Cavanaugh In The Rough. Marie Ferrarella
saying mildly, “I could ask you the same thing.”
She didn’t care for the nature of his question, or his attitude. She hadn’t invaded his work space; he had invaded hers.
And she wanted him gone.
“I have work to do. I like working late,” she emphasized. “There’s usually no one around to bother me,” she added, looking at him pointedly. Her message was clear.
Or so she thought.
Chris nodded. “I had a hunch,” he told her. “That’s why I came back.”
Give the situation, he wasn’t making any sense. But then, she was beginning to think that he was doing that on purpose. Well, whatever his game was, she didn’t have the time or the desire to play. She wanted him gone.
Now.
“Unless you have some new information for me—” Suzie began, but she never got the opportunity to finish.
“No, no new information,” Chris confessed, making no move to leave.
“Well then—”
Again he didn’t give her a chance to finish. “I do, however, have this.”
She still had no idea what he was talking about—or why the man just couldn’t take a hint, even if she was hitting him over the head with it.
“‘This?’” she questioned.
She looked on in surprise as he hefted a large paper bag from the floor and placed it on her desk—obviously one he’d brought in when she had her eyes closed. Chris began to unpack its contents.
Within seconds, he’d taken out five steaming white containers, each embossed with red Chinese characters on the sides.
“You know the old saying, if the mountain won’t come to Moh—”
“I am neither the mountain nor the person in your imaginary drama,” Suzie pointed out sharply.
Chris rolled with the punches. “Okay, then let’s just call it a mercy dinner.” Since she didn’t instantly protest, he continued. “You haven’t moved from that spot since I dropped off the videos. You’ve got to be starving by now.”
Suzie’s mouth dropped open, but she recovered quickly. “You’re spying on me?” she cried, not knowing if she should be creeped out or just angry. Who did this man think he was to take over this way? To keep tabs on her every movement?
“No,” he stated. “What I did was have a casual conversation with my uncle.” Before she could take him to task any further, he added, “I called him to let him know I’d gotten the cell phone videos copied and that I’d dropped them off with you. That’s when he mentioned your habit of burning the midnight oil and that you’d probably be doing the same thing with this. He expressed concern that you had a habit of forgetting to eat.”
Chris glanced at her pointedly as he flattened the now empty bag, setting it off to one side. He had put out the boxes, as well as the chopsticks and napkins that had come with the order. He also laid out the two sets of plastic cutlery he had specifically requested. He had no idea if Suzie knew how to use chopsticks, and he’d come prepared.
“If you recall, I did mention dinner today,” he reminded her.
“And if you recall, I mentioned the word no,” she countered with a defiant note.
Chris shrugged, unfazed. He dragged over a chair from another workstation.
“I just figured that was before you got hungry.” He noticed that she still wasn’t making a move to open any of the containers. “It’s here. You might as well have some,” he coaxed, opening a container close to him. She still made no move toward the food. “Were you always this stubborn?” he asked. “Or is it just me who sets you off?”
Suzie sighed. She supposed he was right. The food was here and it wasn’t as if she was making some sort of a commitment if she actually ate some of it.
Erasing the unfriendly expression from her face, she peeled back the paper wrapping from a set of chopsticks, separated the two pieces and deftly clasped them in her fingers. “Thank you,” she murmured almost grudgingly.
Glancing up at her, Chris stopped eating for a moment, saying, “I’m impressed.”
Despite her best efforts, Suzie could feel her back going up. “Because I thanked you?” she asked, ready to tell him to take his butt off the stool and make himself scarce.
“No,” he replied easily, defusing her instant reaction, “because you can use chopsticks. I’m not any good at it.”
She would be the last to flatter him—nor did he need to have his ego bolstered—but what he was saying was absurd.
“It’s not like playing a cello,” she told him. “You just take the two pieces like so...” She demonstrated. “Then you pick up the food and bring it to your mouth, like so.” She proceeded to go through the motions, slowly and elaborately.
When she was finished, Chris attempted to mimic her actions. But he wound up failing miserably, actually sending one chopstick flying.
Unable to help herself, Suzie started to laugh at what was at best a very sad display of artlessness and ineptitude.
Rather than take offense, he appeared pleased. “So you actually can laugh,” he observed.
She had to say it. “At particularly hapless displays of ineptitude? Yes,” she allowed. “I can.”
“Well,” he said philosophically, “I’m always happy to please a lovely lady.”
The laughter faded and Suzie became serious again. “Don’t do that,” she told him.
“Don’t do what? Call you lovely?” Chris asked innocently.
That went without saying. She didn’t like hearing empty words of flattery, but she knew it was also pointless to tell him that. He wouldn’t listen.
“No, don’t keep trying to hit on me.” Suzie paused to consider her words. He wasn’t going to listen to that, either. “Although I guess that’s kind of like telling you not to breathe.”
Chris just smiled warmly at her. Was he humoring her or agreeing with her? She couldn’t tell.
“We can consider the possibilities while we eat,” he told her, the same warm, inviting smile on his lips.
Suzie shook her head in disbelief. She had to laugh again. When he looked at her, an unspoken question in his eyes, she explained, “You’re like that blow-up clown doll, aren’t you? The one that no matter how many times you punch it just bounces back up again—right in your face.”
“Well, that’s a new one,” he said, rolling the image over in his mind. “Never been compared to a blow-up clown doll before.”
Suzie had no idea why, but she suddenly felt bad. O’Bannon had, after all, brought her dinner even after she’d been less than friendly toward him, all but telling him to get lost.
She relented. “That wasn’t exactly meant as an insult,” she murmured.
And then there was the grin again, the one that belonged to the happy-go-lucky, lighthearted boy he had to have been. The one, for all she knew, he still was.
“I know,” he told her with a conspiratorial wink.
That pulled her up short. Either they were on some kind of a wavelength she was totally unaware of, or he had one hell of an ego.
“You know?”
“Why don’t we stop dancing around like this, Suzie Q, and eat before it gets cold?” he suggested, pulling a carton closer to him. He opened it up. “Although I have to admit I do like Chinese food cold.” He raised his eyes to hers, creating, just like that, an intimate air. “For breakfast