Still, no matter how many times I tried to convince myself it was only a business dinner and not a date, I failed. I had a feeling that even if I’d been able to do so, it wouldn’t have mattered.
I noticed him as soon as he walked into the lobby. He was taller than most of the other men, which gave him an advantage when he scanned the room. I watched from my spot behind the plant as his intense gaze swept the lobby for me. It triggered an image of him looking over my naked body with that same concentration and threatened to dissolve me into a pile of goo.
“Shake it off,” I told myself. “You have a job to do, and not a single part of that job involves you naked in front of Piers.”
To prove I was more than capable, I took a step away from the plant and stood still, not in the middle of the lobby space but off to the side, and watched as he continued scanning the room. I knew the moment he caught sight of me because his eyes lit up and a big grin covered his face.
He wore a pale gray suit that should have made him appear washed out. At least that’s what it would do on another man. But on Piers it only accentuated his already too-perfect-to-be-real body. I felt bad for other men all over the face of the earth who had no hope of ever looking a fraction of how good Piers did.
He made his way to me, air-kissing my cheeks once he stood before me.
“Bri,” he said, taking a step back. “You look beautiful. Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me.”
“Has anyone ever been able to turn you down?”
His expression turned dark for a split second, but almost instantly, his grin was back in place. “Once or twice,” he joked.
I didn’t believe him for a minute, but I wouldn’t argue about it. “So tell me, Mr. Once or Twice, where are you taking me to dinner?”
He held his arm out for me to take, and I did so, even though it felt awkward. I immediately noticed the hard muscle beneath my fingertips. Damn. I knew he wouldn’t be soft—even as a kid he was all scrawny muscles—but what I felt was the result of much more than an occasional workout.
I almost mentioned something about how obvious it was he worked out but held my tongue. It would be for the best if I didn’t draw attention to how much I noticed his body, much less compliment him on it.
“You want to know about dinner?” he asked as we stepped outside. “Funny thing. I had a place in mind, but it would involve getting in my car, and to be honest, I found a really great parking spot, and I’m loath to give it up. Now I’m thinking we should go somewhere we can walk to.”
“There is a thing called public transportation, you know,” I said with a roll of my eyes.
“Public transportation?” he asked, like I’d suggested we dine on the moon. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. Don’t you ever ride the train?”
“Not if I can help it.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “And ninety-nine point nine percent of the time I can.”
“You are aware you’re only making yourself look like a snob,” I pointed out.
“Let’s cross the street here,” he said, and we turned and crossed over when the light changed. “I suppose I do sound a bit snobbish,” he continued once we had reached the other side. “But surely it’s better to be honest and sound snobbish than to sound otherwise but be deceitful.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Instead I asked, “You seem to know where you’re going. I take it you’ve decided where we should eat?”
“Very astute.” He waved down the street. “An acquaintance of mine has a place about a block from here. He opened last year. It’s packed during baseball season but is easier to get into this time of year.”
I’d never been much of a sports fan. Granted, I’d watched a few football games when I lived in the UK, but American sports? Not my thing. “I don’t even know when baseball season is,” I admitted.
Piers patted my hand. “We’ll keep that between the two of us,” he said, and we both laughed.
Fifteen minutes later as we sat at a table near a window overlooking the downtown area, I had a feeling he’d been selling himself short when he claimed to be an acquaintance of the owner. Piers was obviously well known by the staff. The hostess, a middle-aged woman, fawned all over him and then turned her attention to me, saying it was about time Piers brought a woman by for dinner. I could only nod, but it didn’t matter because she’d turned back to Piers, saying she had just the table for us.
“She seems to be a fan of yours,” I said once we’d been seated.
“Betsy is the owner’s sister. Sweet lady. Widowed last year. It’s been rough on her.”
Piers greeted the server who stopped by our table with a hearty hello, and she playfully smacked his shoulder. “It’s been too long.” He only laughed and told her to surprise us with dinner.
“Do you know everyone in Boston?” I asked as she walked away. “Or only those who own or work in restaurants?”
For some reason, Piers found my question funny. “I imagine it does look as if everyone I know is in the food industry. I assure you, I know plenty of nonfood-industry people as well.”
That I knew for a fact, but I kept the thought to myself. “What made you decide to go into law?” I asked. It seemed to be an innocent enough question. Plus, if we were talking about him, we couldn’t talk about me.
If he knew what I was doing, he didn’t let on. Leaning back in his seat, he replied, “I received a full ride at Stanford. I knew I wanted to do something that made a difference, but I wasn’t sure what. At first I thought about politics. It didn’t take me long to realize I might be limited with what I could accomplish since I was born in the UK. Plus, I had more than enough skeletons in my closet to sink any run for a major office.” He shrugged. “Law school seemed to be a good choice. I took the LSAT and did above average. Good enough to get me into Georgetown.” He winked. “The rest is history.”
“And you went into business law.”
He raised an eyebrow in silent question. “Yes.”
It was my turn to shrug. “I searched for you online.” It wasn’t a lie. I just didn’t mention when I searched him.
“In that case,” he said. “I’m sure you saw how I use my law practice to help small business owners.”
No. Actually. I hadn’t known that. I didn’t voice an answer, but something in my expression must have revealed my thoughts.
Piers leaned forward, and I did the same, not realizing what I’d done until I saw how close we were. But I didn’t move back.
“I’m a very good business lawyer, Bri,” he said, and I found no trace of vanity or exaggeration in his statement. “The businesses that pay me are what allow me to help those who can’t. In fact, last year fifty percent of my workload was pro bono.”
Fifty percent? I didn’t see how that was possible after viewing all the information the Organization had on him. It made little sense. Based on the documents and spreadsheets I’d been given, Piers sent a lot of his money to various offshore accounts. If he did that, he wouldn’t have the funds to do as much pro bono work as he claimed.
“Fifty percent is commendable,” I said, trying to make sense of it in my head.