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“I’m not taking a vacation,” she clarified. “I’m following a story that happens to be connected to my book. I’m still getting paid.”
He didn’t actually sigh with relief, but she could tell he was relieved. “Well, then,yay,” he said, and she gritted her teeth against the faint condescension she detected there.
Ashton was an artist. He didn’t lower himself to write populist stuff that was one step away from tabloid fodder. He thought those gotcha biographies that flew off the shelves, like the one Cat was working on about the Lorings, were what was wrong with publishing in general. Those and romance novels.
He was right, of course, and Cat had taken enough literature classes to know that what she was doing was something she should be ashamed of. Cat would never tell her writing group from Smith that she was working on a pop bio. At least, not until she got a publishing deal. Then she’d talk about it non-stop and make damn sure every single one of them bought a copy.
“What do you want for dinner tonight? I feel like cooking,” Ashton said.
She made a face but schooled her voice so he wouldn’t know that she had. “Sure! That sounds great,” she said, overly-chipper.
Ashton was a foodie. He had a very sensitive palate. Unfortunately, that meant that he had to buy the most expensive ingredients to cook, but they were never good enough. He usually got frustrated by the whole cooking process, because the poor quality of the ingredients meant that after hours of preparation and cursing and complaining about the fact that you just can’t buy good olive oil in this country, his dinners would always end up not quite as good as they should be. Or at least according to him. But Cat was starting to realize that nothing ever turned out as good as it was in his head.
“It’s early enough that we can go to the farmer’s market first,” he said, starting in on his plans. “We can hit that stall with the really good potatoes from France—you know the ones that taste slightly citrusy?”
Cat let him talk while she went down the street, heading for her T stop. She let her mind wander, and as usual, she started thinking about the Lorings. Cassiel Loring in particular. She was just rehashing the last time she’d seen him, outside the venue for the Children’s Hospital Fundraiser Ball, and recalling how well she burned him when she could have sworn she saw him.
She stopped dead on the sidewalk. She did see him. He was getting out of the back of a big, black Range Rover, and looking right at her.
“Wait—Ashton?” she said, interrupting his stream of consciousness about manuka honey. “I have to go.” She hung up on him without waiting for a reply and walked toward Cassiel Loring.
He gestured to the phone in her hand. “Ruining lives?” he asked.
The way he said it was a compliment. He assumed she had the power to do that with a phone call. She actually laughed. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
He smirked at her. He was very good at smirking. “You mean in Boston, where I grew up?” he asked.
She gave him a warning look. “I mean right outside my place of business.”
“Yourplace of business? So, you own the whole block or something?”
She was acting tough when in truth she was thrown. She saw Cassiel Loring all the time, but usually because she maneuvered herself into his path, or into the path of someone in his family. She wasn’t used to seeing him unprepared. She told herself that was why her heart was racing. She hadn’t expected to see him. It wasn’t because he was achingly beautiful or anything.
He put his hands in his pockets and looked away from her. “You hungry?” he asked.
With his head turned slightly to the side she could see the corded muscles of his neck, and the perfect line of his nose that led to shapely lips, one of which was threaded with the thin vertical white line of a scar. The scar didn’t put his lips out of alignment, or make them look hardened, but rather it underlined how tender his lips were. At least for her, it did. All three of his facial scars did that. They Diana attention to how fragile this otherwise invulnerable man was. Cat bet he thought they made him look tough, but the opposite was true. Big, strong Cassiel Loring had been hurt, and he wore his vulnerability out in the open, right there on his pretty face.
He looked back at her. “Youdoeat something other than people’s happiness and peace of mind, don’t you?” he asked sardonically.
She found herself laughing again. He was clever. She’d known that, but it still took her by surprise on occasion just how clever he could be. Usually, she hated it, because he used his cleverness to either annoy her or avoid answering questions, but there were times, like now, when he was simply funny.
His gaze stayed on her, waiting for an answer, and she realized he was serious.
“Wait. Are you asking me to go eat a meal with you or something?” she asked, requiring further clarification.
In all the time she’d known him, or rather in all the time that she’d pushed herself into his awareness, he had only ever tried to dodge her. Something had to be different now if he was putting himself in her path. On the one hand, this was exactly what she needed. A one-on-one conversation where she could steer him into talking about his family. On the other hand, some lizard part of her brain was panicking at the thought of being alone with him.
He took his time replying. She had noticed in past exchanges with him that Cassiel Loring never rushed. He never spoke quickly or out of turn, and he never said more than he had to.
“We should have a conversation,” he said. “I thought it might work out better over food.”
When he looked back at her, his expression was guarded. His chin was tipped down and his eyes were narrowed as he assessed her. He didn’t move very much when he was conversing. Cat was always fidgeting, always rearranging her hands or her feet or tucking one of her curls behind her ear. Cassiel was like a hunter, sitting still in the bush. She got the impression that he could move very quickly when he wanted to, which paradoxically was why he stood so still. He didn’t want to frighten the deer. It occurred to Cat that she was the deer in this situation.
Or at least that’s whathethought. She felt a flare of anger, and the need to prove him wrong. She wasn’t prey. She was a hunter too, and she had Cassiel Loring in her sites.
“Sure. Let’s go eat,” she said like she was throwing a challenge back in his face.
He turned to the back door of the Range Rover, waiting patiently behind him, and pulled it open. “So, youcanbe amenable,” he said like he was making a mental note.
