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But he’d almost kissed her the night before, so tempted he nearly lost the war inside his head, even though he knew kissing her was wrong. They had a deal. They weren’t really dating in spite of the fact that they’d set it up to look that way. He could not kiss her.
Tonight, he would be smarter.
He picked up her black wool coat from the back of the sofa and opened it so she could slide it on.
“Thank you.”
Was it just him, or had that thank-you seemed a little clipped?
He opened the door for her. She stepped into the hall. “Thanks again.”
That one was definitely stiff, too polite. Not Kristen at all.
“You’re welcome.” He paused, then said, “Is something wrong?”
“I’m fine.”
She wasn’t fine.
“Did Stella say something?”
The elevator arrived. They stepped inside. Standing face forward, Kristen said, “Stella and I had a great time.”
“Well, you certainly picked out a nice dress.”
“Jennifer picked it.”
The chill of her voice and the way she wouldn’t look at him sent a sprinkle of apprehension up his spine. Stella could have told her a million things, all of which would make Kristen back off.
But she should back off. He didn’t date. He took lovers. She didn’t fit that category. She’d be wise not to get close to him.
And he would be wise to let her do whatever it was she felt she needed to do to protect herself.
They drove to the Flannigans’ in complete silence, and, for once, it felt odd. He almost pointed out the decorated storefront windows, remembering how she’d loved the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, but held back, respecting her obvious wish to keep her distance. But the more he held his tongue, the more the decorations popped out to him. Fat Santas in store windows. Elves. Bright Christmas ornaments. He hadn’t really looked at decorations since the year his grandmother gave him fifty bucks and told him to buy himself a gift. She didn’t want to decorate. Didn’t want to bake. Didn’t want to go out at all. Because Christmas was a holiday created by stores to get people to spend money.
So he’d taken his fifty bucks to a pawnshop and bought some poor sap’s old computer. To stave off the sadness of missing his parents and wishing Christmas was real, he told himself his grandmother was right. Christmas was a sham. For foolish people who could be duped.
The limo pulled up to the Flannigans’ building. Dean and Kristen said nothing walking into the building lobby, nothing as the doorman—who had them on an expected-visitors list—walked them to the elevator and used a key card to allow the elevator to take them to the upper floor and the Flannigan residence.
As the elevator opened on the stunning foyer and a beaming Mrs. Flannigan and Arthur, Dean started to sweat, worried how Kristen’s unhappiness might affect the evening. And her charity. If she was quiet with Mrs. Flannigan, the potential donation could go sailing out the window.
Worse, it was his fault because Stella had probably told her he was a bastard.
Because he was.
She stepped out of the elevator into Mrs. Flannigan’s hug. “Let John take your coats.”
As Mrs. Flannigan said the words, her butler stepped forward for Kristen’s black wool coat and Dean’s charcoal-gray overcoat.
As Kristen slid out of hers, Mrs. Flannigan gasped. “Oh, red! You look so lovely in red. I remember those days. I used to love to wear red.”
Kristen laughed. “Used to? I’m sure you’re still stunning in red.”
Mrs. Flannigan hooked her arm through Kristen’s and led her down a long hall, into a high-ceilinged living room replete with art. Furnished with simple ultramodern sofas and chairs, the room got its beauty from famous paintings hung on walls and sculptures scattered about. Red velvet bows and evergreen branches hung over paintings, a nod to the holiday.
Kristen said, “Your home is lovely.”
“Thank you. Some people,” she said, her gaze sliding to Dean, “use decorators. I prefer to make my home my home.”
Though Mrs. Flannigan and Arthur looked at him, Kristen kept her gaze averted.
She did that the whole way through dinner, through the discussion of her charity and the promise of a sizable donation from Mrs. Flannigan. Kristen mentioned inviting her onto her board of advisors, and, as Dean had predicted, her eyes sparkled with approval as she happily accepted the position and volunteered to find other board members.
