Set Up in SoHo (The Matchmaker Chronicles) (13 page)

“I thought you said you’d been away from the city?” I asked, curious.

“I have been. Why?”

“Well, you knew to order the sole. That reeks of an insider.”

Ethan laughed. “My father. He loves this place. And the sole is his favorite. I’ve had it a couple of times when I was here with him. But that was ages ago. I wasn’t certain they’d still do it, but figured it was worth asking.”

“You mentioned your father in the park. Something about a heart attack. Is he all right?”

“Yes. He’s fine now,” Ethan said as the waiter offered him a taste of the wine. “Although the doctors keep him on a pretty tight leash.”

“I remember you said you’d been helping out. So where all did your travels take you?”

“I spent a year or so in the Far East. Malaysia. And then six months in Brussels.”

“Sounds exotic.”

“Only in the beginning. After a while all you really want is a good cheeseburger.” He sipped the wine, then nodded his approval to the waiter, who poured two generous glasses.

“And fries. I can imagine. I remember the first time I was in Europe. I was about seventeen. My grandmother gave me the trip and took me to all the high spots. But my favorite memory is going to the Hard Rock Cafe in Berlin. American food. I was in heaven. Although I suppose I shouldn’t admit that, considering my profession.”

“I think there’s room in any cuisine for a good burger.” He reached for his wineglass, leaning forward slightly, which gave me a perfect sight line to Diana and Dillon. Diana was laughing at something Dillon had said, his every gesture as familiar as breathing.

“You’re staring,” Ethan chided.

“I’m sorry,” I said, shaking my head, focusing on the man in front of me. “I know I should just ignore them. But I’m afraid it’s easier said than done.”

“Would you like to go somewhere else?” The offer was so thoughtful I immediately felt guilty.

“No. We’ve already ordered. And I’ve got to face up to it sooner or later. It might as well be here—with you.” I smiled, shifting slightly so that I could no longer see them.

“So did you have any luck with Metro Media?” he asked.

“Yes, actually, I did. We met with DuBois’ publicist and things are looking hopeful. So thanks for the tip.”

“My pleasure. I have to say, I’m a little surprised that you had such a positive meeting. DuBois being so media shy.”

“Totally understandable. I was surprised as well, to be honest. But she said something about presenting him in a new light. Anyway, he still has to agree, so it’s hardly a done deal. But progress is progress. And at least I’ve been temporarily saved from the fallout of me and my big mouth.”

“Actually, I think it’s one of your best features.”

I ducked my head, feeling all of about sixteen. There was just something really unsettling about Ethan McCay. Fortunately, the waiter chose that moment to bring our appetizers.

When he’d finished delivering our plates, Ethan topped off our glasses and leaned back with a smile. “You’ve mentioned your aunt several times, and I know from the other night that she’s your emergency contact. So what about your parents? Aren’t they in the picture?”

An honest question. Sooner or later everyone asked. And for the most part people were usually compassionate, if a bit shocked. It simply wasn’t the normal way of doing things in our set. Anyway, I always hate having to tell someone new. Especially someone like Ethan—whose opinion matters to me.

So I chose the
Reader’s Digest
abridged version.

“They’re still alive, if that’s what you’re asking. Only not in my life. My mother left home when I was just a kid. And my father . . . well, my mother is a bit of a flibbertigibbet. She has a penchant for the fast lane. The truth is, she never met a man she didn’t like. And so it’s not all that surprising that she managed to get herself pregnant without the benefit of marriage or even a clear memory of who it was exactly that contributed the winning sperm.”

“So you don’t know who your dad is?”

“No idea.” I shook my head. “I’m afraid my mother was a poptart back in the day when the term still referred to a breakfast pastry.”

“Must have been hard.”

I searched his eyes for condemnation, but saw only compassion. “In some ways, yeah. But I think I came out okay.”

“More than okay.” He smiled. “So who raised you?”

“My grandfather when he was alive. And my grandmother. But I guess mainly it was Althea. Which is ironic when you consider she was the reason my mother ran off in the first place.”

“What happened?”

“They had a fight. I was just a kid. But they were loud and it woke me up. I knew I shouldn’t have been listening, but I couldn’t help myself, so I hid behind the dining room door. Althea was telling my mother that she wasn’t fit to take care of me. That I’d be better off without her.”

“And your mom?”

“She was angry, too. Said that it was none of Althea’s business. They kept at it for what seemed like forever. Althea goading, my mom defensive. Althea never approved of my mother’s free spirit. And I couldn’t stand to hear them fight so I went back to bed. Only I could still hear them yelling. Anyway, the next morning my worst fears were realized. My mom was gone. I haven’t heard from her since.”

“Not a word?”

“She sends gifts sometimes. And the occasional birthday card when she remembers. But that’s it. Nothing else.”

“And you blame Althea for her leaving.”

“Yes, I guess I do. Meddling is her middle name. She even managed to turn it into a profession.”

“A successful one, if the papers are to be believed.”

“I suppose so, but to be honest, I find it a bit embarrassing. I mean, all that manipulating of people’s lives and being front and center in the gossip columns. I could do without the notoriety.”

“I can understand that. But it’s all for a good cause. I mean, she does get people together who might not ordinarily find each other. Right?”

“You make it sound so romantic. With my aunt, believe me, it’s far more calculating. She believes that people from the same background belong together. Especially when it comes to people with money.”

“I think maybe you’re selling her short, but then of course I don’t really know her.”

“I think you missed your calling,” I said, shaking my head. “You should have been a shrink. I don’t usually share my family secrets with strangers.”

“But I’m not a stranger.”

“Well, in point of fact, I only met you a few days ago.”

“So we’ve covered a lot in a little time.”

“All right,” I laughed, lifting a hand in defense, “I’ll agree that we’re not strangers. But even so, I think I’ve shared enough about my family. At least for one night.”

“Fair enough.” He lifted his glass, touching the rim to mine.

We sat smiling at each other and I realized that I was actually happy. And all things considered, it was an emotion I hadn’t felt in a while. Ethan was definitely intriguing, and, in all honesty, I was surprised at how easy it was to talk to him. To be with him.

Obviously, the wine had gone to my head.

When the waiter arrived with our food, I realized I’d hardly touched the carpaccio. Which says a lot right there, since it’s really good at Nino’s. Beef and bresaola served with arugula and shaved parmesan. Divine.

“So turnabout’s fair play—why don’t you tell me about your family?” I said. “I know your father runs the family business.”

“Actually, my grandfather runs things. Everything belongs to him.”

“So what exactly does ‘the business’ consist of?”

“Manufacturing, mainly. Other related industries. And then there are a series of investments. Mainly my grandfather’s whims. He started in steel and expanded from there.”

“Sounds impressive.”

“Not really. It’s just business.”

“So your father is next in line?”

“No. Technically, he married into it all. I suppose my mother is the actual heir, although she has no interest in any of it. Anyway, none of it matters, since my grandfather’s still going strong. Although I think in all honesty, Dad is ready to step down.”

“Because of his heart attack.”

“Exactly. Which is where I come in.”

“The new heir apparent.”

“Something like that.”

“And your mother?”

“She just wants my father to be happy.”

“Coming from my perspective, it sounds idyllic.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, sipping his wine. “I always wished I had a more exciting family. Mine is about as predictable as they come. Stereotypical, even.”

“You’re certainly not stereotypical.” The words came out before I had the chance to think about them. “I mean, you’re definitely not what I expected.” Great, I was just making it worse. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. What I meant was. . .”

“No worries. I’ll take it as a compliment,” he said, his smile amused.

“So there’s nothing sordid in the midst of all that normalness? Nothing at all?”

“I have an ancestor who was a spy during the Revolutionary War. Does that count?”

“Only if he was working for the British.” I raised my eyebrows, waiting.

But Ethan shook his head. “Nope. American to the core.”

“So what else have you got? We’re looking for something really torrid.” I shook my head, laughing. “Like my grandmother. She snuck out of her prep-school dorm window to run away with my grandfather. Niko. He was a Greek immigrant decidedly not up to my great-grandparents’ standards. So her parents disinherited her. Fortunately for me, she didn’t care a whit, and my grandfather made a fortune importing Greek delicacies.”

“You’re Sevalas Food?”

“Well, my grandmother is. And I suppose, more or less, so am I.”

“So you come by your love of food naturally.”

“With the help of my grandmother’s cook. I learned about olives and ouzo from my grandfather, but I learned most of what I know about food from Bernie.”

“See? Fascinating. So what happened with your great-grandfather? Did he ever forgive your grandmother?”

“Are you kidding? Jackson Harold Winston never forgave anyone anything. The real question is whether my grandmother forgave him.” I smiled, quite enjoying relaying this part of my history.

“Is she still living?” he asked.

“Absolutely. She still has her apartment on East End. But she’s hardly ever there. Mainly she travels—seeing the world. Sowing her wild oats.”

“Like your mother?”

“I think they have certain commonalities.”

“And Althea is more like your grandfather.”

“Actually, no. Althea is just Althea. My grandfather definitely wasn’t immune to a good time.”

“Well, I don’t know how I’m supposed to follow up on that,” he said with a mock frown. “My relatives just aren’t that interesting. I think the last time anyone dared to buck authority in my family was in Scotland during the Jacobite Uprising.”

“That sounds promising. Virile Highlander fighting for clan and rightful king.”

“Actually, it was the lowlands. Although he did side with the Highlanders. Against the wishes of his father. But unfortunately it didn’t end well. He wound up on the wrong end of a claymore. And that pretty much killed any further familial desire for rebellion. Although I suppose I’ve managed to buck the system a little. My father wanted me to go to Harvard. I picked Dartmouth. And no one wanted me to become an attorney.”

“Well, there you have it,” I said, trying to remember the last time I’d enjoyed a meal this much. “The blackest of black sheep. Your ancestors would be proud.”

“Oh, yes, definitely walking the edge.” He smiled and reached for the wine bottle, the movement clearing my view to Diana and Dillon’s table. They were gone. And I hadn’t even noticed.

The rest of the dinner passed almost too quickly, conversation ranging from the intricacies of making crème brûlée to the latest changes in international corporate tax law. In fact, we talked ourselves right out of the restaurant, into his town car, and down to SoHo.

The car pulled up to the curb outside my building and Ethan leaned forward to give the driver instructions before joining me on the sidewalk.

“You want me to walk you up?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m fine. But thanks for tonight. It was cathartic.”

“Not exactly the normal way of describing a first date.”

“Well, considering the circumstances, it was hardly an ordinary date,” I protested.

“Maybe not,” he said with a devilish smile, “but it’s been a hell of a start.”

He bent down and brushed his lips against mine, the contact sexier than any full-blown kiss I’d ever received. I swear to God.

I watched as the car pulled away, heart pounding, all the while trying to remember the last time I’d felt this giddy.

Maybe never. And oddly enough—definitely not with Dillon.

Chapter 10

I'm not exactly sure what we all did before Starbucks. I mean, it’s not like Manhattan didn’t already have its fair share of coffee shops. But somehow it just wasn’t the same. Not that I’m one of those “three nonfat lattes a day” people, mind you. In truth, I actually don’t like coffee all that much. I prefer tea. Iced, mostly. But I’ve also developed quite the taste for one of Starbie’s hot Tazo teas. I mean, really, who can resist walking to the counter and asking for a cup of “passion”? Especially if the barista is cute. (Honest to God, that’s the name of the tea. It’s made from, among other things, hibiscus flowers and poppies. Which in and of itself probably explains a lot.)

Anyway, the truth is no matter what you drink, there’s just a vibe that makes Starbucks a fun place to hang. Then again, maybe that’s the point—Starbucks as a destination. From a marketing standpoint I suspect that’s as good as it gets. And, since Bethany has a penchant for caramel macchiatos, it had seemed the logical meeting place.

I hadn’t seen her since my date with Ethan, and though we’d talked on the phone the next morning, she’d been a bit preoccupied with Michael. Not that I blamed her. There really was something exciting about the beginning of a relationship. Particularly when it looks as if it could lead to something lasting. (And just for the record, I’m still maintaining that the whole thing is in spite of Althea, not because of her. Score one for the exception to the rule.)