Annoyed because he still hadn’t received an answer on the reason behind her theft.
Annoyed because he’d erred badly this evening—and he hated to fail.
Annoyed because she looked exceptionally beautiful.
Annoyed because he had minded propriety instead of reserving a private suite for them.
He downed the rest of his champagne. A private suite with an unmarried woman who was the daughter of his client and who hated everything about him? Had he lost his damn mind?
There was no denying his fascination with Mamie. Fascination . . . and attraction. Yes, he was drawn to her. Not that he could act on it, but she was a spark that lit something inside him. He hadn’t experienced it before, this burning obsession, and certainly not with a female who loathed him. Who fought him at every turn. So why this one?
He had to forget her and move on. New York City was full of women, all of various shapes and colors. Finding a companion for a night or two hadn’t ever been a problem before, though it had been a while for him. A month, perhaps? He needed to dedicate more time to the endeavor, he thought as his gaze unwittingly drifted to Mamie’s décolletage. Oh, fuck. That view did not help matters whatsoever.
He quickly shifted toward the windows. Stop staring at her. She was the daughter of a client and not some trollop on display at a dance hall.
He needed to visit Mrs. Wright’s on West Twenty-Seventh Street and work this . . . restlessness out of his system. Tonight.
“What has put you in such a sour mood? Unable to lie to any judges today?”
He met her amused stare. “I’m hardly sour.”
Exhaling, she picked up her soup spoon and sampled the cream of artichoke soup. “I won’t answer your questions. I suppose that leaves us at an impasse.”
Frank nearly snorted. He’d never been at an impasse in his life. No, he was paid—quite handsomely—to maneuver around impasses. A very good thing, too. Seeing as the direct approach was clearly not working with Mamie, he’d need creativity and cunning to deal with her. Patience. Skill.
All that at which he excelled.
Growing up with nothing, Frank had learned early to play the long game. He’d spent years studying diligently, taking odd jobs, saving money, working through college. High marks had earned him an apprenticeship with an established attorney, where even more saving and studying had been required. No one gave you anything free in this life and the best rewards came as a result of hard work.
So he could wait for answers. He’d slowly chip away at Mamie’s resistance and build her trust until she told him everything.
“I suppose it does,” he lied and began eating his soup. “Tell me about your family. Your sisters. What are they like?”
She blinked, possibly confused at his easy capitulation, but answered. “Well, you’ve met Florence. My father calls her the hellion.”
“Why?”
“Because she believes rules don’t apply to her. She’s fearless.”
“And you follow the rules?”
The edges of her mouth turned up slightly before she sipped another spoonful of soup. “To you, it might seem like I do not. However, believe it or not, I’m the responsible one.”
“I don’t believe it, actually.” He reached for his champagne glass. “Nothing about what I have observed over the last six months demonstrates responsibility.”
“You caught me in unexpected locations on three occasions. The rest of the time I’m playing dutiful daughter, society debutante and charity worker.”
“An unproven claim,” he could not help but return. She flashed him an angry glare and he held up his hands. “I apologize. Undoubtedly you are right and I have misjudged you.” Not likely.
Patience, Frank.
“And what of the youngest Greene sister, the one who has yet to come out?”
“Justine.” A fond smile softened her expression. “She is the best of all of us. That girl will change New York City one day.”
“How so?”
“She sees the good in everyone. A do-gooder by nature. Wishes to make the world a better place.”
He cocked his head and studied her. “You admire her.”
“Yes, I rather do. It’s hard not to, really—though she did take me in a game of billiards for twenty-five dollars earlier today.”
“You play?” That surprised him.
“A bit. Our father hardly uses the billiards room so it’s become our clubhouse of sorts. What about you? Do you play?”
“A time or two.” A lie. Frank had practically paid for college using his pool-playing skills. No need to recount those sordid tales, especially as he’d told everyone he came from a wealthy family.
Black-coated waiters arrived to clear the soup bowls as she asked, “What of your family?”
A heaviness settled in his stomach, one that had nothing to do with food. “Happily living in Chicago,” he lied.
“Is that so? What does your father do?”
Toast points topped with caviar were placed on the table, but Frank hardly noticed. Dead from alcohol after beating his wife and family for years. “My grandfather made some money out in Dakota. Copper mine.” The falsehood tripped easily off his tongue after so many years.
Her gaze narrowed slightly. “And where did you go to school?”
“Yale.”
“Was any of that the truth?”
He stilled. No one had ever seen through the stories he told to protect himself. No. One. “Why on earth would I lie?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “But your eyes . . . they dimmed when you were just speaking. I get the sense you’re not telling me the truth.”
Panic gripped the edges of his chest, squeezing. He could only imagine telling her the real story of his childhood.
Well, you see, I grew up in a shack down off Worth Street. In fact, a tenement would have been a palace in comparison. There were seven of us packed inside, practically on top of each other in the filth and grime. One brother died on the streets in a gang fight. Another brother was nearly killed in a factory machine accident. My two sisters . . . Well, let’s just say they were put to work early. Me? I hustled and studied. And, thanks to the generosity of a saloon owner who pitied me, I made it out. I changed my last name and went to a boarding school as a charity case. Once there, I never looked back.
He studied his soup as if memorizing it. “I’m due for a visit, is all. My mother’s been after me for the better part of six months to come home.”
She heaved a sigh. “The Greenes may be rich but we are not stupid.”
He was beginning to see that. Not that he ever thought her stupid, per se, but she was far more complex than he’d given her credit for. But he still wasn’t telling her the truth.
No one knew his history . . . and no one ever would.
“But I will let it go,” she said, popping a piece of toast and caviar in her mouth. “For now.”
He couldn’t help it: he chuckled. “I’m beginning to think you are the lawyer at this table. I feel like I’m on the witness stand.”
“Without even trying, I might add. Imagine if I actually devoted my energy to the task.” She appeared all too pleased with herself, with her eyes sparkling and a wide grin on her face. The verbal sparring between them excited her as well, and that knowledge slipped under his skin to wrap around his insides, heating him everywhere. If she were not the daughter of a client or twenty-three years old and unmarried . . . the two of them might have had a great deal of fun together in bed.