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“Depends,” he answered, listening for the next volley.
“I read it in the Oxford Historic Encyclopedia at the NYU Library,” came Lindsay’s tart retort.
“It could end badly,” Zach acknowledged.
While he’d long since accepted the fact that his family’s wealth had its roots in some pretty unsavory characters, Dylan had always chosen to pretend his ancestor fought against the pirate Lyndall Harper, and on the side of justice.
The two men had zigzagged across the Atlantic for years, lobbing cannonballs at each other. They’d fought, that much was true. But neither was on the right side of the law.
The suite level elevator doors had opened, so they walked inside.
“Caldwell had letters of authority from King George,” said Dylan, turning to face the glowing red numbers.
“Forged and backdated in 1804,” Lindsay retorted without missing a bead.
“Have you ever seen the originals?” Dylan asked. “Because I’ve seen the originals.”
Kaitlin merely grinned at Zach from beneath her ball cap. “My money’s on Lindsay.”
He took in her fresh face, ruby lips, dark lashes and that enticing little dimple. He caught the scent of coconut, and for a split second he imagined her in a bright bikini, flowers in her hair, on a tropical beach.
“Is it a bet?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Sorry?” He shook himself back to reality.
“Ten bucks says Lindsay wins.” She held out her hand to seal the deal.
Zach took her small, soft hand in his, shaking slowly, drawing out the touch, his attraction to her buzzing through every nerve cell in his body. “You’re on.”
The elevator came smoothly to a stop, and they made their way along the wide, carpeted hallway to the luxury suite. For many years, the Harpers and the Gilbys had shared a corporate suite for Mets games. Dylan’s father used them the most often, but they had proven a valuable corporate tool for all of them in wooing challenging clients.
“Wow.” The exclamation whooshed out of Kaitlin as she crossed through the arched entrance and into the big, balconied room. It comfortably held twenty. A waiter was setting out snacks on the countertop bar, next to an ice-filled pail of imported beer and a couple of bottles of fine wine.
“Will you look at this.” Like an excited kid, she beelined across to the open glass doors and out onto the breezy, tiered balcony, where two short rows of private seats awaited them.
Happy to leave Dylan and Lindsay to their escalating debate, Zach followed Kaitlin out.
“So this is how the other half lives,” she said, bracing her hands on the painted metal rail, and gazing out over home plate. Rows of fan-filled seats cascaded below them, and a hum of excitement wafted through the air.
“It works well for entertaining clients.” Zach heard a trace of apology in his voice, and he realized he wanted her to know it wasn’t all about self-indulgence.
“At Shea Stadium, we used to sit over there.” She pointed to the blue seats high behind third.
“Was that when you were a kid?”
She shook her head. “It was when we were in college.” And a wistful tone came into her voice. “My first live game was sophomore year.”
“So, you were a late bloomer?” He shifted to watch her profile, wondering what had prompted the sadness.
“As a kid, I watched as many as I could on TV.” She abruptly turned to face the suite, and her tone went back to normal. “You got any beer in there?”
“No live games as a kid?” he persisted, seeing an opening to get to know her on a more personal level.
“Not a lot of money when I was a kid.” She sounded defiant. He could tell he was being dared to probe further.
He opened his mouth to ask, but a cheer came up from the crowd as the players jogged onto the field.
Kaitlin clapped her hands. And by the time the din had abated, Zach decided to leave it alone. He patted one of the balcony chairs in the front row. “Have a seat. I’ll bring you a beer.” Two stairs up, he twisted back. “You want chips or something?”
“Hot dog?” she asked.
He couldn’t help but grin at the simple request. “One hot dog, coming up.”
Back inside the suite, while Dylan explained some of the finer points of King George’s Letters of Authority, the waiter quickly organized hot dogs and beer.
In no time, Zach was settled next to Kaitlin, and the game was under way.
As the Mets went up to bat, they ate their loaded hot dogs. Between bites, she unselfconsciously cheered for the hits and groaned at the strikes. Zach found himself watching her more than he watched the players.
After the final bite of her hot dog, she licked a dab of mustard from the pad of her thumb. The gesture was both subconscious and sexy. Somehow, it looked remarkably like a kiss.
“That was delicious,” she said, grinning around the tip of her thumb. “Thanks.”
He tried to remember the last time he’d dated a woman who enjoyed the simple pleasure of a hot dog. Lobster, maybe, caviar, certainly, and expensive champagne was always a winner. But the finer things had mattered to his dates, his money had always mattered.
Then he remembered Kaitlin owned half his fortune. And he remembered they weren’t on a date.
“So …” She adjusted her position, crossing one leg over the opposite knee, and adjusted her cap, apparently remembering the same things as him. “Why did you invite me here?”
He feigned innocence. “What do you mean?”
She gestured to the opulence behind them. “The suite. The baseball game. Imported beer. What’s up?”
“We’re working together.”
“And …” She waited.
“And I thought we should get to know each other.” Sure, he had another objective. But it was perfectly rational for the two of them to get to know each other. The renovations would take months. They’d be in each other’s lives for quite some time to come.
“I’m not signing the divorce papers,” she warned him.
“Did I ask?” There was no need for her to get paranoid.
“And I’m not changing the renovation designs, either.”
“You could at least let me look at them.”
“No way,” she determinedly stated.
He tried feigning nonchalance. “Okay. Then let’s talk about you.”
She came alert. “What about me?”
“What are your plans? I mean long-term. Not just this single project.”
The crack of a bat against the ball resonated through the stadium, and she turned to face forward while a runner sprinted to first. “That’s no secret,” she answered, gaze focused on the game. “A successful career in architecture. In New York City.”
He took a sip of the cold beer, concentrating on getting this conversation just right. “I’d like to help you.”
Her mouth quirked into a rueful smile. “You are helping. Reluctantly, we both know. But you are helping.”
“I mean in addition to the Harper renovation project. I know people. I have contacts.”
“I’m sure you do.” She kept her attention fixed on the game while the opposing pitcher threw a strike, retiring the batter, and the Mets headed out to the field.
“Let me use them,” Zach offered.
She turned then to paste him with a skeptical stare. “Use your contacts? To help me?”
“Yes,” he assured her with a nod.
She thought about it for a few minutes while the pitcher warmed up. Zach was tempted to prompt her, but he’d messed up so many conversations with her already, he decided silence was the safer route.
“I read where you’re going to the chamber of commerce dinner next Friday,” she finally ventured, turning to watch him.
“The resurgence of global trade in northern Europe,” he confirmed. They’d asked him to speak. He’d prefer to sit in the back and enjoy the single malt, but having a profile at these things was always good for business.
“Are you taking anyone?” she asked, gaze darting back to the action on the field.
“You mean a date?”
She nodded. “It’s a dinner. I assume it would be partly social. It seems to me it would be acceptable to bring a date.”
“Yes, it’s acceptable. And no, I don’t have one.”
Another batter cracked a high fly ball. They watched the trajectory until it was caught out in center field.
“Will you take me?”
Zach rocked back and turned. A reflexive rush of excitement hit his body as he studied her profile. “You’re asking me for a date?”
But she rolled her eyes and adjusted her cap. “I’m asking you to get me in the door, Zach, not dance with me. You said you wanted to help. And there will be people there who are good for my career.”
“Right.” He shifted in his seat, assuring himself he wasn’t disappointed. It was a lie, of course. But he definitely wasn’t stupid.
Dating Kaitlin would be a huge mistake. Dancing with her was out of the question. What if it was as great as he’d remembered? What then?
She drew a satisfied sigh, her shoulders relaxing. “And, before Friday, if you wouldn’t mind telling at least five people that you’ve hired me back. Influential people. It would be great for me if word got around.”
He had no right to be disappointed. This was business for her. It was business for him, too. Introducing her around at the chamber dinner played right into Plan C. She was right. There would be influential people there, a myriad of corporate executives, many of whom would have contacts in the architectural world. If he was lucky, really lucky, she’d find a job right there at the dinner.
Still, he struggled to keep his voice neutral as he told her, “Sure. No problem.”
“You did offer to help,” she pointed out.
“I said sure.”
“Are you annoyed?” she asked.
“I’m being blackmailed,” he reminded her. Was he supposed to be thrilled about it?
“Every marriage has its complications,” she returned on an irreverent grin.
Just then, the Mets pitcher struck out the third batter with the bases loaded, and Kaitlin jumped from her seat to cheer.
Zach watched her in the sunlight and struggled very hard to feel annoyed. But then she punched a fist in the air, and her T-shirt rode up, revealing a strip of smooth skin above her waistband. And annoyance was the last thing he was feeling toward his accidental wife.
The chamber dinner was a dream come true for Kaitlin. The people she met were friendly and professional, and she came away feeling as if she’d met the who’s who of the Manhattan business world. Zach had certainly stuck to his pledge of helping her. He’d introduced her to dozens of potential contacts, left her in interesting conversations, but seemed to magically appear whenever she felt alone or out of place.
It was nearly midnight when they finally climbed aboard his thirty-foot yacht for the return trip to Manhattan. Like the suite at the baseball game, the yacht clearly showed Zach had the means and the desire to enjoy the finer things in life. Lindsay was right, Kaitlin could spend as much as she needed on the renovations, and he’d barely notice.
The chamber dinner had been held at an island marina just off the coast of southern Manhattan. Most people had traveled by water taxi but a few, like Zach, had brought their own transportation.
“This is a nice ride,” she acknowledged one more time, as they settled into a grouping of comfortable, white, cushioned furniture. The sitting area, on a teak wood deck, was positioned next to a covered hot tub near the stern of the boat, protected from the wind by a glass wall at midship, but providing an incredible view over the aft rail.
Kaitlin chose a soft armchair, while Zach took a love seat at a right angle to her, facing the stern. The pilot powered up the engine, and they glided smoothly out into the bay.
“It’s slower than a helicopter,” said Zach. “But I like it out here at night.”
Kaitlin tipped her head and gazed at the twinkling skyline. A three-quarter moon was rising, and a few stars were visible beyond the city’s glow. “You have a helicopter?”
“Dylan has the helicopters. My company owns ships.”
Kaitlin had liked Dylan, even if Lindsay hadn’t seemed to warm up to him. Then again, there were few things Lindsay enjoyed more than a rollicking debate, and Dylan had played right into her hand. Kaitlin was convinced Lindsay missed being in a courtroom. Lindsay had worked for a year as a litigator, and Kaitlin had always wondered about her choice to take the teaching position.
“Tell me more about the pirates,” she said to Zach. She’d never met anyone with such a colorful family history.
“You want a drink or anything?” he asked.
She shook her head, slipping off her shoes and bending her knees to tuck her feet beneath her in the shimmering black cocktail dress. “One more glass of champagne, and I’ll start singing karaoke.”
“Champagne it is.” He started to rise, his devilish smile showing straight white teeth in the muted deck light.
“Don’t you dare,” she warned, with a waggle of her finger. “Trust me. You do not want me to sing.”
He rocked back into his seat and loosened his tie. He ran a hand, spread-fingered, through his thick hair and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. In the buffeting breeze, with the faint traces of fatigue around his dark eyes, he looked disheveled and compellingly sexy.
“Back to the pirates,” she prompted in an effort to distract herself from her burgeoning desire. “Is it all true?”
