His throaty laugh nearly made my clothes fall off in wanton misbehavior. “Tate, have a drink with me. It’s not a date, just friends hanging out. I promise, I’ll have you home in time for your show.”
“How did you know? Are you a secret agent or something?” I asked, half joking. How he knew my plans for curling up on the couch for some quality time with Antony Starr, I’d never know. I might have mentioned it to Franklin once during one of our many conversations. Not that I would remember. My brain matter turned into over cooked oatmeal whenever I was in touching distance of the man.
Could I handle a drink or two with the enigmatic Franklin without my panties self combusting? Probably not. It would be good to bust free of my shell. One drink couldn’t hurt. Besides, he was so far out of my league, any chance of sparks between us fizzled before leaving my vivid imagination. Franklin was spectacular. Office eye candy.
Me? Well, my mother used to say, “That Tatum, she’s short on stature, large on spunk, and amazingly average.” Mom had it right. That was me in a nutshell.
“Sure, why not.” Maybe I’d get to see a different side of the mystery man. Maybe he’d be loose-lipped after a few drinks and spill his deepest, darkest secrets.
* * * *
My cheeks burned hot as Hades. My heart pounded loud and relentless in my ears. I shut down my computer, tucked my cell into my purse and pushed my chair in. Pulled it out, brushed lint off the seat, and pushed it back. Hmm… Maybe I should dust my workspace. Hadn’t done that in over a week. Trash needed to be dumped, floor could use a quick vacuum….
“Tatum, get out of here.” Nan peeked her head around the corner. “You have a hot man waiting to get drunk with you. I can’t believe you’re still hanging around.” Nan Cummings, the office manager, was by far my favorite coworker, aside from uber-sexy Franklin. The woman read me like an open book. Acted more like a beloved aunt than a coworker. Kept the employees in check and the place running smoothly. Basically, she was Wallace’s bitch, did everything for him, and always with a smile on her face.
It was creepy, her knowledge of everybody’s business. Like now, she knew I was meeting Franklin for a drink. I hadn’t said a word to anyone. Franklin wouldn’t have spilled the beans. His lips were tighter than a pair of Spanx. But she knew, and it didn’t bother me. Gossip was not her style.
I smiled. “I’m going, I’m going.” I straightened my skirt and inspected my blouse. “Should I go home and change first?”
“No, my dear. You’re perfect.” Wise eyes scrutinized me. “Why so nervous?”
I sighed and slumped my shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s not a date. It’s just, I’ve never hung out with him outside of work. You should come with me. Then it would feel less date-y, you know?”
Her laugh warmed my heart and calmed my nerves. “Sorry sister, you’re on your own tonight. I’ve got plans.” She glanced towards Wallace’s door then back to me. “Now, get going so I can lock up and get on with my evening.”
Nan was the only other person Wallace trusted with a key, which meant she arrived before anyone in the morning and couldn’t leave until each of us cleared out. Never once, in my four years at the firm, did I hear her complain about it.
With an exaggerated sigh, I threw my handbag over my shoulder, blew her a kiss and headed out for my non-date.
I managed to make the short drive, traipse across the gravel parking lot, and through the heavy wooden door of the Malted Maven in my stilettos without breaking a bone. All grace left my person the moment I spied Franklin sitting in the corner, suit jacket open, tie gone, top two buttons of his gray shirt undone. My ankles turned to wet noodles and my legs buckled under me. Thank the good Lord above there was a barstool within reach to steady myself.
He’d chosen a table in the darkest corner of the bar with a half-moon, vinyl booth seat. Legs crossed at the ankles, arms stretched across the top of the chair, GQ model if ever I’d seen one. When his eyes met mine, he wasted no time scooting from his perch to meet me where I stood clinging to the barstool like a crutch.
“There’s my girl. I thought you were blowing me off. What took so long?” With the firmness I expected, he grabbed my elbow and walked me to the table.
Oh, busywork, passing time, trying to build courage to meet the sexiest man alive on this non-date. “Nan caught me on my way out. She needed to talk,” I lied. “Sorry I made you wait.” Not the least bit sorry he waited.
Franklin waited, hands in his pockets, urbane as a well-bred English gentleman, while I scooted into the seat, a feat not easily accomplished with the lack of give in my skirt. He slid in and didn’t stop until his thigh rested against mine. Holy hot tamale, nothing but trouble rolled my way. His body heat melted the tension from mere nanoseconds before. I inhaled slow and deep and let the faint scent of lemon-lime, lavender, and orange fill my nostrils. Fresh and clean. He always smelled so damned good.
“Gendarme?” I asked.
His chuckle made my blood pump harder. “It is. How’d you know?”
“It was the only cologne my father wore. Not because it was his favorite, but because it was the only one that didn’t irritate my mother’s allergies.” Dad was my hero. I loved everything about him, the way he smelled, dressed, every wrinkle that graced his face. He spent his life making Mom and me feel cherished.
Franklin held my gaze just to the point of uncomfortable before blinking away and gesturing to the woman behind the bar. “Dark beer, right?”
Damn. The bastard was good. “Yes. The darker the better.”
The waitress bee-lined it toward our table, never taking her eyes off Franklin. Her shiny black hair bounced behind in a high pony, pulled tight, no doubt to show off her numerous ear piercings. When she reached our table, she studied me with a perplexed curiosity. Her black mascara and smudged eyeliner looked like it’d been applied by a professional, specifically to frame a set of deep jade eyes. With her skull and crossbone belt, she rocked the sexy, tough-bitch vibe.
“Hey Frankie, what’ll it be?” she asked. Her perky voice didn’t come close to matching the biker-chic facade.
Franklin pulled a fifty from his pocket and handed it to her. “We’re going dark tonight, love. Surprise us.”
Love? My cheeks warmed and my vision narrowed. Shit. Was I jealous? The barmaid was long and lean, like a yoga master. Not an ounce of fluff anywhere on her over-toned body. I shot flaming daggers at her ass as she walked away.
I turned to face the man sitting next to me. “Frankie?” No way was he a Frankie.
“Nickname. She gives one to all the regulars.” His words traveled through my ears, yet I barely registered what he said. He inspected me, raking the length of my body with a hungry leer like he couldn’t decide which lump to take a bite out of first.
“Oh, you come here often?” I looked around the room. Everything was dark; the wood of the tables and chairs, the carved ornate bar, wrought iron mirrors, sconces, even the paintings hung sparsely about were dismal in color and theme. I liked the ambiance. Was I out of my element? Without a doubt, but I’d stuck to the safe confines of my daily routine for too long. Change was good. Especially when it involved Franklin. “I have to say, Franklin Reed, you don’t strike me as the type who’d frequent a place like this.”
“Why not, Tatum Wood? Please, do tell.” His smirk begged to be kissed. I licked my lips and wondered what he tasted like. Man-oh-man, I hadn’t even started drinking yet. I could tell it was going to be a long night.
“That’s easy. You’re Mister Armani Suit, suave, professional. Not gloom and doom, emo, goth, whatever the bejeezers this place is.”
Small dimples formed at the corners of his mouth. “I live upstairs, and did you just say bejeezers?”
“I did, Frankie.”