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“You must be good, to work for BonTemps.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Elise, wineglasses dangling between her fingers, Rowena, a statuesque dark-skinned dancer from London who carried a huge Dutch oven between thick potholders, and Macy, a bottle of wine in each fist.
She’d changed from her pencil skirt and body-hugging sweater into navy leggings and a gray hip-length tee topped by a chunky knitted wrap. Her hair was wound into a messy topknot, and she’d scrubbed all the makeup from her face. If she was trying to downplay her beauty, she’d failed wonderfully. She appeared young and relaxed and carefree, a look he’d never seen.
It must be because she was at home with friends.
God, he was glad he pressured her into starting work on their project tonight instead of waiting. She’d reluctantly invited him to dinner, suggesting they brainstorm ideas with input from Sunday, Rowena, and Elise.
“That smells delicious.” He carefully transferred the heavy pot from Rowena’s hands to an empty spot on the table.
“Naan is in a covered basket on my counter, along with the rice,” Rowena said to Macy who grumbled under her breath but hurried back downstairs.
As if choreographed, the women slid into chairs, leaving the seat next to Ross empty for Macy. He held back his grin, pleased at their conspiratorial matchmaking efforts. Were they hoping to steer him and Macy into something romantic or did they sense the attraction already simmering between them?
It didn’t really matter. Ross intended to leverage the forced proximity of Beau’s Halloween teamwork challenge to seduce Macy and prove his intentions were serious. He’d been restraining himself for months, but the wait was wearing on him. Jacking off in the shower was a far cry from the pleasure they could share together if Macy’d let down her guard.
At least her outburst this afternoon explained part of her reticence—Gerald, the ex-asshole-boyfriend who stabbed her in the back for a job title and pay increase. Ross liked his job, but he didn’t plan to make a career as an event planner. No need to reveal that tiny detail to Macy, but he was happy to let her earn the promotion, fair and square. Beau was right about her needing to learn to work well with others.
Hopefully, once he proved Gerald was the exception and not the norm, she’d be a lot less guarded.
The sound of footsteps announced Macy’s return. When she realized she’d been corralled into sitting next to him, she glared at her friends and plunked the bowl and basket onto the table.
Sunday handed him a corkscrew. “Will you do the honors?”
“Is your housemother joining us?” he asked, curious about the mysterious Mrs. Grenadine.
“No.” Rowena removed the lid from the Dutch oven, the tantalizing steam drifting over the table. “She’s dining with the mayor tonight at Gracie Mansion.”
As he opened the wine, the others began passing and filling plates, the rich, aromatic scent of curry causing his stomach to growl. Elise scooped an extra-large helping for him and added two slices of homemade, charred Indian flatbread.
“Wine?” he asked Macy, slowly filling her glass to the halfway point when she nodded.
“A bit more,” she said. “It’s been a hell of a day, and it’s not over yet.”
“You make it sound like such a hardship.” He stood and poured wine for the others, filling his glass last.
“It didn’t turn out like I expected.” She raised her glass for a greedy sip.
The wry twist of humor in her voice surprised him. On the job, she was professional to the point of formality, hiding what seemed to be a snarky personality. She was responsive to clients’ needs, suggesting that she was helpful and compassionate, but he’d never been the recipient of her generosity.
“Tell us about this challenge.” Elise tore off a piece of naan and dragged it through the creamy reddish-orange sauce. “How does it work?”
“Go ahead.” He waved a hand, deferring to Macy. “I’d like to hear your version.”
She scowled, but it lacked the exasperation she’d expressed earlier in her office. “Beau claims the senior event planner has to be a team player in addition to all the other skills and experience I already bring to the table.”
“That’s not biased,” intoned Sunday. “I’m sure Ross is equally qualified for the position. Otherwise, your boss would have given you the promotion. He’s trying to be fair.”
Curious as to how Macy would respond, Ross ate, savoring the homemade meal.
“Nelson is new to the industry.” She speared a tender chunk of chicken, took it off the fork, and chewed fiercely. “He’s good, but he’s still got a lot to learn.”
“I’m right here. No need to talk about me in third person.” He nudged her in the ribs with his elbow, an excuse to shift a few inches closer.
“Fine. You’re good, but you still have a lot to learn.” She fixed her gaze on Rowena. “Pass the other bottle of wine, please.”
“What Macy isn’t telling you is this.” He set his fork on the plate, resting his forearms against the table. “Beau is assessing our performance based on budget, how many people attend, and how original our idea is. But we have a side bet going. Whoever comes up with the best venue, recruits the most attendees, and secures the most impressive talent—or two out of three—gets to choose the costume the other person wears the night of the event.”
