The Hang Up (First Impressions) (7 page)

“I suppose they are.” She set her cup back in the saucer. “Maybe if you bit into it over your plate instead of over your lap?”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess that would make sense.” He leaned forward again to grab another cookie. “I suppose I should brush up on my table manners before this Saturday.”

“What’s this Saturday?”

“Some fancy-schmancy dinner party with the Urban Trax executive team. We’re all going to Spoon for dinner.”

“Spoon?” Miriam frowned. “That’s like the hottest restaurant in town.”

“Is it? I didn’t know that, but I did try to talk them out of it. For crying out loud, we’re in financial crisis. Is now really the time for the execs to go out for dinner?”

“What did they say?”

He shrugged. “That the board of directors insisted. They made the reservation months ago, long before I got here. Apparently we’d be charged anyway if we tried to cancel.”

“I see,” Miriam said, watching as he scooped up his teacup and drained it in one final gulp. “Remember how you asked me to give you a few pointers on becoming a more polished and refined CEO?”

“Yep.” He grinned at her. “And then I sort of hijacked things by giving you pointers on being an outdoor adventurer instead.”

“Exactly. So it’s my turn.” She spread her palms out on the desk. “How about we bone up on table manners?”

“I liked the first four words of that suggestion,” he said. “But the rest was fine, too.”

He watched as she replayed her own words in her head, then laughed. “Nice. Here’s your first tip—sex jokes at the dinner table are probably not your best starting point for conversations with the executive team.”

“Duly noted. Probably not with my branding consultant, either, eh?”

“Not when we’ve agreed to keep our hands off each other.”

“Such a shame.”

She smiled again, and Jason wondered if it was too late to take back that promise to keep things platonic between them. She was so beautiful, with her eyes flashing fire and her body lush and rounded under that expensive-looking outfit.

“No,” Miriam said, seeming to read his thoughts as she trailed a finger over the rip of her teacup. “We can’t fool around, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he said, echoing her wording if not the certainty in her tone.

“It could compromise our working relationship. And we’re all wrong for each other. Plus—”

“Why do you sound like you’re trying to convince yourself?”

Miriam pressed her lips together. “No fooling around,” she repeated.

“All right.”

She grinned. “But come to my place tonight at six and I’ll put something delectable in your mouth anyway.”

Chapter Six

Miriam was arranging an artful display of mortadella, prosciutto, chicken liver pâté, and fennel seed–flecked finocchiona when her doorbell rang. Her ridiculous heart leaped into her throat, but she forced herself to finish setting out the crostini and a little bowl of apricot chutney before turning toward the door.

She took her time getting there and reminded herself this was a business function and not a date.

The instant she opened the door, her brain short-circuited a little.
Good thing it’s not a date. If it were, you’d be climbing this guy like a jungle gym right now
.

He wore a well-tailored suit and a cheerful smile that gave Miriam the urge to shimmy out of her panties right there on the doorstep.

The panties got one step closer to the ground as Jason thrust out a bouquet of irises. “For you,” he said. “I was going to bring this or wine, but I don’t know a whole lot about wine, so this seemed like the safer bet.”

“You can never go wrong with flowers.” She accepted the bouquet as she stepped aside and waved him in. “Thank you. Come on inside. You look very nice.”

“Thanks. Ellie made me buy a couple suits before we moved out here, but I kinda hope I don’t have to wear them very often. I feel like I’m going to a funeral.”

The word “funeral” made Miriam’s heart turn over in her chest, but she forced herself to keep smiling, not to think about her dad now. Jason must’ve noticed a shift in her expression, because his trademark grin dropped away. “God, I’m sorry. Faux pas number one. I know you lost your dad a year ago. I didn’t think before saying that.”

“It’s okay,” she said, grateful she didn’t have to pretend the thought hadn’t crept through her mind. “The suit fits you well. Your sister has good taste.”

“Thanks. You look amazing.”

She started to demur,
This old thing?
But she was wearing a green-and-blue Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress she knew flattered her curves and made her look both professional and sexy, so she settled for a simple, “Thank you.”

Jason tugged at his tie a little and gave her a grin that made her lady bits do a happy squeeze. “If I’m being honest, you look downright hot.”

Miriam laughed and pushed the door closed, conscious of his gaze traveling her body. “Thanks. And thank you for not being annoyed by my suggestion that we dress up a little.”

“No problem. I figured bike shorts weren’t the best dinner attire anyway.”

The visual sent Miriam’s libido surging again, but she held it together. “I think it’s important to replicate the feel of your Saturday-night dinner party as much as possible.”

“In that case, do you have two dozen scowling men in suits waiting for us in the coat closet?”

She grinned and led him through the living room and into the dining area. “Will you settle for a framed photo of my great-grandparents scowling over the dinner table with German disdain?”

“Close enough.”

She stopped in the dining room, where she’d set the table with a black linen tablecloth and a set of stylish art deco plates. “I’m going to put the flowers in water,” she said as she headed toward the kitchen. “Feel free to dive in to the charcuterie.”

“I’m trying to figure out from context if charcuterie is something you’re supposed to swim in, discuss, or do to a person you’d like to see naked.”

Miriam laughed, and her lady bits clenched again. Ignoring the heat rising up her throat, she gestured to the hors d’oeuvres laid out on her midcentury modern sideboard. “Charcuterie is an array of cured meats, usually served with breads and jam for contrast to the salt. There’s crostini right there. Can I get you some wine?”

“Sounds great.”

“Red or white?”

“I don’t know.” Jason picked up a crostini and popped it in his mouth. “What would a proper CEO with professional-caliber social skills choose at a fancy business dinner?”

“He’d probably match it to what’s being served, but that can be tricky if you don’t know wine very well,” she said. “You can never go wrong with a pinot noir. Or you could also try something like a Mourvédre or a Grenache or even a Carménère.”

Jason frowned. “Are you planning to give me a pronunciation guide I can pull out of my pocket at dinner?”

“Let’s stick with the pinot.”

“Sounds good. To be honest, I usually avoid ordering wine at all.”

“You don’t like wine?”

“No, I actually love it. But I don’t know much about the different kinds or how the hell to pronounce anything, so it seems safer to stick with water or beer and not sound like a dumbass.”

Miriam laughed and grabbed a bottle of her favorite Sunridge Vineyards pinot noir off the wine rack. “Sometimes looking like a dumbass is the best way to learn.”

“Maybe so,” he said, but didn’t sound convinced.

Miriam set the bouquet of irises on the counter and made a mental note to take a subtle approach to coaching Jason on professional dining etiquette. Clearly the guy wasn’t a fan of looking dumb, which seemed reasonable enough.

She uncorked the pinot, then turned and pulled two wineglasses out of the cabinet beside the table. After setting them on the counter, she bent to retrieve a cut crystal vase on the lower shelf. When she stood up, Jason was staring at her backside. Desire coursed through her, but she ordered herself to keep this professional.

“Here’s your first lesson on dinner etiquette,” she said. “If you’re going to stare at women’s asses, try being a little discreet about it.”

He grinned, not looking terribly ashamed. “I wasn’t planning to stare at women’s asses,” he pointed out. “Just yours. That’s a singular ass, not plural.”

Miriam set the vase on the counter and tried to look stern, but who was she kidding? She loved having his gaze on her. She’d love having a lot of other things on her, too, starting with his hands, then moving to his mouth, then—

“Flattering though that may be,” she said, interrupting her own dangerous train of thought, “we’re practicing proper business etiquette here. No ogling.”

“You steal all my fun.”

She smiled. “Eat your charcuterie.”

“That still sounds dirty.”

“You mean like when you told me you wanted to take me spelunking?” She poured two servings of pinot, then handed him one, her fingers tingling as they grazed his on the stem of the glass.

“Spelunking.” He shook his head. “Can’t say I ever thought of it that way until you came along.”

“You’re welcome.”

Jason took a careful sip of wine. “Hey, this is really good.”’

“Thanks. Oregon pinot is always a good bet, so that’s a smart thing to look for on the menu.”

He grabbed another hunk of crostini and shoved it in his mouth, and Miriam ordered herself not to scold him for it. The guy was the CEO of an international corporation. He might eat like a caveman, but helping him get over that would require a subtler touch than jumping on his case every time he showed subpar table manners.

“There’s a bread plate right there,” she said as she pointed at the edge of the side table. “Feel free to grab that so you can pile on whatever you want from the charcuterie.”

“Thanks.” He picked up the small plate as Miriam turned and filled her vase with water. She took a moment to arrange the flowers, trying to get her libido in check before turning back to face him.

As she set the vase on the table, she saw Jason using his fingers to grab a hunk of prosciutto off the charcuterie board. He glanced at her, then gave a sheepish look. “Let me guess—you’re going to tell me to use the tongs, not my fingers.”

“I didn’t say a word, but that’s a good idea.” She smiled. “The tongs would definitely be a better choice with the prosciutto.”

“And the little knifey thing is probably for the smeary stuff?”

“The knifey thing is called a spreader and the smeary stuff is chicken liver pâté, but yes. See? You’ve got it all figured out.”

“Yeah, but I’m likely to forget when you distract me with sexy words like
charcuterie
and
prosciutto
and
spreaders
.”

She laughed. “If that’s your idea of sexy talk, I’m not sure how I feel about the prospect of having dinner with you.”

Jason grinned and picked up the tongs. She watched him pile meat on his plate, impressed that he managed to work the small utensil with those massive hands of his.

Stop staring.

“Do you know how they’ll be handling appetizers at your dinner event?” she asked. “Passed apps, buffet style, or a sit-down dinner with everyone ordering separately?”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“Different rules of etiquette. If it’s passed apps or a buffet situation like this, you’ll want to keep your portions fairly small to make sure there’s plenty for everyone else.”

He set the tongs down and frowned. “Maybe I should play it safe and skip the apps.”

“No, definitely don’t do that. That will make other people feel awkward about eating if you’re not. Besides, it gives you something to do with your hands.”

He gave her a funny smile, and Miriam half expected him to come up with a risqué suggestion for what he might do with his hands. She was almost disappointed when he didn’t.

Instead, he looked at his plate. “So with all these meats and little bready things, I assume I’m okay to eat with my hands instead of asking for a fork or something?”

“Use the crostini—the little bready things—for the chutney or the pâté. You can use your hands for everything else, but be discreet about it. No sucking your fingers or licking crumbs off the plate.”

“No licking, no sucking.” He grinned. “Got it.”

That grin was enough to disarm her again, so Miriam took another sip of wine and ordered herself to keep breathing. “Any idea how many people will be attending the event?”

“Let’s see…we have thirteen board members, eight people on the executive team, plus me. I guess that’s twenty-two?”

“Who’s hosting?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s usually a host when it comes to business dinners—the person who arranged the whole thing. Usually the person who’s paying.”

He took a careful bite of prosciutto, then chewed and swallowed before answering her question, which was a plus. Somewhere along the line, he must’ve learned not to talk with his mouth full. The guy might be rough around the edges, but he wasn’t a total lost cause.

“That’s probably the board president, Jack Wainswright,” he said. “I guess he’d be the host.”

“Okay, so you’ll want to watch him closely. Take your cues from him when it comes to knowing how many courses you order, when you start eating, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds a little stalker-ish,” he said. “Please tell me I don’t have to watch him for a cue to use the restroom.”

“You’re on your own for that one.”

Miriam set her wine down on the sideboard and picked up a plate. Handling the tongs with dainty precision, she selected a few charcuterie items for herself, adding a few bites of mortadella and a smear of pâté on her crostini. She stepped back from the table, lifted her plate a few inches above her cleavage, and took a careful bite of crostini. A few crumbs landed on the plate, and she saw Jason grin.

“Are you teaching by example?” He raised his own plate to the same level and bit into a cracker, laughing a little when it split in two and half of it hit the plate. “You’re right, holding the plate up here is probably better than dribbling crumbs down the front of my shirt.”

“Happy to help,” she said after she’d swallowed the bite. “So while you obviously don’t want to talk with your mouth full, you do want to keep the small talk flowing, especially over appetizers.”

“I’ve never been one for small talk.”

“Just ask questions. People love to talk about themselves, their hobbies, their families.” She took another bite of crostini, then set down her plate and dabbed at her mouth with a cocktail napkin. “So how old is Henry, anyway?”

At the mention of the little boy’s name, Jason’s face seemed to brighten. “He’s five, going on twenty-one.”

“What do you mean?”

“You may have noticed his obsession with genitals?”

She laughed and took a bite of prosciutto. “I take it he greets everyone with commentary on penises and fa-chynas?”

“Pretty much. His Sunday school teacher was not amused.”

“That’s a pity.”

“It actually makes a good icebreaker,” he said. “Maybe I’ll consider it for business dinner small talk.”

“Absolutely. I’m sure the board of directors would be delighted to hear about your penis.”

Jason laughed, and Miriam felt her cheeks flush ever so slightly. She hadn’t meant to turn the conversation toward the sexy CEO’s anatomy once again. But now that she’d said the words, she couldn’t stop remembering the sight of him standing naked in her bathroom, his torso lean and muscular, the dark trail of fine hair leading down toward—

“This is good sausage,” he said.

Miriam choked on her wine.

He set his plate down and started to reach for her, but she waved him off. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she sputtered. “I don’t need the Heimlich.”

“Okay, but I do have first aid training if you need it.”

The thought of having him give her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation was enough to make her want to choke on her wine again, but she settled for eating a piece of mortadella.

“So you and your sister must be close,” she said, desperate to steer the conversation back to safer ground.

“Very close,” he said. “Our parents died in a car wreck when I was seventeen and Ellie was fifteen. There were no other relatives in the picture, so I took over raising Ellie.”

“Wow,” Miriam said, impressed. “How did you manage to do that and finish college?”

He shrugged and took a sip of his own wine. “It wasn’t always easy, but we got along okay. Just like we’re managing now with Henry.”

“And Henry’s dad is—”

“A grade A ass-hat,” Jason finished with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I promise I’ll keep the swearing to a minimum at the dinner event. But sometimes, there’s just no other word for it.”

“Very true. I take it he’s not in the picture?”

“Nope. The state seizes part of his paychecks for child support, but beyond that, he wants nothing to do with his son or with Ellie.”