“You’re not nervous, are you?”
She kept her eyes glued to the road, watching every sign, every landmark, pass at breakneck speed.
“Me? Nervous? Of course not. What would I have to be nervous about? It’s just dinner, right? Just the Worthingtons. I know how important this dinner is, and I’ll try my best to do everything right. I mean, the Worthingtons have several hotels and if you bought them it could be quite a boon to McKay Corporation. I should probably have done some research on them before we left the office, then maybe—”
“Faith,” Ryan interrupted.
She looked at him and drew a hasty breath. “Yes?”
“You’re blabbering.”
“I am?”
“Yeah, you are. Relax.” He placed his hand on her knee, squeezing it gently.
Right, like that was going to calm her down. As if her heartbeat wasn’t already racing, the heat emanating from his hand burned into the bare skin of her leg.
Then it got worse. His fingers trailed lightly above her knee. She wondered if Ryan kept any paper bags in the car. She felt an anxiety attack coming on and knew she’d be hyperventilating soon. Or maybe she’d just throw up.
“Calm down. There’s nothing to be nervous about.”
Easy for him to say. He did this social stuff all the time. Social for Faith was the weekly trek to the grocery store and a chat with the produce manager over the price of tomatoes. Those trips didn’t entail having witty conversation.
“I’m not nervous.”
He smiled. “Yes, you are. And stop it. It’s just dinner.”
Markham’s Restaurant was an up and coming establishment, luring the elite clientele with the hiring of one of New York City’s premier chefs.
Getting a reservation less than a month in advance was next to impossible. Unless you were Ryan McKay.
The valet opened their doors, then drove away to park the car. Ryan placed his hand on the small of her back and led her inside. The intimacy of that possessive touch wasn’t lost on her.
The restaurant was dark, a place for intimate conversation without fear of being overheard. Ryan stepped up to the hostess, who smiled in recognition.
“Mr. McKay,” the young woman said in a honey-like voice that matched her long hair. “So nice to see you again.”
Ryan nodded. “Michelle. Is our table ready?”
“Of course.” Michelle grabbed two menus and led them to a booth in the back of the room. Tuxedo-clad waiters silently scurried about, unobtrusive but always available.
“The Worthingtons will be joining us shortly,” he said to Michelle, who informed Ryan she’d bring them to the table as soon as they arrived.
No sooner had they sat down than their waiter arrived and Ryan ordered a bottle of wine.
Faith rubbed her fingertips against the white linen tablecloth. A vase of roses centered the table, along with two deep red tapered candles.
She’d never been to Markham’s before. The restaurant was dark and intimate—a perfect place for lovers to sit alone in the shadows. She took a sip of water from a crystal glass, her throat gone completely dry.
The waiter soon returned with a bottle of white wine, something French that Faith had never heard of. She sipped the smooth, dry chardonnay.
“Do you like the jewelry?” Ryan asked.
Honestly, she’d forgotten all about it. She wasn’t really a jewelry person, in fact rarely wore it. “Yes, it’s lovely. Thank you, again.”
“It looks good against your skin.” His eyes dwelled on her chest. Faith squirmed.
“Thank you.” She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that. His intense eyes darkened whenever they roamed over her body. “I don’t usually wear jewelry.”
He quirked a brow. “Really? I thought diamonds were a girl’s best friend.”
That made her smile. “Not this girl’s. I’m not one to adorn myself with jewels. One, because of the cost, and two, it just seems, I don’t know, superfluous somehow.”
He looked toward the front of the restaurant and didn’t say another word. But he seemed disappointed.
Before she could ask what she had said wrong, Paul and Jenelle Worthington were escorted to the table. Ryan stood, shook Paul’s hand and planted a light peck on Jenelle’s cheek.
“Paul, Jenelle, this is my wife, Faith.”
Faith stood to greet Ryan’s guests, pasting on her biggest and hopefully most professional smile. “I’m pleased to meet both of you,” she said and held out her hand.
Paul shook her hand. A robust man, he looked more like a professional wrestler than a successful hotelier. Big and burly with a thick neck, he had silvery hair swept back in waves and an extremely tan complexion owing obviously to hours spent in Nevada’s year-round sun.
Jenelle was tall and lithe, impeccably dressed and adorned in diamonds. Her shimmery blonde hair was bobbed and swept behind her ears, and nary a wrinkle showed on her face. Whether that was due to plastic surgery or great genetics Faith couldn’t tell.
“Darling, it’s so nice to meet you,” Jenelle said to Faith. She tapped Ryan’s hand. “How long has this been going on, and why didn’t we know about it?”
Ryan smiled. “We kept it a secret.”
“Obviously,” Jenelle said, her gaze flitting between Ryan and Faith as if she were looking for hidden messages. “And you were Ryan’s…uhh…secretary?”
The raised eyebrows and patronizing look told Faith in an instant what Jenelle thought of her. “His executive assistant. And I still am,” she replied.
“You mean you’re still working?” Jenelle’s hand flew to her throat in horror.
Faith tried not to smile. “Yes, I am.”
“Quit badgering the girl, Jen,” Paul admonished. The waiter brought him a double scotch, which he promptly downed in one gulp and asked for another.
“I’m not badgering her at all, dear.” Jenelle shot her husband a scathing glare before turning her inquisitive brown eyes back to Faith.
“I’m merely getting acquainted with Ryan’s lovely new wife.”
Faith drew back as Jenelle leaned into her, so close their noses practically touched.
“Tell me, dear,” Jenelle whispered. “Did that bad boy Ryan marry you because he got you pregnant?”
It was going to be a long evening. Faith took a deep breath and prepared for the inquisition.