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“What’s your gut telling you, Amanda?”
“My gut?”
“Your instincts. You’re the one who’s big on instinct and spontaneity. Forget logic—”
“Forget logic?”
He slowed himself down. “Go with emotion on this one, Amanda. If I can take your advice, surely you can take it, too.”
Her voice went soft. “That’s not fair, Daniel.”
He matched his tone to hers. “Who said anything about fair?”
She sighed. “Anywhere I want?”
“Yeah.”
“A picnic. At the beach.”
“Sunday at five.”
She hesitated for another couple of heartbeats. “All right.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“No limo.”
“I promise.”
To be fair, Amanda had only specified that he couldn’t use a limo. Too bad she hadn’t thought to ban helicopters.
The chopper set them down on the helipad of the Carmichael estate on Nantucket.
The Carmichaels were in London, but they’d given Daniel permission to use their private beach. And apparently they’d offered their staff, as well, or else Daniel had hired staff specifically for the occasion.
It was on the beach. And there was food. But that was where the resemblance to a picnic ended.
A round table had been set up on a flat stretch of sand between the lapping waves and the rocky cliffs. A white tablecloth flapped in the light breeze, held down by flowers, hurricane lamps, crystal and fine china. A maître d’stood at attention, and he appeared to be wearing a Secret Service headset.
Daniel pulled out one of the padded chairs and gestured for her to sit down. “I asked them to time the entrée for sunset.”
“This is a picnic?” As soon as her butt hit the cushion, the maître d’ sprang into action.
He muttered something into his microphone then laid her napkin across her lap.
“We’re starting with margaritas,” Daniel said, sitting down across from her.
“Margaritas?” asked Amanda.
“I hope you like them. If not, I can arrange—”
“I like them just fine. But, Daniel…”
“Yes?”
“This isn’t a picnic.”
He glanced around. “What do you mean?”
“A picnic is fried chicken and chocolate cake on a blanket, battling ants—”
“I think we can skip the ants.”
“—maybe cheap wine in paper cups.”
“Now you’re just being ornery. People drink margaritas on beaches all over the world.”
“At resorts. They don’t bring a blender to a picnic. Where would you plug it in?”
“Who brought a blender?”
“That’s how you get margaritas.”
“The bartender is making them in the house. Now relax.”
At that moment, the bartender appeared with two frosty lime margaritas in hand.
At least Amanda thought it was the bartender. Perhaps Daniel had also hired a cocktail waiter.
Daniel thanked the man, who then withdrew back up the wooden stairs to the house.
Amanda took a sip of her margarita. It was delicious. It just wasn’t rustic.
“We’re starting with a shrimp Creole appetizer,” said Daniel.
“Stop trying to impress me.” She hadn’t come here to see Daniel’s money at work.
She’d come here to see Daniel.
He sat back. “This is a date. Why wouldn’t I try to impress you?”
Maybe it was time to tell him she was a sure thing. She smiled to herself.
Before this night was over, she was going to fight her way through to the real Daniel, then she was making love to him.
“What?” he asked, watching her smile.
She tucked her hair behind her ears. “I was wondering about the employee manual.”
“Nancy did a terrific job researching. We’re putting forward a proposal to Dad.”
“You’re going to offer family leave?”
“We’re going to propose it.”
Amanda took a sip of the tart margarita. “What made you change your mind?”
“About looking at my employees as people?”
She nodded.
“You did, of course.”
She felt a warm glow. “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you. You push and prod and poke and probe—”
“You make me sound so appealing.”
He grinned. “You are rather relentless.”
“So are you.”
“Hey, I gave up.”
She stilled. He made an interesting point. Daniel had sincerely tried to understand her perspective, whereas she hadn’t budged a single inch.
The rhythm of the waves increased and a group of gulls called on the air currents high above.
Amanda flicked her hair out of her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She shook her head and revived her smile. “Nothing. Tell me about the CEO competition.”
“What about it?”
“Are you going to win?”
Daniel shrugged. “We’re coming up fast on Web site subscriptions.”
“There are four months left.”
“But Charisma always has a strong December.”
Amanda nodded, toying with the stem on her frosted glass. “Will you be disappointed if you lose?”
He looked her straight in the eye. “Of course. I play to win.”
“I know. But ego aside—”
“I don’t have an ego.”
Amanda laughed. “Oh, Daniel.”
He looked genuinely confused. “What?”
“You mean to tell me having the job is more important than winning the game?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s the same thing.”
She shook her head, flicking her hair again as the breeze freshened. “It’s two completely different things.”
“How?”
Another uniformed waiter appeared with their appetizer.
After he left, Daniel asked his question again. “How?”
Amanda took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to say what she wanted to say. “Take off your jacket.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
When he didn’t move, she stood up and walked around to his chair. As she reached for his lapels, storm clouds rumbled on the distant horizon.
He pulled back. “What are you doing?”
She grasped his jacket and tugged it over his shoulders. “I’m peeling away the layers.”
“The layers?”
“To get to the real you.”
“I think that’s metaphorical. And I am the real me.”
She tugged on his sleeve. “How do you know?”
He finally gave up and shrugged out of his jacket. “Because I’ve been the real me my entire life.”
Amanda went to work on his tie. “What does the real you want?”
He looked straight into her eyes. “You.”
Okay. That was a good answer. “I meant professionally.”
“I want to be CEO. Why is it so inconceivable to you that I want the top job in a company where I’ve worked my whole life?”
She released the knot in his tie and pulled it from around his neck. “Because I think people, your family, have been putting things in front of you for forty years and then telling you you’re supposed to want them.”
“Like what?”
She dropped the tie on the table. “For starters? Me.”
He looked to his right and then to his left. “I don’t see my family urging me on here.”
“I meant after high school.”
He pulled her into his lap. “Hey, that was just you and me on prom night. Nobody told me to want you.”
“They told you to marry me.”
“You were pregnant.”
“They told you to come back to the family firm.”
“We needed the money.”
“They told you to stay on this continent.”
Daniel snapped his jaw shut. “I stayed for you.”
She shook her head. “You stayed because they told you to stay. Whose idea was it for you to marry Sharon?”
“Mine.” But he flinched, then went quiet.
“Whose idea was it for you to try for the CEO position?”
Daniel stared at her.
“What do you want, Daniel?”
Thunder boomed closer this time, and lightning flashed in the darkening sky as the first fat drops of rain hit the sand.
Daniel turned to the maître d’. “Have them bring out the canopy, Curtis.”
Amanda jumped up from Daniel’s lap. “No!”
“What?”
“No canopy.”
“Why not?”
“Layers, Daniel.”
He peered at her. “Are you, like, clinically insane?”
She leaned closer. “Can you send that man away?”
“Will I be safe alone with you?”
“Maybe.”
He hesitated, and another thunderclap echoed against the cliffs. “You can go inside, Curtis. We’ll be fine.”
Curtis nodded and headed for the staircase.
“So, we’re going to stay out here and get wet?” Daniel asked.
“Yeah. Life’s messy. Get used to it.”
“Can I put my jacket back on?”
“No.”
“You want it?”
The rain began in earnest, and Amanda spread her arms wide. “No.”
“Dinner’s ruined,” he pointed out.
“We’ll order pizza later.”
“What do we do now?”
“Now?” She climbed back into his lap, wrapping her arms around his dampening shirt and slicking back his wet hair.
