“Not a date,” he confirmed. “We can both wear whatever—shorts, T-shirts, anything comfortable. I won’t pick you up. I won’t open your car door. We’ll just meet at the restaurant. I’ll buy you dinner in exchange for tips on how better to win over these guys so they let me really help them,” he said with a nod at the Bronsons’ house. “And then we’ll go our separate ways afterward.”
She did want to encourage a truce between the Bronsons and this man in order to get the Bronsons as much aid from the Camdens as she could.
That was what put it over the top for her. She was doing this for the Bronsons....
“Okay,” she agreed.
“What do you feel like eating—Italian, Mediterranean, Moroccan, Mexican, Chinese, sushi...?”
She closed her eyes to think about it and when she opened them he was grinning at her.
“Did that help you decide?” he asked with a laugh.
“I was just giving my stomach the chance to tell me what it wanted,” she said as if it should have been obvious.
“And what did it tell you?” Another question within another laugh.
“Lemon chicken at the Red Lantern on Broadway.”
“Your stomach is very specific,” he teased. “No dessert?”
“Always dessert—that was actually the deciding vote. The Red Lantern has this really, really dark chocolate pudding—the lemon chicken is just what I have to eat to get to that.”
He laughed again but there was something about it—appreciation or delight or something—that didn’t make her feel as if he was making fun of her at all. “Of course—really, really dark chocolate pudding. Can you be there in an hour?”
“An hour,” she confirmed, knowing that didn’t leave her a lot of time.
But that lack of time ensured that she couldn’t make this a bigger deal than it needed to be, so that was all she gave herself.
* * *
Gia didn’t wear shorts—she wore khaki capris. But she did put on a simple red square-neck T-shirt with a red-and-white-striped tank top peeking from underneath it. Without much time to get ready, she’d washed her hair in a hurry, scrunched it and left it loose in order to spend some of that time applying blush, mascara, eyeliner and a glossy lipstick.
When she got to the Red Lantern she noted that Derek—who was waiting for her by leaning against his black sports car in the parking lot—had also not opted for shorts. Instead he was wearing jeans that were much better than what he’d worn to work in earlier today. But he, too, had gone with a T-shirt—a white V-neck with long sleeves that he’d pushed to his elbows.
He was freshly shaven, his hair was clean and casually perfect, and it didn’t matter whether or not he’d put much thought into his attire; he still looked great.
She warned herself not to pay too much attention to that as she parked.
Having spotted her when she’d turned in from the street, he pushed off of his car and followed her all the way back to the only open space at the far end of the lot. As promised, he didn’t open her car door for her, but he was waiting right there when she got out of her small hybrid sedan.
She caught him giving her the once-over, which prompted a small smile, as if he liked what he saw. But all he said was that he’d already gone in and put their names on the waiting list, so they should have a table shortly.
Gia wondered if he’d tipped the hostess in advance, because the place was crowded but all it took was him stepping up to the hostess station and giving his name for them to be led right to a table.
They ordered soon after sitting down, and once they’d been served their iced teas, he said, “So, how do you think I did today?”
“You were a lot of help,” she assured him.
He laughed. “I don’t mean how did I do with the work. I meant how did I do with the Bronsons.”
“Oh. Well, no rocks were thrown and the hose wasn’t turned on you, so I think that counts as a success at this point.”
“You say that as if you half expected it to happen,” he said with a laugh.
Gia shrugged. “You were the one who thought rocks might be thrown, so I didn’t think that would happen. But the hose part was mentioned....”
His laugh had just a touch of alarm to it. “They talked about turning the hose on me?”
Gia shrugged again. “You know, what your family did to the Bronsons was pretty bad.... Awful, in fact....”
He sobered somewhat and admitted, “Actually, I might not know exactly what went on. It was 1968—my father and my uncle were only teenagers then, so it was my great-grandfather and my grandfather at the helm. But even when my father and my uncle grew up and were on board they all kept things completely separate—business was business, home was home. They never brought business home with them—”
“But still the Camdens have a reputation....”
“I know. Over the years we’ve heard the bad stuff that’s been said about us. But H.J. always said it was nothing, not to take it seriously, that he’d never done anything wrong. And to us—” Derek took a turn at shrugging “—H.J. was our great-grandfather. He took care of us. He doted on us. That was all we knew from him. When anyone brought up something that was being said, he’d say that in business, in politics, in sports and in life there were wins and there were losses. And that whoever lost was never happy about it—that that was where the bad-mouthing came from and not to pay any attention to it.”
“So you didn’t,” Gia said as their meal arrived and they began to eat.
“Not really. GiGi’s take on it was that success came with a cost, and she guessed that having some negative things—she actually called them lies—said about us was that cost.”
“But they aren’t lies. I mean, I don’t know about anything else, but they aren’t lies when it comes to Larry and Marion.”
“With the Bronsons, I don’t know all the details, to be perfectly honest. I know that they owned a hotel—”
“The Larkspur,” Gia supplied.
“It was built in the late 1800s.”
“By Larry’s great-great-grandfather,” she filled in as they ate.
“And it was in the very heart of downtown Denver on a prime piece of real estate.”
Again Gia offered information. “A prime piece of real estate that H. J. Camden wanted to build a store on.”
“Right,” Derek concurred. “But while the real-estate was prime, what was on it had gone downhill....” he said diplomatically.
“The Larkspur needed work,” Gia conceded. “Larry and Marion admit that they hadn’t had the time or money it needed because of Roddy—”
“Roddy? Who’s Roddy?”
“Their son. You didn’t know they had a son?”
“I didn’t,” Derek said.
“So you don’t know everything,” Gia muttered more to herself than to him.
“I don’t,” he answered. “In fact, I think it’s probably safe to say that what I do know is only the tip of the iceberg, and even that I haven’t known for long.”
Gia wasn’t quite sure what that meant but she didn’t see a point in trying to figure it out.
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