Impossibly Tongue-Tied (15 page)

But then
Us Weekly
questioned whether he was “Kat's New Mystery Man?” and did a follow-up article putting Nathan and Nina's marriage in its “Danger Zone” column.

That was something Nina couldn't ignore.

When she showed the magazine to Nathan, he threw it against the wall and swore. She was glad Jake was already in bed sound asleep.

“I don't know where they get that crap,” he fairly shouted. “They—they are
so
off base! Kat's just—you know, a friend…”

Seeing that Nina's look of concern barely wavered, he shrugged and muttered something about publicity being the part of the job he hated most.

Well, guess what
, she thought,
I hate it, too!

She said as much to Sam one evening. It was on a Tuesday, which was the only night she worked until seven. By happenstance (or so she assumed), Sam had gotten into the habit of coming to the store to do his shopping every Tuesday
evening about that time (to his maid Margarita's dismay, since invariably he'd forget half the items on her meticulous grocery list). Usually he meandered in about a half hour or so before the end of Nina's shift. The first couple of times he'd shown up, she watched him as he helplessly roamed the aisles, as if on a scavenger hunt. Soon, though, the moment she saw him enter, she'd gently take him and his list in hand, and escort him around the store until the items he sought were in his cart.

True, his helplessness was endearing. Still she felt obligated to tell him, “You know, Sam, you can always have Margarita call or fax or even e-mail the order to the store, and we can have it waiting for you when you get here. That way, you don't waste any time.”

“If I didn't know better, Nina, I'd say that you don't cherish these few precious moments we spend together.”

She smiled wryly. “I'm almost embarrassed to tell you that these little visits have become the highlight of my week. It certainly beats going home to an empty house.”

“Thanks…I think. Even if that wasn't a compliment, I'm going to imagine that it is.”

He picked up a jar of gourmet hot sauce, pretended to be impressed with its ingredients, then put it down again. “If you must know, I find grocery shopping to be a great stress reliever. Much more calming than Tai Chi, don't you think?”

“You're asking the wrong girl. Having never taken Tai Chi, I couldn't tell you. Then again, you've never shopped with a four-year-old, either. That might change your mind about the whole experience.”

“I'm sure it would.” They had reached her checkout
counter, so he began unloading daikons, Asian turnips, salsify, and raw milk cheeses (all foods he felt would make her think he was a really healthy eater) onto the conveyor belt. Not that he knew what the heck to do with the stuff. Soon it would be joining the other foods he'd purchased on other Tuesday nights, which were now rotting in his refrigerator, to Margarita's mortification.

“An empty house, huh? Where's the little guy?”

“At play rehearsal, until nine. He's been cast as Henry Higgins in a school production.”

“What,
My Fair Lady?
But—I thought he was only, like, four.”

“He is. But we're talking Sage Oak Academy, an educational institution catering to the stars and starlets of tomorrow—at least, according to their gifted parents. Sorry, I guess that sounded sarcastic. Sometimes I get tired of the über-parent game.”

She then explained that the play's controversial casting had caused a furor at the school: Plum, who had been taking private singing and acting lessons since the age of two, had won the role of Eliza hands down, albeit over the tearful objections of at least ten other mothers, all of whom were used to getting their way with Mr. Pickering. This put Pickering in a tizzy because, as he pointed out to Deborah Marcom, the school's theater teacher, he had originally felt the musical
Chicago
would be “more accommodating to our bevy of talented little tykes.”

Too bad, exclaimed Ms. Marcom, a perfectionist whose productions were Broadway-worthy spectacles in miniature. She overruled him, proclaiming that she had an exquisite Eliza and a perfect Higgins. Pickering knew better than to rock the
boat. After all, Ms. Marcom was already being wooed by several competing preschools. However, to placate the upset mommies, he had secured the services of Badgley Mischka to custom-design their daughters' costumes for the Ascot race scene.

Another backstage negotiation concerned the male roles. While Ms. Marcom had reassured Nina that Jake outshone every other boy who had tried out for the role of Higgins, at the same time she'd had a hard time casting the second male lead, that of Colonel Pickering, because none of the other boys wanted to play a character who shared the same name as their pompous headmaster. Finally Casey was able to convince a very wary Ben to take it—but only after eliciting a promise from Ms. Marcom that the school would secure the rights to
Star Wars, the Musical
for next year's production, and that Ben would be guaranteed the role of Luke Skywalker.

“From what you're describing, I certainly wouldn't want to find myself across the negotiation table from some of those women.”

That remark brought a smile to her face. “I know what you mean. I'm sure that Jeff and Scott are dreams compared to a few of those SOA mothers.” She grimaced, then smacked the register's keys as if they were on fire. “And, of course Nathan's still ‘at the studio.'”

Sam shifted his feet uncomfortably. With as much sincerity as he could muster, he countered, “Of course he is. Don't go believing the tabloids.”

“Yeah, okay. If you say so. They can't all be right, now can they?” She pointed to the
People
beside the counter. Scarlett Johansson, pouting her patented Mona Lisa smile, was on the
cover, but the inset photo of Nathan and Kat, set above the masthead under the heading, “Love Match?” stood out like a neon light to both of them.

“Anything's possible. But I have no doubt that Nathan loves you.” He glanced away for a second. It was hard for him to lie to her. He wondered if Nathan was finding it any easier to do nowadays.

“It's nice that one of us does.”

She waited for him to hand over the American Express Black he'd pulled from his wallet. He lived for this moment, when his hand slowly brushed her delicate fingers. His only regret was that he couldn't allow it to linger there, or to interweave his own fingers with hers.

Or, better yet, draw them up to his lips and kiss them gently.

Not that he could say any of this to her. Then again, did he have to? He searched her wide brown eyes in the hope that she could read his thoughts. For a moment there, as they locked gazes, he felt she could.

“Say, since you're flying solo tonight, how about joining me for a drink when you get off work?” There, he'd finally asked! To hide his anticipation, he fiddled with his wallet while she ran his card through and considered his offer.

“Sure. Why not? It's seven now, so I can clock out. Although we aren't supposed to leave with, you know, Tommaso's clientele. Can I meet you somewhere?”

He was in shock. She had said yes! She'd agreed to meet him somewhere!

How he'd love to take her back to his place, to sit out on his
deck and listen to the waves lapping up against the sand, just the two of them…holding her hand…kissing her fingers…

Among other things.

He roused himself. “Yeah…let's see…um…how about the Veranda Bar, at the Casa del Mar? That's near your place, isn't it?” He hoped she hadn't noticed the tightness in his throat.

“Yep, that works. I'll probably be ten minutes or so behind you. Order me an appletini, will you?”

“Yes ma'am. I'll count the minutes.”

Little did she know that he'd meant that literally.

 

Eleven minutes and twenty-one seconds after Sam ordered their drinks, Nina strolled into the lobby lounge of the Hotel Casa del Mar. The bar was set up like a large, plush living room, with many sofas, settees, and cushy chairs bunched into a multitude of intimate groupings. It overlooked a lighted pool that was set down in an intimate terrace garden. Beyond it was the ocean, an inky indigo in hue, for already the sun had set deep into the evening fog that hugged the coastline.

Nina was still wearing her Tommaso's khakis, but her pale green button-down Oxford shirt was now rolled up at the sleeves and three buttons were undone, exposing a locket on a thin gold chain and a lacy white camisole underneath.

How he'd give anything to be that locket, lying there above the soft swells of her breasts, listening to the gentle beating of her heart.

As she walked up to him, Sam rose up instinctively from the sofa he'd been holding for them. He resisted the urge to give
her a kiss, although her fragrance, an intoxicating musky scent, made him want to bury his head in her neck and breathe deeply.

If only he could.

Instead he made small talk, answering her questions about this director and that production in progress, and bringing her up to speed on the town's biggest deals (a
Lords
prequel, another biopic—this one about Churchill, and rumored to star Russell, who'd have no issue with packing on the pounds). He also asked her questions about herself: how she liked working at Tommaso's (hated it), what she planned to do when she left it (voice-over work, maybe some live theater), and whether she'd turn into a stage mother, now that her son had a starring role. (“What, are you kidding me? Not in a million years! I know better.”)

All safe subjects.

In other words, they talked about anything and everything but Nathan.

She was on her second appletini when she asked, “So, what's a nice boy like you doing in a dirty town like this?”

He laughed. “Same old story. I grew up in the town. My dad was a scriptwriter, and my mom was an actress before they married. She gave up fame and fortune to raise my brothers and me. I went to Malibu High, then UCLA to study film, then to law school there. I always knew I wanted to be in the business, but I didn't have the creative chops.” He downed his Scotch. “That's why I became an agent. I like to consider myself a guardian to those who have the talent that eluded me.”

“If you ask me, I think you would have made a pretty good actor yourself.” Turning to face him, Nina placed one elbow
on the back of the couch and leaned in, grazing his thigh with her knee as she did so. He didn't move away. But then again, neither did she.

Sweet.

“Really? What makes you think so?”

“Well, you're a smooth liar, for one thing.”

He felt his ears turning red. Suddenly he appreciated the low, romantic lighting in the lounge, if only for the fact that it kept her from seeing the evidence of her summation firsthand. Other than that, he found the lighting a nuisance in that it aggravated his uncontrollable urge to walk over to the front desk and reserve an upstairs suite, then attempt to sweet-talk her into joining him in a bubble bath for two.

“A liar, huh? Gee, and to think I thought you only found me witty, forthright, and charming. I have to tell you that I'm crushed, Nina.”

“Okay, I'll say it: You're charming, too. Does that make you feel any better?” Her dimples deepened at first, but then that dazzling smile disappeared from her face. “Maybe even a bit too charming. You've almost made me forget about Nathan tonight. But that was the game plan, wasn't it?”

Of course, she was right, but for all the wrong reasons. Hell yeah, he didn't want her thinking about Nathan! But only because he wanted her only thinking of
him
.

“Not that I blame you,” she continued. The smile was back, but it was sad now, reflecting the haunted look in her eyes. “It's your job to do whatever you have to do to protect your clients. I understand that. Even if it means babysitting their wives.”

“Is that what you think I'm doing, babysitting you?” He patted her hand, but he let it linger on top of hers. She didn't
move hers away, either. “Well, you're wrong. I'll have you know that I've dreamed of this moment since…well, quite frankly, since I first met you. This is exactly where I want to be, and you're exactly who I want to be here with.”

He couldn't believe he was saying this, now, out loud to her. And from the skeptical grin on her face, she couldn't believe it, either. “What, now you're laughing at me? My God, woman, you're crushing me! You're breaking my heart.”

She was silent for a moment. Then she murmured, “For a moment there, I really thought you were serious.”

“I am. Not that it matters, to you, anyway. Somewhere you've gotten the idea that I'm some sort of party animal, or depraved womanizer. But I'm not. I'm just a nice guy who likes the company of a nice woman.”

“Oh, I believe you. In fact, I know you better than you think.” She was looking at him strangely, although he didn't know why. Then she shrugged. “I only hope that I can live up to your expectations. In this town, people slip off pedestals pretty easily.”

He guessed her thoughts were no longer with him, but with Nathan.

Well, so much for that bubble bath.

“Nina, take my word for it: Very few people deserve to be up on that pedestal in the first place. And the ones that do—well, they should be allowed one slip-up now and then, shouldn't they? After all, nobody's perfect.”

Dammit, why am I pleading that asshole's case for him? Right this very second, he's out there breaking her heart, when he should be here with her, holding her, kissing her…making love to her…

As if reading his mind, she leaned into him, laying her head gently on his shoulder with a sigh. “I sound like an ungrateful fool, don't I? I'm not, really. For whatever the reason is that you're here with me, I appreciate it. Tonight you're my Prince Charming. And I needed one, badly. So put any thoughts of any other women out of your mind. At least for a few moments. Otherwise, I'll be jealous. I mean it.”