With another heavy breath he rerouted his troubling thoughts, deciding to distract himself with dinner. An hour and a half later, as he removed a hot pan from the stove and set it on the cooling rack on the counter, he realized Jamie still hadn’t come downstairs.
He wiped his hands on a dishrag, then trudged up the stairs and knocked on Jamie’s door. When she didn’t answer he went ahead and opened it, hoping he didn’t catch her in a state of undress. Or maybe praying he would. But when he walked in he was surprised to find her sprawled on the burgundy bedspread, sound asleep.
His heart squeezed in his chest. She looked young and sweet while she slept, and not so obstinately professional. For all her easygoing smiles and casual tilts of the head, he’d noticed she was always alert, always observing and analyzing.
Trying not to wake her, he edged backward, only to jump when Jamie shot up in a blur, those shrewd lavender eyes fixed on him. “What’s up?” she asked immediately.
He was impressed. “You’re a light sleeper.”
“Part of the job—always be prepared for anything.” She rubbed her eyes. “Is everything okay?”
“I was just coming up to tell you dinner was ready, but if you want to keep napping, then—”
She was already off the bed and on her feet. “No, I’ll come down. Just give me a minute to freshen up.”
When she entered the kitchen ten minutes later, she was wearing black leggings, a red, hooded sweatshirt and her auburn hair was tied up in a high ponytail. He fought a smile. In that getup, she looked more like a college coed than an FBI agent.
Her eyes widened when she spotted the food on the table. “Should I be insulted that you think my appetite warrants all this?”
“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I made a bunch of stuff.”
He felt uncomfortable as she studied the feast he’d prepared. He’d planned on broiling a couple of steaks and serving them with baked potatoes, but at the last moment he’d realized he didn’t know if she liked red meat, so he’d promptly boiled up some fettuccine, whipped up a rosé sauce and shoved some garlic bread in the oven. Then he’d questioned that choice and tossed a salad, grilling up some chicken to make it a hearty Caesar.
And now he felt like a total idiot.
“I guess I got carried away,” he mumbled.
“Maybe just a little.”
Her barely restrained laughter eased his nerves. He liked seeing her smile. There was something quite genuine about the way her mouth curved upward, the way her eyes twinkled with amusement.
They sat at the table and devoured the meal in silence. It wasn’t until after he cleared the table and shoved several uneaten dishes into the fridge that Jamie spoke to him. As usual, she caught him by surprise.
“Do you have a lot of friends?”
He turned to face her, wrinkling his brow. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just thinking about how angry Finn was with me, and it made me realize that if I didn’t have Finn as a friend, I’d be all alone. I mean, I have my mom, of course, but the two of us are just so different it’s kind of hard to consider her a friend.”
Something shifted in his chest. “As much as that man rubs me the wrong way, it’s obvious Finn cares about you,” Cole said grudgingly. “He’s just worried. That’s why he’s angry.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I just wish he had more faith in me. I’m a trained federal agent. I can take care of myself.”
Cole returned the sigh. “It’s me he doesn’t have faith in. He doesn’t trust me, Jamie.”
“I know, but it still irks.”
As she sipped the red wine he’d poured for her, Cole thought about the question she’d posed at him, and discomfort crept up his spine. “No one,” he found himself blurting.
She set down her glass and arched one delicate eyebrow. “What?”
“I don’t have any friends,” he clarified, his chest tight from the admission. “Sure, there are the people who want to be my friend, but not because they truly like me or want to get to know me. They’re more interested in my wealth, or saying that they’re close with the Cole Donovan.”
“That must be tough, never knowing what someone’s true motives are each time they say hello.”
Still uncomfortable, he returned to the table and sat down, searching her face. “What about you? Why aren’t you surrounded with friends?”
“My job,” she confessed, circling her fingers around the stem of her wine glass. “I spent so much time building my career that I forgot there’s more to life than work. And now I’m thirty-two, single, alone, and sometimes I feel like it’s too late.”
Her candid words fascinated him. “For what?”
“Children,” she burst out. A twinge of embarrassment entered her voice. “A husband, kids, not an empty apartment and nothing to be proud of other than my badge.”
“I know what you mean,” he said quietly. “I want those things too.”
Her skeptical laughter made his skin bristle. “I can’t imagine you as a dad,” she confessed.
Cole’s irritation rose. “Why is that?”
“Because…well, because you’re a multimillionaire. You travel the country and close nine-figure deals.”