She's Got Dibs (3 page)

Expelling a tight breath, she quickly ran two keycards through the machine next to her keyboard and hid them inside a small envelope. “Here you are, Mr. Brenner. Sorry about the mix-up. Please let us know if there is anything we can get you.”

“Not a problem.” He cleared his throat, nodding toward Tessa.

“Oh!” The young woman jumped back onto her computer. “Here you go, miss.” She passed over a set of keycards and Tessa gathered her bags.

Standing before the elevator bank, she tapped the small envelope against her chin while they waited. Something wasn’t adding up. That whole kerfuffle at the check-in desk smelled fishy. She finally narrowed her eyes at Dibs. “Okay, who are you?”

“I stay here a lot when I’m in New York.”

“Uh-uh, not buying it. I thought that poor girl was going to wet her pants.”

One side of his luscious mouth quirked in resigned acknowledgment. “I have a standing reservation for the Presidential Suite.” He swung a hand forward when the elevator swished open.

“Oh, well, that explains everything.” She pushed the button for the sixteenth floor, stepped to the rear of the car and stood beside him while additional hotel guests filed inside.

The doors closed, and in their mirrored reflection Dibs held her gaze behind the crowd. The corners of his eyes softened, lips curving in a gentle smile.

On the sixteenth floor, they traversed the corridor to a set of rooms directly across the hall from each other. Dibs unlocked his door and stood inside the open threshold.

Tessa slid her key card into the slot and a little red light on top of the lock flashed three times. She switched to the second key and tried again. The red blinking resumed. She jiggled the handle, but the door refused to budge.

“I think the girl at the front desk forgot to program these cards.” She glanced over her shoulder when he approached from behind. “You had her pretty flustered.”

He cocked an eyebrow, head tilting with a hint of skepticism. “Here. Let me try.”

“Yes, because after all, this is the first time I’ve unlocked a door.”

He grunted and pushed the key card into the lock. The red light winked three times and stopped.

“Told you.” She sighed. “Okay, give me the key. I’ll go back down.”

“Here’s an idea.” He arrowed his hand and her key card into his pocket and braced a shoulder against the door. “Why don’t you put your things in my room, and we’ll go down together. I’ll buy us some dinner, and we can take care of your keys while we’re down there.”

“I don’t know.” She crossed her arms. “Pajamas, now dinner? Next thing you’ll be whisking me off to some exotic private island.”

His eyebrow twitched over the roguish twinkle in his gaze. He set her bags inside his room and pulled the door closed, came forward and offered his arm.

She rolled her eyes and fit her hand inside the crook of his elbow.

****

The lobby outside the Bull and Bear teemed with activity, the steady buzz of conversation underscored by muted elevator chimes and the rumbling grind of luggage wheels. Tessa peered through the crowd then went up on her toes, hoping for a glimpse inside the restaurant. “Follow me,” she whispered.

She straightened her shoulders and strode confidently to the doorway, peeked around the threshold and steadily searched the room. A man seated at the bar straightened a stack of bills between two empty glasses, the woman beside him collecting her purse and coat. Tessa clasped Dibs’s hand and led him through the tables. When they arrived at the bar, the couple pushed back their chairs and stood. The timing was perfect.

“Wow.” He offered one of the high seats, shifting it forward when she sat. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“One of the hazards of the job. Let’s just say I know how to read a crowd.”

A bartender with stylishly mussed hair and a mischievous grin approached. He cleared away the dirty dishes and wiped down the bar in front of them. “How are you this evening?” He winked at Tessa, tossing a cocktail napkin down in front of her. “What can I get you, pretty lady?”

She smiled. He had to be nearly a decade behind her in years, but the compliment was appreciated all the same. “Why, thank you. Grey Goose martini, three olives.”

“Very good, and for you, sir?”

“Dewar’s, rocks.”

The bartender walked a short distance away, peeked at her from the corner of his eye, and spun a bottle in his hand. She toyed with the corner of her napkin, pursing her lips to avoid gloating over his flirtatious attention.

A sigh heavy with resignation spilled from Dibs’s throat. “Okay. I guess I deserved that.”

She laughed and gathered her dark hair, sweeping it down the front of her shoulder.

The commotion in the bar reflected the amount of people around them, the wait staff bustling about with trays of steaming food and glittering cocktails.

“Do you think all these people were heading to Chicago?” she asked.

“Either that or connecting through to somewhere else.” He pulled his cell phone from his breast pocket, thumbed the screen, and showed her the radar. “Looks like the storm might last a while.”

A huge blue and pink cloud crawled across most of the Midwest. “Fabulous. I’m so sick of winter.”

A moment later, the bartender reappeared with their drinks. “My name’s Doug, if you should need anything else.” He tugged the towel from his shoulder and slapped it against the bar.

“Actually…” Tessa crooked a finger, drawing him back, and reached into her pants pocket. “I think the woman at the front desk forgot to program this key card. Would you mind checking into it? Room 1608.”

“Right away, miss.”

Dibs braced his elbow on the bar, her second key card sandwiched between two fingers. The bartender’s eyebrow twitched and he plucked the card from Dibs’s hand.

He sat back, that penetrating gaze of his tingling along her lips as she sipped her martini. “I think he likes you.”

“It’s my dashing good looks.” She sighed dramatically.

“That, plus your stellar personality.”

They shared a laugh, his husky chuckle so appealing the muscles of her inner thighs involuntarily clenched, but not until his smile faded did she realize he had no intention of looking away from her. She tried to determine the hidden meaning in his gaze and soon became mesmerized by the indigo rings surrounding his irises. Coupled with the long thick lashes…
Brrr…
A woman could easily get lost in those azure depths.

When her cell chirped, she fumbled the phone from her purse and glanced at the caller ID. “Excuse me a moment.” She pressed the phone to her ear. “Hey.”

“Where are you now?” Tiffany asked.

Tessa cupped a palm over her other ear. “I just got to the hotel,” she answered loudly.

“Sounds like you’re at a party.”

“It’s packed here. We’re at the bar.”

“You and the whack job?”

“I’m at the Waldorf,” she said.

“Are we speaking in code now?”

“We’ll probably need to move some things around this week. I have no idea when I’m getting out of here.”

“Is he being nice to you?”

“It’s a gorgeous hotel. The descriptions don’t do it justice.” She enjoyed more of her martini, twirled the stem between her fingers and thumb.

“Total hot babe alert?”

“Yeah, I saw the radar. It looks huge.”

“All right, that does it,” Tiffany grumbled. “Now I’m pissed. You always find these mega-hot guys and then completely blow them off. It just isn’t fair.”

“Still coming down, huh?”

“Why is it the one woman in the world who couldn’t care less about having a relationship is the one who
always
meets the beefcake?”

“Okay, I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Men are the only ones who are supposed to avoid relationships like the plague, Tessa. Women aren’t built that way.”

“Be safe going home.”

“Don’t hang up the—”

Tessa snapped her phone shut and smiled at Dibs. “Sorry, that was my partner.”

“Oh.” He studied her a moment before looking down at the bar. He filled his lungs, twisting his glass on the napkin.

A moment of awkward silence passed, the words she’d just uttered bouncing around inside her head. Oh, wait…“My
business
partner.”

“Oh-h-h.” He lifted his chin, nodding. “So, you have your own company?”

“Tiffany and I started an event planning business about four years ago. That’s actually why I’m in New York. We bid a client earlier today.”

“Who’s that?”

“Just these bigwigs downtown.” She waved away his interest, the details unimportant. “They have some corporate thing they do at their facility outside Chicago every summer.”

He paused with his drink in midair, and she could’ve sworn a trace of unease flashed across his face. She frowned. “Something wrong?”

“No, no, not at all.”

She measured his response from beneath her lowered lids. But whatever nerve she’d struck really didn’t matter. If she was reading his signals correctly, this night would follow an altogether different route. “Anyway, the good news is we will hopefully get the job. At least, it looks promising. And, of course, the bad news is we will hopefully get the job, which means long days and a lot of work.”

He unbuttoned his suit jacket, exposing the crisp white dress shirt beneath. “Let’s not talk shop anymore.”

“Good. What would you like to talk about?”

“Actually, I would like to talk about you.” He swiveled his chair to face her.

Adrenaline spiked in her stomach when his knee bumped her thigh. “And what would you like to know, Mr. Nothing But the Truth?”

He squinted, pursing his full lips. His knee came to rest against her leg. “Married?”

“No way, never.”

“You say that like I just asked if you’d ever killed anyone.”

“I know.” She shook her head and recrossed her legs. God, why’d he have to pick
this
topic? “Don’t get me wrong. I think marriage is great for some people. I mean, it pays the bills. It’s just not for me.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Too many rules, I guess. Too much commitment. I don’t like anyone telling me what I’m supposed to be doing. I guess I’m just way too independent.”

He nodded, the corners of his lips turned down.

“And then, of course, there’s the breakups.” She placed a hand on her chest. “Aren’t those so much fun? It’s way too much drama, too much mess. And I despise mess. I hate it. It’s just easier not to start anything right from the beginning.”

“I do have to agree with you about the messy part.”

“You’ve recently had a breakup?”

“Divorce. Finalized six months ago.”

“Ah. One of those big, messy philanthropic-type divorces?”

He smiled. “Yes, actually, it was.”

“Got taken for a lot, huh?” She brought her martini to her lips.

“Ten million.”

The vodka razed her throat when she sharply inhaled, sputtered, and coughed into her hand. A divorce was one thing, but a settlement that size was plain obscene. “Did you say
ten million
?” she croaked.

“Well, with the homes and all the assets, the final figure ended right around there.”

“Just exactly how much are you worth?” She started in her seat. That information was absolutely
none
of her business, and to thoughtlessly blurt such a personal question broke all the rules. Evidently the alcohol had loosened her lips. She placed her hand on his forearm. “I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

He dropped his gaze to her fingers, and a moment passed before that same piercing stare nearly rocked her back in her chair. “A lot.”

“Fair enough.” Thank God, he’d reestablished some detached diplomacy.

The bartender arrived and set a fresh martini in front of her. “Compliments of the house.”

“How nice. Thank you.”

“I’ll take another, too, whenever you have a second.” Dibs nudged his glass.

The bartender snapped his attention to Dibs, nodded curtly, and stalked away.

Tessa picked the skewer from her drink, slid an olive off with her fingertips and popped it into her mouth. “So, why Dibs?”

“David Isaac Brenner.”

“D-I-B.” She nodded.

“My grandfather thought it was funny,” he explained. “He started the nickname when I was two and it’s stuck ever since. At least for my family and friends, that is.”

“No one has ever called you David or Dave?”

“My mother calls me David, but she would never call me Dave. Way too informal.”

“Oh, she’s one of those.” Tessa washed down the olive with another sip.

“They all are, actually.”

“They being?”

The bartender returned with a fresh scotch for Dibs, grinned at her, and moseyed away.

“My family.” Dibs swirled the ice in his tumbler. “They are what most would refer to as a bunch of snobby assholes.” He eyed the level in his glass before draining the contents, pushed the barren ice to the rear of the bar, and brought the second drink forward.

She lifted her brows. Not that his response mattered either way, but the irritation in his demeanor sparked her curiosity. “And you’re not, then?”

“You tell me.”

“How could I possibly tell you that? We’ve only just met. I’m not even sure what category you are yet.”

“Category?”

“It’s this thing I do.” She dismissed his question with a shake of her head. “It started about a year ago, after my last breakup.”

“And?”

“And, when I reentered the dating pool I realized most men fit into one of five categories.” She skated another olive off the skewer and sucked the salty pimento from the center.

Curiosity creased his brow and he crossed his arms. “Really? Just five?”

“Yep.” She popped the
p
. “Just five.”

“And what are these five categories?”

She settled her chin in her palm, elbow propped on the bar beside her cocktail. “Do you really want to know? Or are you just humoring me?”

“I’m dying to know, actually.” He braced his arm against the bar and leaned in.