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“I’ll probably have to. If they’ll even have me. I got two more rejections today.” I made a face. “At least they bothered to send rejection letters instead of just stringing me along.”
Eva waggled her brows at me. “You could always marry rich.”
“Don’t be disgusting.” I tossed a pillow her way.
* * *
I changed into a vintage black dress after my temp job on Friday, despite Abe’s warning that the others might dress down. If they didn’t, I didn’t want to host a dinner in jeans.
Not that I was hosting. Ryan was the host. I was just the ceremonial presider. Or something.
This time, when I walked through the marble lobby, the thin, impeccably dressed concierge inclined his head marginally. “Ms. Hamilton.”
I resisted nodding back and saying, “Mr. Jeeves.” “Good evening,” I said, instead. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Mr. Phillips, miss.”
“Mr. Phillips.” I smiled widely as I stepped over to the elegant elevators. “Nice to meet you.”
Ryan opened his door almost before I knocked, and I smiled at him tentatively. “I suppose I’m the first one here again?”
“You’re a positive Sherlock Holmes.”
“Nancy Drew.” I slipped out of my coat before he could slide it from my shoulders. “I do a very poor British accent.” I held my coat out to him, expecting him to put it away, but he just stared at me. Was I being rude? Should I put it away myself? “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, blinking a couple times, and then took my coat and hung it. “Nothing.”
“No, what?” I pressed, a little nervously. If Abe actually had sent out a memo saying not to dress up, I was going to look awful silly. I loved my dress, with its plunging back and slight sleeves that looked like they might slip off my shoulders, but it didn’t exactly blend. I smoothed my hand over the full skirt and wondered if I should change into my work clothes.
He looked me dead in the eye, flicked them to the side in consideration, and then met mine straight on. “Okay. Fine. That dress looks like it’s meant to be taken off.”
I shivered right to my toes. “Well,” I said, primly as I could. “Not by you.”
“Don’t worry, I get it.” He shook his head. “You obviously have some issues, so I’m just going to leave you alone until you work them out.”
“Oh, like you don’t?” I snorted.
He grinned at me. “Trust me. I work them out.”
Yeah, I just bet he did.
I followed him into the kitchen, where he’d already unloaded the bags the deli had sent over. I set my addition of challah and candles on the counter. “You call Johnny-boy again?” he asked as he finished setting the table, utterly failing at nonchalance.
I grinned. “Every night this week.”
For a moment, he looked startled, and then he laughed. “You wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. Never dressed up for him, either.”
“Oh, like you know me so well?”
“You, and your many, many issues.”
“I didn’t dress up for you; I dressed up for Shabbat,” I said loftily.
“Well, you look beautiful.” Ryan met my gaze dead-on before sweeping past me into the back of the apartment. “Come on, we’re short four places.”
Shocked into silence, I snapped my mouth shut and followed him. Guerilla compliments; conqueror of sarcasm.
I did an even better impression of running into a brick wall when I realized we were entering his bedroom, which must have taken up a quarter of the apartment. Like the main room, one of the walls looked out over the park and Manhattan skyline, but the huge navy bed that dominated the space drew most of my attention. I quickly refocused on the walls, which were lined with framed pictures of teammates, brothers, and a woman whose image nicked my memory. Hanging below her photo were three brightly patterned, delicate silk scarves. Memorabilia for the Leopards and yellow and blue Wolverines pennants took up more wall space, while built in shelves held books with white-creased spines and a smattering of trophies.
