Gods and Mortals: Fourteen Free Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Novels Featuring Thor, Loki, Greek Gods, Native American Spirits, Vampires, Werewolves, & More (64 page)

“Yep,” I said. “I tried looking up some references online, but the most I could get was ‘dressy casual.’ Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

“Not in L.A.,” she replied. “Probably not a dress — it’ll look as if you’re trying too hard. I’d say your most expensive pair of jeans, a jacket, and a nice camisole underneath. And a really good pair of strappy shoes.”

The priciest jeans I owned were a pair of dark-wash True Religion pants that I’d found at Loehmann’s for the bargain basement price of ninety-nine bucks. That was a huge savings off retail, but if it weren’t for the fact that they made my butt look great, I would never have spent even that much. I still worried that somehow my mother would find out how much I’d paid for them and give me grief over my extravagance. Actually, Loehmann’s was my best supplier of designer duds at copyeditor prices — pretty much the rest of the ensemble I started mentally assembling had come from there as well. The shoes (a pair of sling-back Jimmy Choos), however, I’d snagged at the Barney’s warehouse sale at the Santa Monica airport.

“I think I can manage that,” I said.

“I want a full report. Food, celebrity sightings, everything.”

“Deal. Thanks for the help.”

“No prob,” Nina said, and then I heard her sigh. “Whoever thought I’d be living vicariously through
your
social life?”

Not me, that was for sure, but I was also pretty certain Nina wouldn’t really want to hear that. I just said, “Oh, it’s not that big a deal. I’m sure regular people eat at the Ivy, too.”

“Name one. Besides yourself, that is.”

“Uh — ” I actually didn’t know anyone who had gone there. It was a little out of my price range and that of most of my friends, even Nina.

“Exactly. Listen, gotta go — I’m pulling up at the house now.”

I said good-bye and hung up. At least with Luke picking me up a little after seven I would have plenty of time to get myself pulled together. No time for a hair appointment or anything like that, but my hair was actually pretty easy to deal with. Naturally straight and thick, it just required a few passes with a ceramic iron to get it to premium gloss. Besides, anything else, and it would look as if I’d fussed with it too much, which according to Nina was a no-no. I wasn’t about to comment on the irony of spending a lot of time getting ready so that it would look as if you hadn’t spent a lot of time getting ready.

I also didn’t want to stop and think that maybe I was obsessing over preparing for dinner because that way I wouldn’t have to think about how I could possibly confront Luke over my precipitous promotion.

C
onsidering our destination
, I figured Luke would show up in the Bentley. The Jag was beautiful, but compared to Bentleys, they’re a dime a dozen in Southern California. But after I followed him down the steps and over to his customary premium parking spot, I stopped dead, wobbling a little on my Jimmy Choos.

Sitting at the curb was a gleaming piece of silvery blue metal so elegant and muscular that it could only be one thing. I looked over at Luke, raising an eyebrow.

He actually grinned. Oh, I’d seen him smile quite a bit, but there was a world of difference between the sort of subtly amused smiles he’d given me in the past and the look of unadulterated glee he flashed me now. “I’ve always had a sneaking desire to be James Bond,” he said, and opened the door for me.

I couldn’t help laughing. Was it possible for me to still be angry with him on one level and yet still so thrilled by his presence, by the odd flashes of the person I thought I could see sometimes beneath the outer sophistication?

Apparently it was, since just sitting that close to him in the lush yet high-tech interior of the Aston Martin succeeded in getting my heart rate and respiration up to seriously elevated levels. I’d recognized the car right away; I’d seen all the latest Bond films (up until I’d met Luke, I hadn’t thought anyone could wear a suit better than Daniel Craig). Besides, I probably knew more about cars than I had any right to, thanks to my father’s automotive obsessions. Well, Danny had mentioned seeing a third expensive car in Luke’s garage, even though he hadn’t identified it. Maybe Zach, the spy, hadn’t recognized the Aston Martin for what it was. Zach had his own geeky fixations, but I didn’t think he’d was much of a James Bond fan.

“Hiding any more exotic automobiles?” I asked, after we’d pulled away from the curb and were heading west on Wilshire. The thrumming power of the V12 hidden under the hood seemed overkill for the Friday night stop-and-go traffic that choked the streets.

“No,” Luke said, turning right on Robertson. “The house only has a three-car garage, unfortunately. Maybe I should expand it.”

“What, you want one for every day of the week?”

Another flash of that boyish grin. “Maybe.”

Whatever else he might be doing on earth, obviously the Devil was having fun playing with the big-boy toys. Not that I could blame him. Cars can be very sensual things, and I suddenly wondered what it would feel like to be blazing at wide-open throttle on a deserted highway somewhere, to hear that massive engine really perform in the way it had been intended, to sense the speed of the asphalt rushing beneath me at velocities that were definitely not legal anywhere west of the Autobahn.

“It’s very sexy,” I said, wondering a little at my own daring.

He didn’t look over at me, but I could see one of his eyebrows lift slightly. “You like it better than the Bentley?”

I said, with a curl of the lip, “Didn’t you tell me yesterday that comparisons were odious?”

That got a laugh. “So I did. I must confess to wanting to make something of a splash. Even Bentleys can be seen around town, but the dealer assured me there were only three of this model currently in Southern California. I figured those were fairly good odds.”

“Unless Jay Leno is eating at the Ivy tonight, too.”

He shook his head, grinning. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

The restaurant was coming up on our left; somehow Luke managed to maneuver the car around to make a U-turn that brought us up directly in front of the valet station. Even in a place as used to money, celebrities, and upscale automobiles as the Ivy, I could see heads turn as Luke made his way over to the sidewalk. A valet hastened to open the passenger door for me. Maybe the restaurant’s patrons were trying to see if Luke and I were famous. After all, who else would be riding around in a car like that?

Praying I wouldn’t wobble too much on my spike heels, I took Luke’s hand as he helped me out of the Aston and on to the maitre d’s station. The Ivy is known for its outdoor dining, even in the winter, but Luke had secured us a premium table near the fireplace in the front room, for which I was glad. I didn’t have a problem with
al fresco
dining when the season allowed it, but I never understood the logic in huddling under those outdoor gas heaters and trying to pretend it was still eighty degrees out when everyone was bundled up in coats.

I couldn’t be sure whether it was because they really did think Luke was the local version of James Bond or simply that “doors opened” for the Devil. Whatever the reason, we were shown to our table immediately by a staff that was all smiles. Once we were seated, I kept shooting surreptitious glances around the room, trying to see if I recognized any celebrities, but although most people there were glossy and perfect, they didn’t look famous.

“I promise I’ll tell you if any movie stars show up,” Luke said from behind his menu.

“I wasn’t looking,” I said hastily, opening up my own menu.

The familiar sly smile was back. “Of course you weren’t.”

Our waitress appeared, as flawless as the restaurant’s patrons, and Luke said, “I think a bottle of champagne is in order, considering why we’re here.” He glanced up at the waitress and requested some Cristal, then said, “I think you’ll find that lobster goes very well with champagne.”

“I can imagine,” I replied, giving him a smile that felt weak even to me. Champagne. Great. Now how was I supposed to tell him I didn’t think I should be celebrating at all?

To cover up my growing unease, I pretended to peruse the menu, scrutinizing it the way an IRS agent would dissect a questionable tax return. Luke was right — the lobster salad would probably go best with the champagne, and that way I’d still have enough room for dessert. I’d heard the desserts here were fabulous.

Then the waitress came back with the champagne and a silver bucket, and proceeded to push out the cork without the precious liquid inside fizzing up or spilling. That was a talent I lacked, but I supposed it was one you’d have to develop quickly if you were opening bottles that cost hundreds of dollars.

We placed our orders. Luke waited until the waitress had gone before he lifted his glass of champagne and said, “To your recent promotion.”

I managed to mumble a thank-you and sipped my champagne. This was my first Cristal, and I had to admit it was awfully good. I actually could taste a difference between it and the lesser champagnes I’d drunk in the past, and I’m the first person to admit that my palate is far from developed. The bubbles seemed to evaporate in my mouth, and it had a wonderfully light taste that somehow reminded me of clover honey and almonds.

“That’s amazing,” I said, after I had helped myself to a second and third sip.

“Just another of this world’s distracting pleasures,” he replied, and his gaze seemed to rest on my mouth for a few seconds.

I had an acid flashback to how his lips felt pressed against mine, and a slight shiver worked its way down my spine. It just wasn’t fair that he should be so damned attractive, so completely charming in his way. How was I supposed to fight against that? I wasn’t sure I even wanted to. Okay, so he’d pulled a few cosmic strings and gotten me the job of my dreams. So what? It wasn’t as if he’d offed Brian in order to get me the feature editor position. In fact, Brian had come out ahead in this particular diabolical machination, since he’d gotten
his
dream job at the
Reporter
. No harm, no foul.

That was just self-serving rationalization, though, and I knew it. Luke couldn’t go around disturbing the order of the universe just because he was trying to impress me or get on my better side. The truth of it was that I already cared for him; I didn’t need favors or presents or other disguised bribes to get me to open my heart. Too late for that.

“Um…about the job, actually,” I began, after I’d braced myself with a few more swallows of Cristal.

“Yes?” The blue eyes were unreadable.

“You didn’t…I mean, did you…did you have anything to do with that?”

A long silence. The voices of the people around us rose and fell in their various conversations, but I couldn’t distinguish any individual words. The sound was as impersonal and meaningless as surf breaking on a shore.

Finally Luke said, “Yes, I did.”

I hadn’t expected him to admit it so casually. What I also hadn’t expected was the wave of anger that rushed over me. He’d replied as if the whole thing didn’t really matter very much. When I spoke again, it was in a tone of choked fury that I still hoped wouldn’t carry to the next table. “How
could
you?”

“How could I?” he repeated, looking a little confused. “How couldn’t I, when it was something you wanted so much?”

“Because — because — ” I found myself spluttering, and then had to regain my composure when the waitress appeared with my lobster salad and Luke’s crab cakes. I managed to wait until she had departed before I snapped, “Because it’s wrong! This is my career we’re talking about, not a pair of shoes I saw in a store window!”

“Calm down,” Luke said. His mouth still had its usual wry twist, but I thought I saw a hint of puzzled anger come and go in his eyes.

There were very few things that irritated me more than someone telling me to calm down. It was so condescending. “I am perfectly calm,” I replied, striving to make my tone very cool, very cutting. “I am merely pointing out that what you did was wrong.”

He took a sip of his champagne. “How so?”

“Because a job like this was something I wanted to earn for myself! I didn’t want it just handed to me on a silver platter!”

“Oh, I see,” Luke said. He gave me a sardonic look, complete with lifted right eyebrow. “Like the way you earned that car you drive?”

Well, of all the — I gritted my teeth and told myself that flinging a butter knife at his head probably wasn’t the best response. “That was a
present
,” I shot back.

“So was this,” he returned, imperturbable as always.

Of course I knew the situations were completely different, but at the moment I was so angry I couldn’t think of any way to articulate the finer points of the disparity. Cristal is meant to be sipped, but I just seized my champagne flute and downed the rest of the glass, then poured myself some more. Maybe if I got drunk enough I wouldn’t remember how much I wanted to throttle him at that moment. “If you want to give me a present, then buy me a necklace or something,” I said. “You don’t just gift-wrap a career and give it to someone. How am I supposed to know if I’m any good if I didn’t earn that job for myself?”

“How much of anything have you ‘earned for yourself’?” Luke asked, and for the first time I could see a little of my own anger reflected in his eyes. “Your education? Bought and paid for by your parents. The deposit on that quaint dwelling you call home? Your father, I believe.”

“I got my current job on my own,” I retorted. I didn’t want to let him see how much his words had stung. It was true that my parents had paid for my college. I hadn’t even worked much while I was in school; I put in about fifteen hours a week as an English tutor while Micaela held down two jobs in an effort to supplement her scholarships and student loans. Of course, Nina hadn’t worked at all, but that didn’t make me feel much better.

“True,” he said. “Although I believe you first got the editorial assistant job because the publisher’s wife was an old college friend of your father’s.”

“What?” I gasped. I hadn’t known that. No one had ever said anything to me about a connection between my father and Mrs. Donnelly.