“Superman ushered in the Golden Age of Comic Books and began the superhero genre,” recited Cat. She blushed a moment later and confessed, “I watch Jeopardy!”
“Superheroes draw the highest market value,” Law added. “Superman is the holy grail.”
“Good luck with your auction.”
“Do you have a favorite comic?” he asked.
She eased off her chair, the curve of her bottom imprinted on the leather. Catherine May had a very nice ass. She crossed the room and scanned the wall, a woman of grace and sweet hip action.
“I’m a big fan of Howard the Duck,” she admitted. “I always found humor in the misadventures of an ill-tempered, talking duck accidentally beamed to Earth by physicist Dr. Jenning.”
Law’s grandfather favored Howard as well. Interesting.
Cat looked over her shoulder. “Who do you admire most?”
Law didn’t miss a beat. “Captain America.”
Cat stiffened perceptibly. “You wore his costume to Haunt.”
At the memory of the club, his thoughts shifted to Wonder Woman, only to slide back to Cat. She wasn’t disapproving of the place, but neither was she in full support. Something about Haunt bothered her. The corners of her eyes pinched with each mention. He’d figure it out, given time.
He’d invited her to a business dinner. They needed to discuss his investments. “Let’s order our meal,” he suggested.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
The hotel phone sat on an end table beside the leather chair he’d vacated. He picked up the receiver and punched two numbers into the pad. Chef Amaury answered on the second ring and personally took Law’s order.
“Gelée de langoustine, crème d’avocat et crevettes,” he said. “Une poêlée de filet de saumon avec du riz sauvage et légumes frais, et gâteau au citron avec le sucre glacis.” And for Bouncer: “De boeuf et kibble pour mon chien. Merci, et bonsoir. ”
He hung up and turned to Catherine. She looked pale around the lips. “You speak French?”
“German and Italian, too.”
“What did you just order?”
He envisioned her thoughts of snails and frog legs and smiled. “I promise your dinner won’t crawl or hop across your plate.”
Chapter 3
Catherine May’s cheeks reddened. James Lawless confused the hell out of her. The man collected comic books and was built like a superhero. He drank designer bottled water and spoke three foreign languages. He played baseball as if his life depended on it. But where was the emotion?
He’d trusted her enough to share a tragic event in his childhood. But as soon as things started getting deep, he’d abruptly severed their connection and escaped within himself. She needed to back off.
It was probably for the best, anyway. After coming completely undone on the dance floor at Haunt, she knew any further involvement would totally mess with her head. If Law could detach and move on, so could she.
She wound her way around the U-shaped sectional sofa and set her water glass on the bar. A short while later an intercom buzzed, announcing room service was on its way up.
Law opened the door to the wait captain and a second formal server dressed in the hotel’s traditional maroon uniform. The server pushed the dinner cart into the foyer, then proceeded down the hallway to the dining room. Law scooped up the stack of file folders as Catherine looked on. She wondered if all his meals were taken so grandly or if he ever made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for the fun of it.
Law’s dining room was formidable. Alabaster wall sconces cast soft lighting on family photographs. The framed pictures showed a happier time in Law’s life. Catherine scanned a few of the photos and Law gave her the locations of the shots.
“My grandfather and I traveled holidays and summers after the limo accident,” he relayed. “Randall believed life was an education. We cruised Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast and later vacationed in Tucker’s Town, Bermuda.”
He ran one finger around a photo of a luxury cruiser in an oval frame. “Randall named his yacht Grace after his late wife. When my grandparents first married, Randall honored Grace by naming his hotel chain after her. Richmond Grace, London Grace, Tokyo Grace, the entire hotel chain evokes her memory.”
Catherine found that very romantic. The exotic locations in the photos jumped out at her: Montego Bay, Monaco, Fiji—all billionaire playgrounds. Law’s family name entitled him to confidentiality, privacy, and elite status.
Cat’s own father had worked two jobs to keep food on their table and a roof over their heads. A long weekend at Virginia Beach had been their biggest family outing. Unable to afford the price of a hotel, they’d camped out. The tents had been crowded, the nightly campfire cozy.
She had two weeks of vacation coming this July. Her only criteria were to travel out of state and be pampered at a spa.
Beside her now, the wait captain slid back her chair, one tufted in black and silver. The table sat twenty, a glossy jet black that reflected her image. She ran her fingertips along the sleek edge.
“African blackwood.” Law set down the files, then took his seat at the head of the table. “The wood is prized and primarily used for classic woodwind instruments. I’d admired the blackwood while in Escourt, South Africa. Shortly after my return to the States, the table arrived as a gift from the locals in appreciation of Dig a Ditch.”
Cat was familiar with the foundation. Zen Driscoll kept a brochure visible to visitors, and everyone in the office supported the cause. She’d read that Law had spent three off-seasons in the underbelly of third-world poverty. The farmers had been destitute and water shortages had claimed crops. Law had dug irrigation ditches alongside the South Africans.
Their survival had inspired Dig a Ditch. Contributions provided machinery and pipe, and hundreds of volunteers had joined the effort. Many had technical skills; all had big hearts. Law still held a seat on the board of directors, but he’d never taken a bow for the achievement. He claimed it was a group effort.
Catherine admired his modesty. He did what needed to be done without a lot of fanfare.
Once they were comfortably seated, the wait captain discreetly took his position by the door. The server then produced a short, linen tablecloth and triangular-folded napkins. Silverware and wineglasses followed. The covered dishes now lined an antique buffet with warming pans beneath the main entrées.