The Man Upstairs. Pamela Bauer
they’d recognized him as a hockey player.
He removed his jacket and she saw again just how massive he was. He looked too wide to be sitting on a bench seat made for one, and she thought he should have asked for a regular booth that seated four.
She looked around and wondered how many of the curious glances had come their way because he’d been recognized.
As if he knew what she was thinking, he said, “If heads turned when we came in, it’s because I’m usually in here with a couple of banged-up hockey players, not a beautiful woman.”
As much as she didn’t want the compliment to affect her, she couldn’t prevent the tiny rush of pleasure his words created. She gave him a look she’d perfected years ago—the one that said, Give me a break. That line’s as old as the hills, and dismissed the comment with a question.
“Do you get recognized often?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It depends on where I am. If I’m at an ice arena, yes. If I’m at an art museum, no. Be honest. Until we met, would you have recognized me if you’d been sitting here in this coffee shop having lunch?”
“No. I’ve never seen a Minnesota Cougars game.” As soon as she’d said the words, she wished she could retract them. It wasn’t what she should have said, considering the favor she needed to ask. “But then I just moved here from Rhode Island,” she explained.
Again that wonderful smile of his made an appearance as he said, “It’s all right. You’re not a hockey fan. You don’t need to pretend that you are. Actually, I like the fact that you aren’t.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “It makes it easier.”
She wanted to ask, Easier for what? but decided to let it go.
If she’d hoped that discussion of menu selections and the appearance of their server would put the tone of their conversation back on a less personal track, she was wrong. The first thing he asked her when they resumed talking was, “Why did you leave Maddie and Dylan’s wedding early?”
“What makes you think I left early?”
“Because I searched the entire ballroom for you. If you had been there, I would have found you.”
If she’d had any doubt as to his interest in her, it was certainly put to rest by the way he was looking at her. His words caught her by surprise and at the same time sent another tremor of excitement through her.
“I left early because I had to catch a plane the next morning. I was still living in Rhode Island at the time,” she told him.
“That’s a shame. That was one terrific wedding celebration. I’m only sorry that I came late to the party.” She could hear the sincerity in his voice and see the regret in his eyes.
“It was a nice day for them,” she said simply.
“Tell me what you were doing in Rhode Island,” he urged, leaning forward so that he was closer to her.
“Working, which is what I’m supposed to be doing now.” She reached for the portfolio that contained the legal documents he needed to sign.
“Oh, that’s right. You want something from me.”
She thought she detected a hint of disappointment in his voice. “Not for myself. For Aaron Jorgenson.”
“There’s another charity event?”
“Not an event exactly, but it is a fund-raiser to help with his medical bills.” She told him about the plans for the calendar featuring celebrity graduates of Minnesota high schools, ending with, “Each month will have a different celebrity in front of their alma maters.”
He leaned back. “Ah, I get it. You want me to be one of the so-called Minnesota stars, right?”
She nodded. “Mr. January. You’re perfect for the spot. Hockey is a winter sport, and you did go to the same high school as Aaron Jorgenson.”
“What kind of a photo would this be?”
“Probably one of you in your uniform on the ice rink behind your old school but you can work out the details when you meet with the art director. And as for scheduling the photo shoot—it would be at your convenience, of course. Here.” She pulled out the letter of introduction she’d been given and passed it to him. “This should answer any questions you have.”
He gave it a quick glance, then set it down. “I’d have to have my agent look this over to make sure there’s not a problem with my contract.”
She nodded in understanding. “Of course. And if he says there are no problems?”
He shrugged. “Then I’ll do it.”
Relief washed over her. She couldn’t believe it was so easy to get him to agree.
Then he said, “On one condition.”
Apprehension crept through her. “And that is?”
“That you return the favor.”
“And do what?” She chuckled. “I’m not a celebrity.”
“You don’t need to be a celebrity to do charity work,” he reminded her.
“No, you’re right.” She took a drink of water to wet her dry mouth. “What is it you want me to do?”
“Help out one of the nonprofit organizations the Cougars sponsor,” he told her.
She knew the local professional sports teams took active roles in the community because she’d seen them on the nightly news. “If you get me a list, I’d be happy to make a donation to one of them,” she suggested.
“I’m not talking about giving cash, Dena. These programs need volunteers who will give their time.” His eyes didn’t waver from hers.
“All right. I’ll volunteer my time. As I said, send me a list and I’ll be happy to help out.”
“I trust you’re a woman of your word?” he asked with a lift of his water glass.
“Of course. You have a deal, Mr. Sterling.” She stretched out her hand and he took it in a grip that said he didn’t want to let it go again.
Fortunately their food arrived and he was forced to drop her hand. Dena ate her soup and sandwich as fast as possible, wanting to get back to her office. She made the appropriate small talk but was grateful when the waitress dropped the check on the table.
She snatched it up and glanced pointedly at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I’m on a really tight schedule.”
“No problem,” he said, getting to his feet so he could help her with her coat but she slipped it on before he had a chance.
“If you’ll just look at the information that’s in that envelope…” She trailed off, buttoning the front. “I think it’s all pretty self-explanatory.”
“If I have any questions, I suppose I could always tap three times on the floor,” he said with a crooked smile.
“It would probably be better for you to call Greg Watkins. He’s the person in charge of the project.”
“I’d rather call you.”
The look he gave her said it wasn’t because he’d have questions about the calendar. He was definitely interested in her. She could see it in his eyes.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” she said, tugging on her gloves.
He escorted her out of the coffee shop, his hand at her back. When she walked beside him she felt small and fragile, a rare experience for someone as tall as she was. She discovered she rather liked the feeling and wished that it had been other circumstances that had brought them together. She imagined a guy like Quinn Sterling could make a woman feel special in a lot of ways.