“Your definition of reason and mine could be quite different.” Her tone was wry and her frown had relaxed. “Besides, in eight more months, you won’t have any authority to tell me what to do. Why don’t you start practicing now?”
He took a deep breath, refusing to snarl. He nearly told her that no matter how old she got she’d always be his responsibility, but the last thing he needed was for her to get her back up even more. Then he recalled the image of her stricken face, great gray eyes swimming with the tears she refused to give in to as she told him how she’d found out about her financial affairs, and he gentled his response to a more reasonable request. “Would you at least consider a different kind of job? Something that isn’t so demanding?”
She was giving him another distinctly suspicious look. “Maybe. But I won’t quit today.”
He exhaled, a deep, exaggeratedly patient sigh. “Of course not.”
When the taxi rolled to a stop in front of Saks, he took her elbow as she turned toward the door. “Wait,” he said before she could scramble out.
She turned back and looked at him, her gray eyes questioning.
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
Could her eyes get any wider? “Dinner?”
He knew how she felt. He hadn’t planned to ask her; the words had slipped out before he’d thought about them. Good Lord. “Um, yes,” he said, wondering if thirty was too early for the onset of senility. “I’ll pick you up. What’s your address?”
She lived on the upper West Side, in a small apartment that would have been adequate for two. But he knew from the talk they had shared over lunch that she had at least two roommates from the names she’d mentioned.
“How many people do you live with?” he asked dubiously, looking around as she unlocked the door and ushered him in.
“Three other girls,” she answered. “Two to each bedroom. Two of us work days and two work nights so it’s rare that we’re all here at the same time.”
Just then, a door opened and a girl in a black leotard and denim overalls came down the hall. Stone examined her with disbelief. She was a redhead, at least mostly. There was a blue streak boldly marching through the red near the left front side of her curly hair. She had a wide, friendly smile and green eyes that were sparkling with interest.
“Well, hey,” she said. “Like, I hate to tell you, handsome, but you so do not fit in here.”
He couldn’t keep himself from returning the grin. “My Rolex gave me away?”
“Gretchen, this is Stone Lachlan,” Faith said. “Stone, one of my roommates, Gretchen Vandreau.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Gretchen dropped a mock-curtsy, still beaming.
“You also, Miss Vandreau.” He grinned again as her eyes widened.
“Are you—oh, wow, you are! The Lachlans.” Her eyebrows shot up as she eyed Faith. “Where did you find him?”
“Actually I found her,” Stone said. “Faith and I are old friends.” He turned to Faith. “Are you ready?”
“Ready? Like, to go out?” Gretchen looked from one to the other with delight. “You go, girlfriend.”
“It’s not like that,” she said to Gretchen.
“Depends on what that is,” Stone inserted.
Faith turned and glared at him. “Stone—”
“Better hurry, I have reservations for eight.” He felt an odd sense of panic as he gauged the mulish expression on her face. Was she having second thoughts? Was she going to back out? He had to battle the urge to simply pick her up and carry her back down to the car.
She retrieved a black cape from the small coat closet with her friend chattering along behind her. He stepped in to help her on with the garment, and they went out the door to the sound of Gretchen’s enthusiastic, “Have a blast!”
He took her elbow and urged her into the elevator, conscious of a ridiculous sense of relief sweeping through him as they exited the cramped apartment. It was only that he felt it was his duty to take care of her, he assured himself. Faith didn’t belong in a crowded apartment or behind a counter in a department store. Her family had intended that she be gently raised, probably with the idea that she’d marry a polite young man of the upper class one day and raise polite, well-mannered upper-class children. After all, she’d been sent to the best private schools, had learned the sometimes ridiculous rules that accompanied moving in society.
He wished the idea didn’t fill him with such a sense of…unease. That was all it was. He wanted the best for her and it would be up to him to be sure any suitors were suitable.
He surveyed her covertly as they stood in the elevator, waiting for the ground floor. Her blond hair was smoothly swept back into a shining knot at the back of her head and the harsh lighting in the elevator made it gleam with silvery highlights. She was chewing on her bottom lip; he reached out and touched it with his index finger to get her to stop. Alarm bells went off in his head as a strange jolt of electric awareness shot through his body.
He stared down at her. She had her gaze fixed on the floor and he had to restrain himself from reaching for her chin and covering her lips with his own. What would she taste like?
Then he realized what he was thinking…totally inappropriate thought to be having about a girl who was like his little sister. Again.
Little sister? Since when do you wonder how your little sister’s curves would feel pressed up against you?
He almost growled aloud to banish his unruly thoughts and Faith’s gray eyes flashed to his face with a wary look he thought was probably normally aimed at large predators.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“No.” Then she shook her head. “That’s not true. Why are you doing this?”
He gazed calmly back at her. “Dinner, you mean?”
She nodded.
“I’m your guardian. It struck me today that I haven’t done a very good job of it, either, so I thought we’d spend a little more time together. You can tell me more about your plans.”
She nodded again, as if his explanation made sense.
The ride to the small, quiet Italian restaurant where he’d made reservations was a short one. As the maître d’ showed them to their table, Faith caught his eye. As the man walked away, she whispered, “If this isn’t a Mafia haven, I don’t know what is!”
He chuckled, surprised she’d picked up on it. He’d been coming here for years—the food was reputed to be some of the best Northern Italian cuisine in the city. But the waiters, the bartender, certainly the man who appeared to be the owner greeting guests, had an air of authority, underlaid with an indefinable air of menace. “It’s probably the safest place to be in Manhattan,” he said.
Over dinner, he asked her questions about her interest in computers.
“I had a knack for it,” she told him, “and I started helping out in the computer lab at school. It got so that the instructors were coming to me with questions about how to do things, and how to fix things they’d messed up. That led me into programming and eventually I set up the school’s Web site. And once I did that, other people began to ask me to design their sites. It occurred to me that I could make a living doing something I really enjoy, so I decided on a double major in computers and business.”
“You’re planning to open your own company when you get your degree?”
She nodded, and her eyes shone with enthusiasm. “Eventually. I think I’d like the challenge. But I’ll probably start at an established firm.” She paused and her gaze grew speculative. “You had