"I—ah, I brought your shirt back." She put it on one of the beds and cleared her throat. "Listen, about last night—"
He snapped the book shut and stared out at the gray morning. "I owe you an apology."
Grace frowned. "What are you talking about?"
He shot her a dry look. "Aside from the fact that I never should have put us in that position, I didn't let you go when I should have. I didn't know you wanted to stop. The only excuse I can offer is that I don't usually get that... preoccupied."
Her mouth slacked in surprise. She'd expected him to be mad because he hadn't gotten what he'd wanted. That had certainly been the first response of her father and Ranulf.
Smith's eyes were hooded as he cut her off before she could speak.
"I didn't mean to scare you. And don't deny it," he said when she shook her head and opened her mouth. “I know what I saw in your eyes last night. It was fear."
"But I want you to know why I couldn't—"
"It's none of my business and, to be honest, I don't want to hear the whys. They're not relevant. The last thing you need is to be afraid in your own house. Of me.”
"I'm not threatened by you." Grace's voice was earnest.
He considered her thoughtfully but then shook his head.
"Even if that's true, it doesn't matter." Smith reopened the book. "Let me know when the shower's free."
"John..." He looked up with a dark expression. "I didn't pull away because I don't want you."
"Frankly, I wish that was the reason."
She frowned. " But why?"
He didn't reply. Instead, his eyes returned to the book.
Grace had no choice but to leave him. There was so much more to be said but she knew he wouldn't talk anymore.
* * *
When they reached the Hall Building, after a long, quiet ride through traffic, Grace paused to talk to some people in the atrium while Smith went over and checked in with the security officer on duty.
"Is that the consultant?" one of the staff whispered while nodding over at Smith.
So word had gotten around, Grace thought as she nodded.
"He looks a little ... hard for an OD guy."
"He's a specialist," she said, hoping the subject would drop.
"I'll bet he is," another woman chimed in while looking Smith up and down.
Grace was in a bad mood when she got into the elevator with him.
As soon as it was just the two of them, he said, "Why are you looking like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like in your mind you've got your hands around someone's throat."
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Sure you do."
The elevator doors opened on her floor and she shot him a challenging look. "Do you really want to keep going with this? Because as I recall, this morning you were the one with the closed mouth."
Smith gave her a lazy smile as they walked down the hall.
"Touched" he said softly as they came up to Kat's desk and the girl looked up.
"Senator Bradford called," she said to Grace. She glanced at Smith warily, as if she expected him to walk right by her again. "She wanted to remind you to come to the Plaza on Friday. Seven p.m. Black-tie."
"Thanks. I'll be there with bells on."
"Morning, Kat," Smith said casually.
"Good morning." The girl's eyes flared.
"How was the IT guy?"
"Er—he was actually kind of okay." A tentative smile appeared. "He likes baseball, too, and, ah, I might go out again with him."
"Make sure he pays for dinner."
Her eyes bounced around a little, as if she was flustered by the attention. "Hey—do you need something? Coffee?"
"Coffee'd be great, thanks. Black."
After Grace and Smith walked into her office, he went over to the conference table and sat down, opening the files he'd spent days poring over. As he began to make notes, she knew he was deliberately avoiding the look of approval she was sending him.
When Kat came in with the coffee, she closed the door behind her.
"What's wrong?" Grace asked.
"There's a man outside," the girl said as she gave a steaming mug to Smith. "He doesn't have an appointment and he's demanding to see you. Someone named Fredrique."
Grace winced. "It's about the Gala. He did the party planning and the catering last year for us but I didn't rehire him because he cost a small fortune. He probably just wants to pitch me for business I've already turned down."
"He seems like he's prepared to wait."
"Really?"
"He brought a cooler and a newspaper.”
"Send him in then," Grace said, annoyed. "There's no sense turning the waiting area into a cafeteria."
When Fredrique came into the room, he smiled widely. Dressed in chef's whites, the man had a small picnic basketlike container in one of his hands. He looked as if he'd gained some weight, she thought, although maybe it was just the way the stiff cotton fell over his short, stocky build.
When he came around for an air kiss, she accepted the greeting with reserve.
"Please, have a seat" she said, indicating a chair across from the desk.
As he sat down, he looked over his shoulder at Smith. "And who is this?"
"What may I do for you?" Her tone was direct.
Fredrique faced her reluctantly, as if he would have enjoyed the introduction.
"I've brought you something to sample. From the new line of hors d'oeuvres I'm developing with Lolly Ramparr of NightWorx. You know Lolly, don't you? She and I go way back."
Grace narrowed her eyes, doubting that he was actually working with Lolly. After interviewing several firms, Grace had decided to use NightWorx as a caterer for the Gala this year because they had a good reputation and were reasonably priced considering their popularity. Lolly had asked specifically whether Fredrique was going to be working on the event and Grace had explained her reasons for not using him. Lolly, an up-front person who was not unkind, had indicated that she was moving away from collaborating with him for similar reasons.
Fredrique put the cooler on her desk, splitting the handles and popping off the lid. "I understand that you are using Lolly this year for the Gala," he said casually. "She's such a talent, as you will recall when you try these."
He took out a white plate. On it, there were three small mounds of peach-colored mousse atop some kind of cracker.
"I call them shrimp towers." He extended the plate, as if he were offering jewels. "Try them and fall in love."
"I'm sorry, Fredrique. They look lovely but I'm allergic to shellfish."
He frowned and retracted the plate. Glancing over to Smith, he said, "Perhaps you will do the honors?"
Smith, who had turned his chair toward Fredrique and been staring at him, just shook his head.
The other man took a moment to collect himself. "No matter, I'll bring you something else. Perhaps tenderloin on sesame-encrusted pita chips. Ooh! I have a wonderful lamb-stuffed mushroom—"
"I appreciate the thought but I have to remind you. We're not in the market for your kind of services."
Fredrique stiffened and returned the plate to the cooler. With precise movements, he put the lid back on and reunited the two handles over the top. "It's a shame for the Gala to miss out on my contributions. Mimi Lauer is thrilled with my work on the ballet's event."
Grace wasn't so sure about that, as Mimi had called recently to express her frustration with the man.