Asking For It (36 page)

What was he thinking? Ricky's brain was a storm of confusion as he led Deirdre from Griffith Blaine's high-powered office. Why had he asked Deirdre to speak with him? What did he intend to say to her?

"No, not your office," he muttered. It was a fishbowl, with three walls of glass that he knew from late-night experience were far from sound-proof. Not that he planned to say anything that'd require sound-proofing.

"This way, then," Deirdre replied. She reached out to tug his hand, but only to indicate he should follow her in the other direction, down a side hall. After that, she let him go.

But not before a flash of heat went through Ricky from her flesh pressed to his.

Hot, and then cold. He'd been feeling those sensations ever since he'd left his car in the underground parking lot and started up for Blaine Development's office. He wanted to see Deirdre, he didn't want to see her. He was afraid — No, he wasn't afraid. What was there to be afraid of?

Ricky reminded himself of this latter, rhetorical question, as Deirdre led him into what appeared to be a graphic composing room. There were shelves filled with colored paper, markers, and great rolls of paper hanging above a huge table. There was nothing to be afraid of, he told himself, as he closed the door behind them.

But his stomach wrenched into a hard knot as Deirdre walked to the big table and turned to face him. Her clear, adorable eyes, her heart-shaped face, her whole persona of self-possessed good girl — all these things made him feel like breaking into a cold sweat.

She leaned against the table behind her, with her expression much sweeter than he deserved, and waited for him to say whatever the hell he was going to say.

"Hello," Ricky said, and immediately wanted to shoot himself.
Hello
?

But Deirdre only smiled and replied, "Hello."

Ricky swallowed. Simply being in the same room with her felt like being given food after having been starved. Good. Yes, very good — but not
necessary
. He could live without her. "I, uh, so how are you doing?" Another idiot question.

But once again, she answered as if he was making sense. "I'm doing well." And then, with a frown curling her brows, she added, "Lonely."

Her candor was disarming. Ricky felt the tightness inside himself relax. "Yes, me too," he heard himself confess. "I think I got...used to being with you — with somebody," he quickly corrected. "Palling around and everything, you know."

Palling around
? his brain repeated derisively. Is that what he was going to call it?

Yet again, she didn't mock his clod-footedness. She just nodded, slowly, thoughtfully, while watching him like a hawk.

He was heating up again, starting to sweat beneath his Brooks Brothers suit. "We kind of ended things cold turkey, didn't we? I mean, there was no...wrap-up." A bald-faced lie. They'd had that fancy dinner together. He'd ended things then.

But Deirdre didn't correct his statement. She merely kept watching him, her eyes waiting.

Ricky could feel sweat gather in the center of his chest. Where was he going with this? What was he after?

He sucked in his lips. "I think maybe it would be helpful if we could get together again, in a nice way." Oh, good Lord. Had he just said that? The fear that was curled in his gut lashed out with a sting. They couldn't
get together
. That would be significantly different from what had been before, where he'd merely been using her. If they spent time together now, it would mean they were entering a relationship, a real one.

That was the last thing Ricky wanted.

Drawing in a deep breath, he straightened. "Yes, I think we should get together. We could use...a last date. Not a confrontation, but...a goodbye. Yes, a nice farewell."
Farewell
. For a moment the word slithered through him like a razor until his brain caught up. Farewell, goodbye. It was brilliant. A date to finalize and terminate.

Deirdre, meanwhile, was giving him a good, hard stare. "A last date," she repeated.

"I'm not going to be dishonest with you any more." Ricky felt downright sanctimonious now. He
was
being honest, scrupulously so. It would be their last date. His feelings for her were not deep or important. He simply needed to see her once more — to get her out of his system. That was it! Yes, he would get her out of his system. Get rid of this...clinging emptiness. "If we go out on a date, it will be to say goodbye."

Deirdre kept watching him. Ricky knew her well enough that the sweat hotly clamming his chest went suddenly cold. She was going to say no. And then what would he do? How would he get rid of this — this thing that wasn't
need
, but was almost as bad?

"Please," Ricky whispered, and was horrified to hear the way his voice shook.

God help him, but it worked. The terrifyingly neutral expression on Deirdre's face cracked.

"Okay," she said. "I'd like to go on a date with you."

Ricky was so relieved he didn't bother to quibble about her omission of the 'last' part. It was going to be their
last
date. He'd get to see her again and — and resolve this whole wanting deal.

"Saturday?" he asked.

"Seven," she replied.

He took a step toward her, intending — what? Fortunately, he was smart enough to halt the motion. Had he meant to kiss her?

Ricky frowned, suddenly wondering if this whole date business was such a good idea. Nevertheless, he told Deirdre, "Wear something nice."

"I will." She smiled, oh, so sweetly at him. "Don't worry, I will."

~~~

"Are you okay?"

Deirdre looked up. Somehow, she'd made her way back to Griffith's office from the composing room.

Ricky had come back to her. Just like she'd predicted. He'd
asked her out
.

To say goodbye, Deirdre forcibly reminded herself. He'd asked her out only in order to say a proper goodbye.

But he
had
asked.

"Um, yes. I'm okay." She forced a limp smile to her lips. Her boss was watching her with a frown of concern between his brows.

She wondered if she ought to feel concerned for herself, too. She'd told Ricky she'd go on his 'farewell date.' Now, had that been a brash show of confidence, the act of a woman certain he didn't actually want to say goodbye at all?

Or had it been the act of a woman who was a desperate doormat, one happy to drink the last drop this man was going to allow her?

Deirdre cleared her throat. "I'm just fine. Now, where were we?"

"I'll tell you." But Griffith was still watching her, the way a man might watch a smoldering volcano. "First thing I want you to do is cancel our lunch date with GoldFed Financial."

Deirdre blinked a few times. "But won't they find that a bit...flaky?" To put it mildly. Not to mention they ought to get the ink on that loan before the bank found out there was a lawsuit.

"Cancel it," Griffith confirmed. He lifted the manila envelope that Ricky had brought, the lawsuit he'd probably put together based on information Deirdre had unwittingly fed him. "I want you to run this straight over to Granger and Dodge, our attorneys."

"Of course, Griffith." It was the least she could do. Meanwhile, however, it occurred to Deirdre that Griffith, himself, might have fueled part of that lawsuit. What had he been doing
at Camp Wild Hills
for two weeks?

Griffith handed over the envelope. "I'll want to talk to them about it myself, of course, but you could give them a heads up. We're settling this one."

Deirdre's head came up. "We are? I mean, uh, the impression I got of Ms. Darby over the phone... I don't think she'd be willing to compromise, for any price."

Griffith smiled. "Who said I'm going to ask her to compromise?"

Deirdre blinked again. Between Ricky and now Griffith, she wondered if any male made sense.

Still grinning, Griffith clapped her shoulder. "I'm just one surprise after another lately, aren't I? Well, brace yourself. There are a few more coming."

Deirdre held on to the back of her chair as Griffith directed her to send two dozen premium quality, long-stemmed roses to Simon Grolier.

"Write 'Thanks' on the card," Griffith told her, and smiled broadly. "Thanks, from the bottom of my heart."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"Tell me again why we have to do this." In the dry September heat, Kate tugged on the bottom of her Yves Saint Laurent jacket, something she normally only dragged out for grant interviews. Eighty miles from Camp Wild Hills, she clipped in her high-heeled pumps beside Ricky up the wide walkway to the San Luis Obispo Courthouse. It was the courthouse where Ricky had filed the camp's lawsuit against Griffith. Kate's stomach was one big knot.
She never thought she'd have to see him again
.

"Our opposing party asked for a settlement conference," Ricky explained. He sounded patient, although Kate had made him explain already. "It would look bad to the judge if we didn't attend."

Kate walked through the heavy door Ricky held open for her. The nerves whirling around in her stomach were from disgust, she told herself. They had nothing to do with her soft focus memories. She was about to behold the real Griffith Blaine. The idea filled her with disgust, not excitement.

Oh, boy. She wasn't supposed to have been tested this way. The lawsuit was supposed to have
prevented
it.

Upstairs, Ricky stopped before a door of pebbled glass. "This is the room." He looked over at Kate. "You ready?"

Her whirling nerves — no, disgust — made her stomach twist, but Kate gave a curt nod.

Ricky opened the door.

Griffith was sitting behind a plain table next to a grave-looking man with glasses and gray hair. Both men stood when the door opened. In clothes that were actually tailored to fit, Griffith looked amazing.

Kate's heart did a stupid flip-flop.

But she made herself walk in. The smile that was beginning to form on Griffith's face froze. He was either affected by the sight of her, or simply surprised at how well she cleaned up. Not only was she wearing the fancy skirt suit, but pearl drop earrings pierced her ears, and a classic chignon tamed her hair.

Kate saw Griffith swallow before he retrieved his smile. The swallow told her much more than the wide, false smile did.

His sexual attraction to her, at least, had been very real. And for one insane instant, the thought thrilled her.

"Kate," Griffith said. "And Mr. Ascensios." His big smile quirked. "Good to see you again."

"Mr. Blaine." Ricky reached across the table to shake Griffith's hand, and then that of the gray-haired stranger, who introduced himself as Don Granger and who was apparently Griffith's lawyer.

Kate felt a fine sweat break out under her ivory silk shell. Despite the fact they were here about a lawsuit, she'd somehow not imagined Griffith having a lawyer. But of course he had a lawyer. He probably had a team of lawyers. And had need of them on a regular basis.

Or maybe what was making her sweat was the way Griffith was holding out his hand, as if she would touch him.

Kate gave him the sort of smile that was more of a venomous bite, and took one of the gray, industrial-style chairs.

Lowering his rejected hand, Griffith only smiled wider. Kate felt her cheeks grow warm. What would it take to pop this man's bubble? Did he think relentless good cheer was going to win her over? Did he think her that naïve?

Probably. Kate had given Griffith reason to believe she was one dumb cookie. It had been pathetically easy for him to dupe her last month.

"A little bookkeeping, first," the gray-haired man said, once everyone had taken seats. He looked toward Ricky. "Did you receive my Form Interrogatories?"

Ricky answered, and for a few minutes the lawyers went on in this vein, using words of which Kate could only understand one in ten.

Griffith didn't even pretend to pay attention. He gazed across the table at Kate with stupid pleasure. "Gee, it's good to see you, Kate. How was the drive over here?"

Kate shot him a glare and tried to turn her attention back to the lawyers, but now that she'd lost the thread she didn't even have a ten percent comprehension of the conversation.

"You know — " Griffith raised his voice. "I've been thinking about you, and about Camp Wild Hills."

Oh, yeah, Kate thought. Sure. Once he'd gotten the lawsuit he'd been reminded there was a camp he was screwing. This was the real Griffith Blaine talking, not a false memory.

"Hey, you guys." Griffith raised his voice again, this time addressing the lawyers. "You two seem to have a lot to discuss. It so happens Kate and I have a lot to talk about, too. Perhaps we should form two different groups."

Griffith's lawyer stared at him in almost comical dismay. "What?"

Griffith indicated Kate, sitting stiff and incredulous across the table from him.
Exactly what did he think they had to discuss
? But Griffith went on. "I think Kate and I would be able to accomplish more to settle this case if we could talk alone...without attorneys."