshy pad of her palm with the tip of his thumb. Her pulse raced and she wondered if he could feel it throbbing right there below her skin.
She somehow managed to concentrate on getting a positive message across, ignoring the tingling in her fingers and the flip-flopping of her heart. “It’s okay, I know what it’s like to worry about making ends meet, but please don’t worry about the company. I’m sure you’re not going to lose your job.”
He looked up at her, his jaw dropping. “Lose my…”
“I thought that’s why you were curious.”
Dean’s mouth snapped and he mumbled, “It’s okay.” He pulled the hand she’d been touching away and dropped it onto his lap. “Well, they probably want this table for other customers. I guess we should go.”
