“There might not have been anything to celebrate,” she pointed out.
“Then it would have been a fine consolation for disappointment. Besides, it’s lunchtime. On the principle we have to eat, why not eat well? Superb food here. Have you chosen yet?”
“No. It all looks marvellous.”
“Good! I figured you needed your appetite tempted. Can’t have you pining away on me.”
Relieved of any cause for battle, Amy returned her attention to the menu, satisfied she understood Jake’s motives. This lunch was part of his program to push her into forgetting her grief and promote the attitude that life was still worth living. Put her in a new environment, lift her spirits with champagne, stuff her up with delicious comfort food, and Amy Taylor would be as good as gold again.
She smiled to herself as she made her choice, deciding on her favourite seafoods. Making the most of Jake’s fix-it ideas was definitely the order of the day. He probably didn’t have a clue about broken hearts. He never stayed in a relationship long enough to find out. Nevertheless, Amy had to admit he was positively helping her over a big emotional hump.
After this sinfully decadent lunch, they’d be dropping in at Ted Durkin’s office to sign the lease on the apartment. She could take up occupation next Saturday. What had loomed as a long, miserable, empty week ahead of her would now be filled with the business of organising the move and coloured with the anticipation of all it would mean to her. To some extent, Jake was right with his practical solutions. Life didn’t stay black when good things happened.
Their champagne arrived and their orders were taken. Jake lifted his glass, his eyes twinkling at her over it. “To the future,” he toasted.
Amy happily echoed it. “The future. And thanks for everything, Jake. I really appreciate your kind consideration.”
“What would I do without your smile? It makes my day.”
She laughed at his teasing, then sat back in her chair, relaxing, allowing herself the luxury of viewing him with warmth. “I like working with you,” she admitted. “It’s never boring.”
“Amy, you’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. In fact, you’re the perfect complement to me.”
He was talking about work, nothing but work, she insisted to herself, yet there was something in his voice that furred the edges of sharp thinking and her heart denied any breakage by hop, skip, and jumping all over the place.
“Jake, darling!”
The jarring intrusion snapped Amy’s attention to the woman who had suddenly materialised beside Jake. A blonde! A very voluptuous blonde! Who proceeded to stroke her absurdly long and highly varnished fingernails down Jake’s sleeve in a very provocative, possessive manner.
It was like a knife twisting in a fresh wound. Amy could see Steve’s blonde getting her claws into him, never mind that he belonged to another woman. A marauding blonde, uncaring of anything but her own desires. This one was insinuating herself between Amy and Jake, splitting up their private celebration party, stealing the lovely comfortable mood, demanding to be the focus of attention.
“What a surprise, seeing you here today!” she cooed to Jake, not asking any pardon for intruding.
Amy hated her. She wanted to tear that hand off Jake’s sleeve and shove it into the woman’s mouth, shutting off the slavering drool of words.
“An unexpected pleasure, Isabella,” Jake returned smoothly, starting to rise from his chair, dislodging her hand.
Isabella! Of course, she’d have a name like that, Amy seethed. Something sexy and exotic.
“No, please stay seated.” It was another excuse to touch him, to curl her talons around his shoulder. The blonde bared perfect teeth at Amy. Piranha teeth. “I don’t think I’ve met your companion.”
“Amy Taylor…Isabella Maddison,” Jake obliged.
“Hi!” the blonde said, the briefest possible acknowledgement.
Amy met her feline green eyes with a chilly blue blast and nodded her acknowledgement, not prepared to play the all jolly friends game. She didn’t want to know Isabella Maddison, didn’t care to greet an uninvited intruder, and would not pretend to welcome a predatory blonde into her company.
Her and her “Jake, darling!” How rude could you get? It was perfectly obvious the blonde was putting in her claim in front of a possible rival and didn’t care what it took to win. Never mind dimming Amy’s pleasure, taking the shine off the day, pushing herself forward to block Amy out.
“Great party on Saturday night, Jake,” Isabella enthused, giving it a sexy innuendo.
“Yes. A lot of fun,” he replied.
Fun! The urge to have a bit of fun herself blew through Amy’s mind. “What a pity I couldn’t be there!” she said ruefully. “Jake and I have the best fun together, don’t we, darling?”
His head jerked to her, eyes startled. He recovered fast, his mouth curving into his whimsical smile. “Ain’t that the truth?” he drawled.
‘Jake always says we complement each other perfectly,” Amy crowed, buoyed so much by his support, she batted her eyelashes at the blonde bombshell.
“Then you should have been there, shouldn’t you?” came the snaky return comment, accompanied by a suggestively raised eyebrow.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Amy shrugged and swirled the champagne around in her glass as she gave Jake a smouldering look. “Some men like a bit of rope. I don’t mind as long as I can reel him in whenever I want to.”
“Amy is very understanding,” Jake said, nodding his appreciation.
“Well, perhaps another time, Jake,” Isabella purred, undeterred from a future romp.
“Oh, I doubt it.” Amy poured syrup into her voice. “He rarely dips into the same well twice.” She bared her teeth. “Take a friendly word of advice. Best to move on to greener pastures. He is sort of stuck with me for the long haul.”
Isabella started to retreat. “If you’ll excuse me…”
“With pleasure,” Amy said to speed her on her way, then downed half the champagne to celebrate her going.
Jake’s eyes were dancing with unholy amusement. “My wildest fantasy come true…you fighting another woman for me.”
“Huh!” Amy scoffed. “That’ll be the day.”
“Am I not to believe my ears?”
“She had the wrong coloured hair.”
“Ah!” His wicked delight took on a wry twist. “The other woman.”
“Sorry if I’ve queered your pitch with her.” She wasn’t sorry at all, but it seemed an appropriate thing to say. After all, when all was said and done, he was still her boss. Though he could have stopped her roll if anything important was at stake. She would have taken her cue from him.
“No problem,” he said carelessly.
“No, I don’t suppose it is.” Cynicism streaked through her. “If you snapped your fingers she’d come again.”
“Isabella has no claim on me.” It was a surprisingly serious statement, and his eyes held hers intently, as though he was assuring her he spoke the truth.
It was meaningless to Amy. No woman ever seemed to have a claim on him. “Is she your latest interest?” For some reason, she really wanted to know.
“No,” he answered without hesitation.
“Just one of the hopeful crowd