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The breath went out of Daniel’s lungs. She could have said yes. She could have been married by now—out of reach, out of touch. And he wouldn’t have had the chance…
To what?
What was he thinking here?
Cullen’s palms came down on the tabletop. “Take her out on the town. Make her feel special.”
Daniel stared blankly at his son.
“She likes lobster,” said Cullen.
Hoffman’s did a great lobster. Or Angelico’s. Daniel pictured Amanda across the table from him in a softly lit restaurant.
She looked good.
She looked really good.
With a sinking certainty, Daniel knew his son was right. And that meant Daniel was in big trouble. He wanted to date his ex-wife.
Chapter 7
Daniel had been on a hundred dates, maybe a thousand. He knew impressions mattered. And he knew enough to focus on the details. First thing he needed here was a skilled calligrapher and a single white rose.
There was a little print shop down on Washington Square that would do an elegant invitation and do it quickly. He could have the driver drop it all off at Amanda’s later this afternoon.
He rocked back in his chair and buzzed Nancy.
Two hours later, he had his answer.
In an e-mail from Amanda.
An e-mail of all things.
He’d gone for style and elegance, and she’d chosen expediency.
He double clicked her name.
No, thanks, the message said. Could she have been any more terse and impersonal?
This gave him nothing. No explanation. No room to reschedule. Nothing.
No thanks? He didn’t think so. He hadn’t brought Snap magazine this far by taking “no thanks” for an answer.
He hit the buzzer. “Nancy?”
“Yes?”
“Get me Amanda Elliott’s office, please.”
“Right away,” said Nancy.
When the light on line one blinked, he picked up again. “Amanda?”
“It’s Julie.”
“Oh. Is Amanda available? It’s Daniel Elliott calling.”
“Mr. Delectable?” asked Julie.
“Excuse me?”
She giggled. “One moment, please.”
Daniel rubbed his temple, taking a deep breath. He didn’t want a fight. He just wanted a date. A simple dinner and some conversation so he could find out where things stood between them.
Her husky voice came on the line. “Amanda Elliott.”
“Amanda? It’s Daniel.”
Silence.
“I got your e-mail.” He kept his voice even and nonjudgmental.
“Daniel—”
He played dumb. “Is Friday night bad for you?”
There was a pause. “It’s not a scheduling problem.”
“Really?” He leaned back in his leather chair. “What kind of a problem is it?”
“Don’t do this, Daniel.”
“Don’t do what?”
“The roses were great. But—”
“But, what?”
“Okay.” She paused. “Honestly?”
“Of course.”
She drew a breath. “I don’t have the energy.”
He straightened his chair with a snap. “I take energy?” How did he take energy?
“Daniel.” Exasperation built in her voice.
“I’ll make the reservation. I’ll pick you up. I’ll pay the bill and I’ll bring you home. How does that take energy?”
“It’s not the travel arrangements that take energy.”
“What is it, then?”
“It’s you. You take energy. You said you’d back off, but then you came to the courthouse.”
“I will back off. I am backing off.”
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “Spying on me is backing off.”
“I wasn’t spying.” Well, maybe he was. But that was yesterday. Now he had a different mission. A better mission.
“You watched me in court.”
“So did several other members of the public.”
“Daniel.”
It was time to go for broke, time to pull out all the stops. “You were right, and I was wrong, and I’ll stop.”
There was a long silence.
Then there was a hint of a smile in her tone. “Could you repeat that?”
He snorted. “I don’t think so.”
Another silence.
“What’s the catch?”
He swiveled his chair, loving the breathy sound of her voice. “No catch. I’d like to take you to dinner. My way of apologizing.”
“Apologizing? You?”
“Yes. I think we’ve made some good progress in our relationship, Mandy.”
She inhaled sharply at the sound of her nickname.
“And I don’t want to lose that,” he continued. “And I promise I will not venture an opinion on either criminal or corporate law for the duration of dinner.”
There was a smile in her voice. “Will anyone join us at the last minute?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“What does that mean?”
He couldn’t remember doing quite this much work to get a date before. He must be slipping.
“It means,” he said, “that while I cannot vouch for the behavior of all the citizens of New York City, I have not invited, nor will I invite, anyone else to join us.”
“Is that a promise?”
“I swear.”
Another silence. “Okay.”
“Friday night?”
“Friday night.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Goodbye, Daniel.”
“Goodbye, Amanda.” Daniel grinned, holding his hand against the receiver for an extra minute as he hung up the phone. He’d done it.
Now all he needed was a pound of Soleil Gold chocolates and a reservation at Hoffman’s.
Amanda was definitely underdressed for Hoffman’s. She’d rushed home from the office and thrown on a black denim skirt and a cropped cotton blouse. Her makeup was light, and her hair was combed back behind her ears, showing off simple jade earrings. She’d suggested popping down to the bistro at the corner for a steak sandwich, but Daniel wouldn’t be budged.
In true Elliott fashion, he’d wrangled reservations to the “it” place and was preparing to show off his money and his connections.
She didn’t know who he was trying to impress. Fifty-dollar appetizers didn’t do a thing for her. And she sure wasn’t a trophy to flash in the faces of his society cohorts.
A tuxedo-clad waiter tucked them into a softly lit alcove, next to a bay window overlooking the park. Daniel ordered them each a martini.
Okay, she’d admit the high-backed, silk-upholstered chairs were comfortable. And the expensive art, fine china and antique furnishings were easy on the eyes.
The waiter laid a linen napkin across her lap and handed Daniel a leather-bound wine list. Since Elliotts measured the importance of an occasion in dollars, she knew something had to be going on here.
She leaned forward. “You swear this isn’t part of some grand plan to coerce me into changing careers?”
“So cynical,” said Daniel with a disarming grin.
“So experienced,” said Amanda, watching his expression carefully. She half expected Taylor Hopkins to jump out from behind a Jacobean cabinet.
Daniel let the wine list fall open in his hands, scanning the first page. “You should relax and enjoy dinner.”
“I will,” she said. “As soon as the ah-ha moment is over.”
He glanced up. “The ah-ha moment?”
“The moment when that final, significant piece of evidence is revealed, and all of this makes sense.”
“You spend too much time in a courtroom.”
“I spent too much time married to you.”
Daniel closed the menu and gazed at her over the low candle. “Okay. Let me see if I can move things along here.”
That surprised her. “You’re going to ‘fess up to the nefarious plot?”
A busboy in a short red jacket stopped to fill their water glasses and place a basket of fresh rolls on the table.
Daniel thanked him, then returned his attention to Amanda. “There is no nefarious plot. Bryan’s the covert operator, not me.”
“Ha. Everything he knows he learned from his dad.”
“Everything he knows he learned from the CIA.”
Amanda flinched.
Daniel reached for her hand, squeezing her fingers and sending a warm buzz up her arm. “Sorry.”
She shook her head. “It’s all right. It’s over. That’s what counts.”
“It’s over,” Daniel agreed.
Amanda drew a breath, retrieving her hand. “Okay, confess. What’s going on?”
“I wanted to tell you I thought you were terrific in the courtroom.”
The compliment gave her a warm glow, but she fought the feeling. This was no time to go all soft over Daniel. He was still up to something.
“That’s nice. But that’s not why we’re here,” she pointed out, reaching for a roll. They were warm and fragrant, one of her biggest weaknesses in life.
“We’re here because I realized when I watched you nail that guy that I was wrong to push you to change careers.”
There was no ignoring that compliment. It wasn’t glib, and it wasn’t generic, and she knew deep down in her soul that it was sincere.
The waiter appeared and set a martini in front of each of them. “Are you ready to order?” he asked, stepping back.
“Give us a few minutes,” said Daniel, his gaze never leaving Amanda.
The waiter inclined his head and withdrew.
