Playing for Keeps (3 page)

“Oh, just fine. I'm sure she's eager to get started on that charity auction the two of you are heading.”
Take that, mystery man!

“Quentin, have you met Avery?” Nora asked.

Quentin smiled ruefully. “No, I don't believe I've had the pleasure.”

“Allow me to introduce you,” Nora said, facing the duo. “Avery Roberts, meet Quentin Davis. I'm sure you've heard of Quentin. He's a world-renowned photographer.”

If she could have snapped her fingers and made herself disappear, Avery would have. Quentin Davis.
The Quentin Davis.
She loved his work. His pictures on 9/11 and the war in Iraq were moving. Avery was so embarrassed. How could she have been so far off the mark? She'd totally misjudged him.

When Quentin extended his hand, Avery reluctantly accepted. His fingers were cool and smooth as they grazed hers and Avery's skin felt electrified. What was it about this man that caused the hairs on the back of her arm to stand up at attention?

When Quentin locked gazes with the green-eyed ice princess, she was the first to look away. Was that nervousness he saw in her expression? Surely he couldn't make her uneasy. He doubted that was even possible.

“I think the two of you should talk while I go peruse my next purchase,” Nora said over her shoulder as she departed. “I think you have a lot in common.”

“Little does she know,” Quentin muttered underneath his breath.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing,” he chuckled to himself.

“So, you…you're a photographer,” Avery stuttered. Did she look as dumb as she sounded? “Why didn't you just tell me who you were?”

“Because you were determined to think I was a bum who couldn't afford his next meal. I was leaving you in blissful ignorance.”

“Did you just call me ignorant?” Avery asked.
Perhaps you were,
an inner voice said back. Even so, embarrassment quickly turned to annoyance.

“If the shoe fits,” Quentin said, shrugging.

“You, you arrogant son of a…”

“Now, now,” Quentin leaned down so only Avery could hear him. “I'm sure a lady of your social standing wasn't about to use foul language, were you?”

“You know nothing about my social standing,” Avery huffed, taking a step back from Quentin. Why did the softness of his voice whispering in her ear feel like a lover's tender stroke against her skin?

“Oh, please,” Quentin replied. “Don't act like that whole kiss-kiss with Mrs. Stark wasn't all about putting me in my place. I may not have grown up wealthy, but I didn't just fall off the turnip truck, either.” She was condescending, judgmental and wound as tight as a spring.

Avery's face burned with fury. She couldn't stand that he saw right through her. Or that his nearness was playing havoc with her body. “I'm sorry if I offended you, but you have to admit you did give me a reason to judge you.”

“To be a snob?” Quentin queried. “For some reason, I think that comes naturally.”

“Well, since I disgust you so much, why don't you stay out of my way for the duration of the evening?”

“Gladly.” Quentin stormed away, leaving an upset Avery staring at his retreating form. She wanted to yell at him to get back here so she could be the one to walk away, but he was already back with his friends.

“Who ruffled your feathers?” Sage asked when Quentin returned with a scowl on his face. Malik had abandoned her in favor of hitting on a fellow dreaded woman. “I'll have a cosmo,” Sage said to the bartender.

“That ice princess over there.” Quentin nodded toward Avery, who was giving him the evil eye.

“You mean the one in the Chanel suit and wearing a fabulous pair of Jimmy Choo shoes?” Sage accepted the drink from the bartender and took a generous sip.

“Yes, the very one.”

“Sounds to me like she voiced an opinion that many of the airheads you typically date don't have,” Sage commented. “Don't take offense, Q, I just call it as I see it.”

“I'm not offended. Because you're right. I like my women docile and pliant,” Quentin said. He didn't want some opinionated, repressed, upper-crust broad who wouldn't know passion if it bit her in the butt. He intended to stay as far out of Avery Roberts's path as humanly possible.

A
very rang the doorbell of her parents' four-bedroom townhome on Park Avenue on Saturday because she'd left her keys at home. Their housekeeper answered.

“Louisa!” Avery exclaimed.

Louisa had been the Roberts family housekeeper for over thirty years. She could have long since retired, but Avery suspected she stayed more for the company than the paycheck.

“Avery, how's my favorite girl?” Louisa enveloped her in a deliciously big hug.

“Oh, I'm just fine. Where's Mom?”

“She's in the kitchen,” Louisa replied, taking her hand. “C'mon in and have a cup of tea and some of my homemade oatmeal-raisin cookies. They are hot out of the oven.”

“Oh, that sounds delicious, but I'll only have one.” Although she could indulge in what she wanted and never gain a pound, Avery tried to eat right.

She found her mother seated in the large kitchen drinking a cup of Earl Grey tea. Casually dressed in Ralph Lauren capris and a tank top, with her hair in a loose chignon, her mother looked as if she were off for a day in The Hamptons as opposed to an afternoon of spring cleaning. Her mother was determined to rid her attic of clutter. Unwanted art would go to her favorite museum and several local galleries.

“Mom.” Avery leaned down, gave her mother a gentle squeeze and took the seat opposite her. Her mother looked beautiful as always, even without makeup. The only way you could tell her age was by the few fine lines around her eyes.

“Have a cup of tea,” her mother ordered.

Avery did as she suggested and on cue, Louisa appeared with a teakettle and a packet of English Breakfast tea, Avery's favorite. She let it steep for several minutes before adding milk and sugar. “Where's Dad?”

“Oh, he's playing racquetball at the club with one of his buddies,” her mother replied, “and it's for the best anyway, because he'd be trying to keep junk instead of throwing it out.”

Her mother was right. Her father was something of a pack rat. “I spoke with Nora and she told me you did quite well at your showing.”

Did her mother have spies? “Yes, we sold eight paintings of Gabriel's work,” Avery said. “I'm really pleased with the outcome because he was my find, you know.”

“That's wonderful, dear,” her mother said, even though Avery knew what she wasn't saying. And that was, had Avery invited her, she would have done a lot better. Veronica would have been sure to invite all her friends, and Gabriel's show would have sold out. “And to show my support, I purchased two as well.”

“Mom, you didn't have to do that.” Avery was annoyed that her mother had to meddle. She just couldn't stay out of her affairs.

“What's the harm? I am your mother after all and I only want what's best for you.”

“Yes, but you know I wanted to do this on my own.”

“You don't have to be
alone,
Avery. I have connections. This could all have run much smoother if you'd just let me help. Why must you be so stubborn?” her mother said exasperatedly. “You shouldn't even have to work.”

“Mother, you know I enjoy what I do.”

“True, but you are too ambitious for your own good. If you just found yourself a nice husband and settled down, life would be much easier.”

“I don't want to
settle down
and I most definitely don't need you questioning my judgment, Mother. I get enough of that at work,” Avery replied.

“And who's doing that?”

“Hunter Garrett.”

“Oh,” her mother chuckled. “I've dealt with him before. He's a pussycat. Don't worry about him.”

“There you go again, dismissing my feelings as if they don't count. I don't know why I even bother,” Avery said, rising from the table and grabbing her purse.

“Where are you going?”

“Someplace where I can feel appreciated,” Avery returned, walking out of the kitchen. She was tired of her mother's constant criticism that she was too ambitious and too driven. She was quite capable of looking after herself. Avery didn't need to marry some rich guy and be his showpiece. “Tell Daddy I said hello,” Avery said over her shoulder as she left.

 

“Why haven't you returned any of my calls?” Jenna asked when she met up with Avery on Friday evening for dinner. They were standing in the foyer of a new restaurant waiting for a table.

“I'm sorry,” Avery apologized and hung her head low. “It's been a tough week.”

“No kidding.” Jenna grabbed Avery by the chin and peered into her face. There were lines around her eyes. “Have you gotten enough sleep? You look haggard, my dear.”

“Thanks a lot,” Avery said, snatching her head away.

“Is everything okay?” Jenna asked. “I can tell something's wrong. You aren't yourself. What's going on?”

The hostess interrupted them before she could answer and led them to a table that had suddenly become available.

Avery wasted no time spilling her guts once they were seated. “Oh, the usual. A fight with my mother.”

“That seems to be par for the course these days.”

“Jenna, sometimes she and I are like oil and water. We just don't mix. You think she'd be proud that I'm doing so well at the gallery, but she's always quick to point out my shortcomings. Or my single status. A girl of your age,” Avery mimicked her mother's voice, “should already be married and settled by now.”

“She didn't try and set you up again, did she?” Veronica Roberts was notorious for setting Avery up on unsuccessful blind dates, much to Avery's chagrin.

“No, but she would have tried if I'd given her the opportunity.”

“Well, forget about her for tonight and let's have some fun. How about some jazz later?”

“That sounds like a fabulous idea.” Avery could use the distraction.

After dinner, Avery and Jenna found themselves at Blue Note. Known for its late-night grooves and full house, Avery wasn't sure they'd get in, but one of Jenna's former models just so happened to be the bouncer at the door and squeezed them in. As they walked to the bar, Avery spied someone familiar seated at a table with some friends. As she approached, Avery realized it was none other than Quentin Davis, the photographer she'd made a fool out of herself in front of last week.

“Cover me,” Avery said, pushing Jenna in front of her.

“Why?” Jenna asked over her shoulder.

Avery didn't answer until they were safely past his table and seated in a corner at the bar. “You remember that guy from my showing last week?”

“You mean the good-looking one you were rude to?” Jenna asked. “Then yes, I remember him.”

“Well, he's over there.” Avery motioned with her head toward the front of the room. When Jenna went to turn around, Avery stopped her. “Don't look. You'll draw attention to us. Let's just stay over here and hopefully they'll leave soon.”

“You hope.”

“Yes, I do,” Avery replied. The last thing she needed was another round with Quentin Davis.

 

Across the room, Quentin, Sage, Malik and Dante were having a good time laughing and reminiscing about the good ol' days.

“Do you remember when Mr. Peeples caught us sneaking back in after curfew?” Dante asked.

“Oh yeah, we had just turned sixteen, gotten a fake ID and decided we were grown enough to go out on our own,” Malik continued.

“That's until we got jumped by those older guys, had all our money stolen and ended up walking twenty blocks home in the rain,” Quentin remembered.

“And then Mr. Peeples caught us and put us on dish detail for a month,” Dante finished.

“Yeah, those were the days,” Malik said.

Sage's brow furrowed. “Why don't I remember that story? Where was I?”

“That's because you were only fifteen, kiddo, and we had to leave you at home,” Quentin teased as he rose to his feet. “And you did nothing but sulk for days that you had been left out of all the excitement.”

“I did not,” Sage returned, even though she recalled being somewhat of a brat afterward.

“You did, too,” Quentin whispered in her ear as he leaned down. Once he made it to the bar, he ordered a bucket of Miller Lite and was glancing around the room when his eyes rested on a female frame at the corner of the bar. It was that ice queen from the gallery who'd treated him as if he'd crawled out of the gutter.

Great, Quentin thought. All of a sudden the air in the bar turned chilly. The bartender slid him a bucket and Quentin slipped him a twenty. “Keep the change.”

Quentin sat back into his seat with a frown. “Guess who's here?” he asked, grabbing a bottle out of the bucket.

“Who?” Sage asked, looking around.

“Remember that woman from the gallery?”

“The one in the Chanel suit who was pissed we crashed her showing?”

“The one and only.”

“Why don't you go over and say hello?” Sage suggested. “You know, get off on a better foot?” Sage knew the woman had gotten to Quentin.

“I don't think so,” Quentin said. “That woman's as cold as ice.”

“Remember when we used to make bets with each other to go out with someone and see how long we'd last?” Malik asked. “Well, I'll bet you twenty bucks—” he pulled out his wallet and slid a twenty Quentin's way “—that you can't melt that ice queen.”

“You're joking,” Quentin said, pushing the money back toward Malik. “We haven't done that since we were teenagers.”

“Who said we ever have to grow up?” Dante replied. “Do it. And for added incentive, let's up it to fifty.” He slid another thirty dollars across the table.

Quentin considered it for a moment. They thought he couldn't melt the ice around that diva's heart. Sure, it would be difficult, but he was Quentin Davis after all. “All right, you're on.” He accepted the bet, tucked the bills in his pocket, grabbed his bottle of beer and stood up ready to face off against the dragon lady.

“Wait!” Sage yelled when Quentin started to walk away. She jumped up from her chair and tucked another fifty bucks in his pocket. “Don't leave me out.” She kissed Quentin on the cheek, smacked him on the butt and said, “Go get her, tiger, urgh.”

Quentin strutted to the back of the room and walked up to Avery Roberts, who was sitting at the bar with her back to him. She was with that sexy friend of hers from the showing. Quentin would have preferred the bet was on her as it would be much more enjoyable, but alas it wasn't. Quentin coughed. When Avery didn't turn around, he coughed again.

Avery swiveled around in her bar stool and was surprised to find Quentin standing behind her. “What do you want?” she asked a little too sharply.

Although Quentin didn't care for her tone, he persevered. He was always up for a challenge. He smiled and said, “Ladies.” He nodded over to her friend.

“Hi, how are you?” Jenna smiled back flirtatiously.

“Oh, I'm fine,” Quentin replied. “I'm just here with some friends listening to the jazz band. They're great, aren't they?” He placed his beer bottle on the bar and moved closer to Avery.

“Yes,” Avery said curtly. She didn't like that he was so close to her. It unsettled her. “Now, can I help you with something?” She ignored Jenna, who was glaring at her.

Quentin took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down before responding. “Well, I came over to apologize for last week.” At Avery's blank stare, he continued. “You know, crashing your showing. My friends and I really shouldn't have come without an invitation. I hope we didn't cause you any trouble.”

Avery was shocked when Quentin apologized. She hadn't seen that one coming. Now she felt two feet small because once again, she'd misjudged him. But this time instead of insulting him, she'd be the bigger person. Especially since being angry took too much energy and after arguing with her mother she was fresh out. “No apologies necessary. No harm, no foul.”

“Great.” Quentin smiled. And when he did, Avery's heart skipped a beat. Why was it she hadn't noticed what a great smile he had? Could it be because she'd been too busy judging him? Perhaps he'd been right last week when he'd implied she was judgmental. She would have to work on that. “So, how about I buy you ladies a drink?”

Her initial reaction was to say no, but then Avery thought better of it. “Thank you, I'd like that,” she replied.

“Bartender, I'll have two…” He glanced over at their empty glasses.

“Apple martinis,” Avery offered.

“Two apple martinis, please,” Quentin said. When the barkeep returned with two glasses, Quentin handed each of the women one and raised his bottle. “To new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings,” Avery and Jenna chimed in and clinked glasses before sipping their martinis. From her perched view atop the bar stool, Avery was nearly face to face with Quentin, and what a face it was. She allowed herself to enjoy the view. Smooth, sexy chocolate skin, broad nose, full lips and a glistening bald head made Quentin Davis one very attractive man. He was wearing a royal-blue silk shirt, tucked into black trousers along with two pieces of jewelry, the diamond stud she'd seen before in his ear and a St. Christopher cross that dangled from his neck.