FRIDAY, LUNCHTIME

“See, isn’t this lovely?” I say as I flutter the cloth napkin to my lap and give a happy sigh.

Andrew rolls his eyes, mimicking my gesture with the napkin, except way more impatient. “I don’t have time for this.”

“You made time for it with Liv Dotson,” I say casually, studying the lunch menu.

“You already know she’s a client, although I’d appreciate it if you could go against your natural tendencies and keep that fact quiet.”

I sigh. “I just can’t believe she and Chris are getting divorced.”

We both look up as the server comes over to take our drink order.

“Champagne, please,” I say with a smile.

“Iced tea for me,” Andrew says. No smile.

“He’ll have a glass of the champagne as well. We’re celebrating,” I say with such friendly self-assuredness that the waitress writes it down and walks away without confirming with Andrew.

He’s giving me the half-amused, half-exasperated look that I’m getting to know quite well. “What are we celebrating?”

“My victory.”

“Do I even want to know what you’re talking about?”

I lean across the table with a triumphant smile. “You thought I wouldn’t last a day in your world. I’d say I’m flourishing.”

He leans forward as well. “In case you haven’t noticed, we quit being in my world the second you got me to leave the office for lunch and gave my assistant the rest of the day off.”

I smile. “Like I said. My victory.”

The waitress reappears with two champagne flutes, and I lift one toward Andrew. “Cheers?”

He rolls his eyes, but he clinks his glass against mine.

“Shelley says you have an older brother,” I say, setting my glass aside.

He shrugs. “You say that like you discovered some big secret.”

“News flash: everything with you seems like it’s one big secret.”

He frowns. “That’s not true.”

“Um, yeah,” I say. “I know nothing about you.”

His brown gaze is a little wary. “What do you want to know?”

“Your brother. How much older?”

“Six years.”

“Name?”

“Peter.”

“Where does he live?”

“Jersey.”

“Is he married? Do you have any nieces or nephews?”

“Yes, to Pam. They haven’t been able to conceive.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Do you see them often?”

“Christmas or Thanksgiving. Birthdays.”

“What’s Peter do?”

Andrew sighs. “He’s a mechanic. Should I get you his social security number?”

I take a sip of my champagne and consider what I’ve just learned. Unusual that one brother is a high-powered attorney in Manhattan and the other is decidedly blue-collar in New Jersey. I wonder if that explains why they only see each other on the occasional holiday when they live within easy driving distance.

“Your turn,” he surprises me by asking. “Siblings?”

I shake my head. “Only child.”

“Shocker. Boyfriend?”

I narrow my eyes. “I told you the other night I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

His eyes glint with something. “Where were you yesterday morning?”

“Sleeping.”

“Alone?”

I lean forward once more. “What is it you really want to know?”

He doesn’t break eye contact. “I want to know whether my rather embarrassing gaffe the other day drove you into the arms of Brady.”

“Brody.”

His gaze sharpens, and I feel a little thrill of excitement at the thought that it might be jealousy.

“You really can’t go around calling girls brainless, Andrew,” I say, keeping my voice gentle.

“I didn’t—” He inhales. “It’s truly not what I meant to say.”

“Have you even seen The Wizard of Oz? It’s sort of what the Scarecrow’s known for.”

Before he can reply, the waitress reappears to take our order. I opt for a burger with caramelized onions and cheese; he gets a steak salad, dressing on the side.

“Do you ever let loose?” I ask. “Order french fries? Unbutton a button? Have a one-night stand?”

“That an invitation?”

“Of course I’ll share my fries,” I say, reaching across the table and giving his hand a little pat, deliberately misunderstanding his question.

I start to pull my hand away, but he grabs it before I can retreat, and I suck in a startled breath at the feel of his warm fingers against my palm.

“Georgiana.”

I swallow. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. About the other day. I’m not . . . I’m not good at this.”

“At what?”

He looks away. “Talking with women. I mean, I’m great with clients, I can hold my own with cocktail party small talk, but this thing with us . . . it’s different. I don’t know what to do with you. I can’t decide. . . .”

I look down to where our hands are still joined, a shiver running up my arm as his fingers move just slightly against my palm. Then I glance up to meet his gaze. “If you even like me?” I guess.

He blows out a breath and releases my hand. “You’re trying to bait me into saying something tactless again.”

“You do a pretty good job of doing that all by yourself,” I say. My palm is still tingling, and I drop my hand into my lap and make a fist. I notice that he does the same.

A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Never mind,” he mutters.

I can’t decide if we just had a moment, or if I somehow dodged a moment, or . . .

Well, let’s just say he’s not the only one who’s off balance.

“So,” I say, forcing brightness into my tone. “Tell me about the rest of your family. Parents?”

“What about them?”

I roll my eyes. “Really?”

Instead of answering the question, he shrugs. “They’re parents. Regular. Not like your parents, where everybody knows them.”

“Too true.” I extend my wrist. “Cut me here, the blood runs blue.”

“They’re how you can afford to live in our building?”

I laugh a little at his bluntness. “I come from money, yes. Although actually the down payment for the apartment came from my grandmother. The money she left me when she passed was specifically allocated for real estate. She was old-fashioned in her way. Thought a woman’s place in the world was making a home for herself and her family.”

“What do you think a woman’s place is?”

I purse my lips. “Annoying you?”

“Ah, yes.” He takes a sip of his champagne. “Well, you’re quite accomplished at it.”

“And yet here we are.”

“Indeed.”

The waitress appears once more, placing our respective lunches in front of us.

I hold up a deliciously hot french fry to Andrew. He counters by lifting a forkful of lettuce toward me, raising his eyebrows in question.

Then his attention shifts, and he reaches into his suit jacket, pulling out his phone and glancing at the screen. His face goes immediately tense, then perfectly blank.

“Everything okay?” I ask as he puts it away.

“Fine. A client needs my attention, though. I need to head downtown after lunch, and it’s highly confidential. I can’t have you tagging along to this one.”

I sigh and eat my fry, knowing exactly what he’s up to. Building his walls to keep me from getting too close.

One step forward. Two steps back.