Find Me in Manhattan (Finding #3) (3 page)

“Working with Dr. Wright now. You?”

He liked that answer judging by the twinkle in his eyes and the dimple that suddenly appeared on his cheek. He was incredibly symmetrical and attractive. He may have missed his calling in life. I was sure he was put on Earth for women to admire.

“Looks like we’ll be spending more time together then. Good thing since you moved away.”
And so charming, too
.

“Miss me?”

He stepped closer and looked down at me with heavy eyes. “Absolutely.”

“Funny, I didn’t think you’d notice I was gone considering how little I saw of you.” I pressed my lips together fighting a smile while glancing up into his crystal blue eyes. They were really quite mesmerizing.

“Oh, I noticed all right. You wouldn’t believe what I noticed.” His eye salaciously paved a trail down my body as he mindlessly said the comment that would have been otherwise creepy. Instead, it had every nerve ending on my body standing up and taking notice.

He started to lean toward me, like he was going to whisper in my ear, when Dr. Wright came bounding off the elevator. Jameson pulled away from me and leaned against the wall as if we were doing nothing more than waiting for the good professor to show, but I saw his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he shouted while waving a stack of papers in his hand, “but I have great news.” He paused while he unlocked the door to his office. Once he opened the door, he allowed Jameson and me to step in first before he followed, dropping the papers in his hand onto the other piles of papers already littering his large wooden desk. He moved things around on his desk as if there was a system to his madness, but it was unclear precisely what that system was.

“I’ve heard back from the grant committee.” That pulled my attention from my wayward thoughts. Grants were the lifeline of research. “The university and the VA are extending the CBT project another five years. This is excellent news.” Jameson let out a breath of relief. I was not aware of funding issues but based on their reaction, they seemed to have been worried about the funding. I knew it affected my position on this team just as much as Jameson’s, if not more.

“Congratulations,” I said kindly.

“Congratulations, indeed. This means you both can use the data we collect for your dissertations. Jameson, the project you proposed last month should be fine. We need to do some tweaking and ensure that you can collect a large enough sample in your timeframe. You also need to contact all members of your team and let them read your proposal before we meet.” Dr. Wright then turned to me. “You will need to take a look at the data we’re collecting and start thinking of projects. In the meantime, I’d like to start training you for interviews. Jameson conducts all of the post-therapy interviews, but I’d like for you to do the five-year follow-up interviews once you’ve familiarized yourself with the study.”

“Thank you, Dr. Wright.”

“Jameson, give her a copy of the interview packet and give her access to your transcripts. It’s important that we train her properly before she conducts any interviews on her own.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. Get to work. I have some phone calls to make before our four o’clock lecture.”

Jameson and I made our way into the hall, and he gently shut Dr. Wright’s office door behind us. “Congratulations. It had taken me a year of transcribing and entering data before he let me train to interview. He must think you have what it takes.” His expression seemed genuine even if his words sounded a bit bitter.

“He’s probably desperate. He knows you’re working on your dissertation research, but he still needs to have the data to show the grant committee their offered extension is worthwhile.”

“Maybe. At any rate, I think we should celebrate. How about I take you out for a real meal tonight? Soon, it will be whatever’s quickest because you won’t have time to eat. You should get one good dinner in.”

“A last supper? How can I say no to that?”

The smile on his face was disarming. Jameson was so classically handsome with the blond hair, blue eyes, and perfect smile thing going on. I almost couldn’t take it.

“You can’t. I’ll pick you up at seven,” he said then walked away like that was the end of the conversation. It couldn’t have been the end, though. Jameson didn’t know where I lived, and I wasn’t sure he still had my phone number considering he never called after we had dinner the first time. It was odd, to say the least.

Michael

The day the owner of the Venom was due to arrive we had the car in top shape. Everyone was excited to see what he could do with it. Joe had it parked on the long track when Craig Cooke pulled into the track in a Bentley Mulsanne. His driver stepped out wearing a cliché black suit and black cap. I laughed to myself. Of course, this guy owned the Venom. He probably had a private jet and helicopter to go along with his yacht and properties all over the world.

Mr. Cooke stepped out of the car with his eyes glued to the car. He looked more like he was going golfing than driving the fastest car in the world. “Thing of beauty, isn’t it, boys?” he shouted with a wide grin on his face.

“Yes, sir, it’s one hell of a car,” Joe responded shaking the man’s hand. “I’m Joe. We spoke on the phone.” He introduced Phil then me, and I simply gave a nod in return to his greeting.

“So, who’s driving this thing? I want to see it get to the top speed.”

“My understanding was that you were going to be driving it.” Phil held the keys up for the man.

“Nah. I buy the toys. I don’t get to play with them anymore. My arthritis makes it hard to drive.” It was odd that he would buy the car and not drive it, but who was I to talk?

Mr. Cooke looked my way. “You ready to have some fun? You worked on it, after all. It seems fitting that you should be the one to push this beauty to the top speed.”

“No, sir. Randy’s the driver here.” I nodded to one of the guys standing off to the side. Randy thought he’d be a spectator today, but he was about to put his driving skills to the test one more time. I didn’t want to tell the man that I could get his car in top shape, but I couldn’t drive it, not anymore.

Phil sang Randy’s praises to Mr. Cooke, distracting him from wondering why a guy like me wouldn’t jump at the chance to drive a bullet. I appreciated what he was doing and didn’t think twice about the envy most guys would feel about Randy getting behind the wheel of my work. Phil understood my dilemma and kept people off my back. He had been right there with me, which was why he couldn’t drive, either. A man who can’t move his legs has no use for a gas pedal and a foot brake.

Randy ran inside to suit up. He wasn’t passing up the chance to get a car like this up to its top speed of two hundred and seventy miles per hour. I knew we wouldn’t hit it today. Our track was only two and a half miles. A longer track was needed for the top speed test.

Two fifty-eight
. Randy hit two hundred and fifty-eight miles per hour. Mr. Cooke, aka “Call me Craig” when he had a couple of pints in him, took us all out for a drink and proceeded to have his driver give me a bonus check of five thousand dollars as he was walking out the door. I had never received a tip, and I tried not to accept this one, but he refused to let me return it.

“Guess you have some extra money for poker night,” Phil said as he patted me on the back. “Now all you need is some entertainment.” He nodded down the bar at the dark-haired girl eyeing me from the other side.

I made eye contact and lifted my lip in some semblance of a smile. She’d do. The long dark hair, blue eyes, and leftover tan from the summer sun worked for her. Who cared if she looked like a stripper? It wasn’t like I was taking her home to meet my mother. I was willing to bet that dress that left almost nothing to the imagination would look even better on the floor. Before I could find out for sure, I had a poker game to attend.

Poker night started at seven on the dot every Thursday night. I missed last week when the Venom showed up. I might have spent too many hours working on that car, but a beauty like that deserved the attention. This week Phil wouldn’t let me miss, and neither would his wife, Amy. She had already called me twice to make sure I was coming. I didn’t answer the third, fourth, and fifth time she called.

Amy opened the door when she heard us pull up. “I bet Moretti twenty bucks you’d show. He owes me.”

“And you owe me. Told you he’d bring somebody,” Phil called out.

“Why does everyone bet on me? And do I even want to know what you won?” I asked as I helped Candy off the bike. I swear that was what she said her name was. I might not be good at many things, but I always make it a point to know my date’s name, no matter how little time we spend together.

“Probably not,” Phil laughed as Amy shouted, “No!”

Once we reached the front porch, I introduced Candy to Amy. Amy took one look at her and knew she was nothing special, but she never made any girl feel unwelcome. She liked to remind me that you never knew who would be the one.

“Candy, why don’t you come help me get the food from the kitchen and let these boys talk for a minute.”

“Okay. Sure.” Candy smiled and let go of my arm. Women always loved feeling welcome. Since Amy was the only female in our crew, she had the unfortunate role of being genuinely kind to the girls I brought over.

“Seriously? She with you?” our high school friend, Jay, asked as we entered the house behind the girls.

I shrugged. I didn’t know why they were surprised anymore. I could land a hot chick. They never had anything else going for them other than looks, but the guys acted like I struck gold every time I brought one with me.

“She was watching Pretty Boy at the bar. He landed her with a nod of his head. The girl didn’t even hesitate to get on the back of his bike in that short dress.”

“Lucky dog,” Moretti muttered.

Ignoring them, I clapped my hands and rubbed them together. “Let’s get set up,” I announced just as the girls carried out the food Jay brought over from his restaurant. “What would you like to drink, Candy? Beer, wine, water?”

“I’d love some wine. Merlot, if you have it,” she said with a coy look that would have been more effective if she hadn’t just pronounced mer-
low
as mer-
lott
.

“So, you’re a wine connoisseur,” Jay managed to say with a straight face.

Amy was turning bright red from trying not to laugh, so she scampered away. Phil and I looked at each other with matching dumbfounded expressions, and Moretti completely missed it.

“I just love red wine. It’s so fruity and dry.” Again, she obviously knew a lot about wine. Jay nodded knowingly. He managed an upscale Italian restaurant. If anyone in the room knew about wine, it was Jay. I could tell my choice of companion for the evening was thoroughly entertaining him.

I went into the kitchen to get her a glass of mer-
lott
and a bottle of water for myself. Amy burst out laughing as soon as I stepped past the doorway. “Really, Michael?”

“What?” I asked innocently.

“Come on. I could handle Charlemagne. I could handle Starr with two r’s, but this girl has to take the cake. Do you know what she asked me? If I ever hooked up with you. When I told her I was married to your best friend, she asked if we had threesomes. Are you sure she isn’t a prostitute?”

I was having a hard time containing my laugh. At least I found an adventurous one this time. The last girl just lay there while I did all the work. She acted like she was enjoying herself by grunting every now and then, but I thought she sounded more like a character from
The Walking Dead
. It was the first time I ever had to fake it. That “relationship” ended rather quickly. Usually, I wait until she starts whining about me refusing to spend the night before I bolt.

When we walked back into the room, Candy was twirling her hair and flirting with Moretti from across the table. I was considering letting him take a shot. After talking with Amy, the girl didn’t look so hot anymore. It shouldn’t have mattered what Amy thought, but it always did. She was like a sister in the same way Phil was my brother. They were my chosen family, and the last thing I ever wanted was to have either of them think less of me.

Sarah

Jameson took me to Tavern on the Green in Central Park for our first date. It was beautiful. Thankfully, I had the good sense to dress up. He showed up in a hired car, which impressed me more than it should have. The second the car stopped, the driver was around to open the door for us. Jameson climbed out first then turned to offer me his hand. The simple gesture had my heart skipping. Either I was starved for affection or Jameson knew just the right notes to play.

We walked into the park with my hand looped through his elbow, in the most formal fashion, but I appreciated his gentleman-like behavior. Who said romance was dead?

“I love this moment,” he said softly as we crossed from the chaotic city into the green of the park. “It’s like walking through the looking glass.”

“For me, it’s the opposite. Walking out of the park will be walking through the looking glass.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I grew up in the South. Greenery is everywhere, and the sounds of the city don’t exist where I live.”

“I see. I grew up here, so the park is the only place to find tranquility. I like it here at night for that reason.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?” I asked, knowing there was far more crime in the city than my hometown ever had, even if every person committed a crime daily.

“Not for someone like me.”

“Well, that’s good.” I smile.

“Don’t worry, beautiful. I’ll keep you safe as long as you’re on my arm,” was the last thing he said before stepping up to the hostess.

He bought fancy French wine and ordered for me, which was so domineering and somehow sexy. The car he hired for the night and the roses he brought me were also nice touches to the evening. I didn’t know how a graduate student afforded all of that, but I had a sneaking suspicion that Jameson came from a wealthy family. His shoes cost more than my rent, but for some reason, he lived in graduate student housing. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Maybe it was more convenient. Who knew? And who cared?

We walked around the park for a while, which seemed like no time at all when I was enjoying his company so much. “So, you grew up here?” I asked from the ledge of the fountain that he was guiding me along. It was a picture-perfect movie moment. The whole night was, really.

“I did. My parents were corporate climbers,” he offered, confirming my suspicion of a wealthy background. “My father is an investor, given the opportunity to make wise investments over the years. My mom is an attorney. She was the one who helped my father broker his first deal. Slowly but surely they climbed to the top. They have a penthouse on fifth that was their dream location. I think they felt like they were successful the day they were able to buy such a place.”

“It must be nice.”

“It’s home to me,” he shrugged humbly, “but I rarely have time to spend there.” Something dark passed over his face, and we continued to walk in silence for a bit. It wasn’t uncomfortable except for the fact that I sensed a mood change.
Why would discussing his parents put him in such a place?
I wondered if maybe they had a strained relationship but didn’t feel I should push him by asking. I didn’t want to ruin such a wonderful night.

He reined in the darkness and squeezed my hand, turning to me with a smile. “Tell me about Alabama.”

“Mama and Daddy own a farm there. Mama is a city girl. She wore pearls more than tennis shoes until she met Daddy. Daddy grew up on a farm and had exactly one passion until he met Mama.”

“What was that?”

“Yielding the largest crop.”

Jameson laughed. Well, I thought he did. He didn’t make a sound, just threw his head back in a wide smile that might have been the widest one I had seen yet.

“He met Mama, and she became his number one. They married, and he dragged her out to the farm where they had a set of twins, me and my brother, and continued to grow hay and cotton.”

“Does he yield the largest crop?”

“Not yet.” I grinned, thinking of Daddy. “Where would the fun be if he reached his goal so young? Or so he says.”

“I thought they called them plantations in the South.”

“Some people do, I guess. No need to dress it up with a fancy name, though. I grew up on Grant Farm. That’s what it’s been called for the last hundred years or so.”

“Sounds like a world away from here.”

I pointed to the ground. “Through the looking glass, I tell you.” He almost laughed again and hugged me to him.

I knew it sounded cheesy, but simple affection stole my heart every darn time. He also seemed genuinely interested in everything I had to say. It was the perfect first date that ended with the sweetest goodnight kiss on my doorstep.

The next week Jameson and I had to work together. It was difficult to concentrate while I was mentally begging him to kiss me again, to smile at me the way he had when we walked through the park, but he did neither of those things. He was all business all week.

Just when I was about to give up, he asked me out again. In a frantic move, I agreed immediately with a slight breath of relief making my response sound embarrassingly desperate. I was over my desperation and embarrassment by the time he took me to the Guggenheim.

Our third date was at a real New York City club. For someone so seemingly uptight, he could bump and grind with the best of them. I felt the thump, thump of my heart with every boom, boom of the music, and I just knew I was dangerously close to falling for this charming, gorgeous, and unequivocally intelligent man.