Losing Control. Robyn Grady
woman?”
“Vegetarian.”
“I’m sure my regular place caters for that.”
“You mean caters for those of us who choose to live on the fringes.”
In the rapid-fire shadows, his crooked grin flashed white. “No disrespect intended. I grew up in a male-dominated household. Tofu and soy weren’t in our vocabulary.”
Taryn peered out the window. She didn’t care about Cole’s eating habits. She cared only about getting this proposal through and at last moving forward with this show.
“Guess we’re all products of our childhood,” she offered absently.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Lots of brothers and sisters?”
“I’m an only child.”
His deep rich chuckle resonated around the car cabin, burrowing into her skin, seeping into her bones.
“You must have had a peaceful time growing up,” he said.
Peaceful? “I guess you could call it that.”
“What would you call it?”
That was easy.
“Lonely.”
His hand on the gearshift, he hesitated changing down before he double-clutched then wove into the lit circular drive of an establishment that smacked of class and exorbitant prices. A uniformed man strode over to see to her door before a valet parked the car. They entered through open, white-paneled doors into an area decorated in swirls of bronze and planes of muted cherry-red. The large room’s lighting was soft. Inviting.
Way too intimate.
While Taryn tried to concentrate on the weight of her laptop in her carryall over her shoulder rather than Cole’s strong chiseled profile, from behind the front desk, the maître d’ tipped his head.
“I’m afraid we weren’t expecting you this evening, Mr. Hunter. Your regular table isn’t available.” The older man’s attention slid to her and his helpful smile deepened. “We do, however, have a private balcony setting with a magnificent view of the harbor.”
“Sounds good.” Cole rapped his fingertips on the leather-bound menu lying on the counter. “And, er, Marco, you have vegetarian dishes here, right?”
Marco didn’t blink. “We have a wide selection. Our chef will also be happy to accommodate any particular requests.”
As Marco escorted them to that private balcony, Taryn swore she felt heat radiating from Cole’s hand where she imagined it rested inches from the small of her back. Then, when they slipped through into a curtained-off area, her breath hitched in her throat. The mixture of lilting music and silver moonlight, along with her striking company for the evening … she felt as if she’d stepped into a dream. She’d been out to dinner with attractive men at fine restaurants before, but this scene—this surreal heady feeling—was something else.
Retracting an upholstered bergère chair for her, Marco asked, “A wine menu this evening, Mr. Hunter?”
Cole rattled off the name of a vintage that Marco’s widening eyes hinted was exceptional. A moment later, the curtain was drawn and they were once again completely alone.
Enjoying the atmosphere despite herself, Taryn shifted in the chair, which was more comfortable than her sofa. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
“You’d prefer an all-you-can-eat salad bar?”
With delicious aromas filling the air, her taste buds had already decided. She opened the menu. “Here will do nicely.”
And every one of those dishes listed without prices sounded divine. Still, she would keep in the forefront of her mind that this was not an occasion to forget herself. In fact, she might as well put this idle time to good use.
Having chosen her meal, she set her menu aside and extracted her laptop from her carryall. With a grunt of disapproval, Cole sat back.
“We won’t do that now.”
“I’d rather get to it before you have a drink or two.”
“I can assure you a couple of glasses of wine won’t affect my judgment.” His lips twitched. “You, of course, may be a different matter.”
“I’m not a giggler, Mr. Hunter.”
His frown returned. “And ditch the Mr. this and manners that. My name’s Cole. You call my father Guthrie, don’t you?”
“That’s different. We’re on friendly terms.”
“Really? Did he take you out to dinner?”
She almost gasped. She knew what he was implying. “Of course not.”
“Maybe you took him.”
She slanted her head. “You won’t put me off—Cole. If you want me gone from Hunters, you’ll have to drag me out, kicking and screaming.”
“Is that what happened at your last job?”
On the tabletop her fists curled. What would she bet he already knew?
At that moment, Marco arrived to serve wine and take orders, giving Taryn time enough to sort out her answer—and her temper. With Marco having left through the curtains again, she admitted, “I was let go from my last position.”
Wineglass midway to his mouth, Cole stopped. “Didn’t get along with your boss?”
“We got along great.”
“Ah.” He sipped, swallowed. “I see.”
She burned to set him straight, and in the bluntest of terms, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Upper management made the decision,” she said. “My direct boss was always good to me. Very much a father figure.”
“Seems you’re partial to them. Don’t you have one of your own?”
“A father?” Taking a long cool sip of water, she swallowed past the pit in her throat. “As a matter of fact, I don’t.”
Cole’s shoulders seemed to lock before he set down his wineglass and said in a lower tone, “We were talking about your previous employ.”
She explained about ending up the scapegoat for leaked information regarding those series ideas. Her plan had been to keep her story brief but Cole had a question for everything. He was quite the interrogator. Thorough and emotionless, as Roman had warned. Finally satisfied on that particular subject, he nodded.
“But you’ve landed on your feet,” he offered, finger-combing back a dark lock blown over his brow by a harbor breeze.
“Seems that will depend on you.”
“Or, rather, what you’ve got for me.”
At that moment, their meals arrived and Cole took the liberty of refilling her wineglass. She hadn’t realized she’d almost drained it.
“But I’m too damn hungry to focus,” he said, setting the wine back down. “Let’s eat.”
While they enjoyed their meals, small talk was difficult to avoid—general topics at first … the state of the industry, current affairs. When he asked, she let him know that Guthrie’s personal assistant had rung to apologize that regrettably he wouldn’t have time to welcome her into their fold properly that day. Then conversation swerved toward lighter subject matter about schools and interests growing up. Cole had served in the Navy Cadets with a friend who owned his own security firm now. He said that once he’d even wanted to become a high-seas officer. She’d grinned at that. Who would have guessed?
Cole changed the