A Lick and a Promise. Jo Leigh
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Daniel.” He held out his hand. “Daniel Houghton III.”
She put her little birdlike hand in his, and he was careful not to squeeze too hard. “Sundays we have this dinner,” she said. Her voice was high and as thin as she was. “Everybody comes. We go from apartment to apartment. We all make something. Appetizers, salads, main course.” She blushed. It made her look like a teenager. “Anyway, first time, you’re off the hook for food. But please join us, okay?”
He nodded. “I’d love to.”
She smiled again. “I’ve got—” she nodded toward the door “—things to do.”
“Thanks, Corrie,” he said.
“We start at five,” she said, backing up, almost tripping over a box. “Oh, you can bring wine. Wine’s good.”
“Great.”
Behind him, the guys came out of the bedroom.
“Okay, then,” she said. “Bye.”
“Bye.”
“Now I get it,” Terry said.
Daniel turned. “Get what?”
“Why you moved here. All these straight women have so few straight guys to choose from.” He turned to Steve. “He’s not as dumb as he looks.”
“Well, thanks. Now get your ass back to the truck.”
Steve laughed as he headed out the door. Terry just glared. But they’d finish the job soon, and Daniel was grateful for that. He had four days to unpack this mess. Then it was back to work.
He was an architect. A good one. The firm he worked for, Kogen, Teasdale and Webster, was well respected in the industry, and he was inching his way up, slowly but surely, to partner.
Daniel checked his watch. He figured another three hours and he’d be alone. Not that he didn’t appreciate his friends lending a hand, but he wanted to get on with it. Get this place livable so he could begin this new phase of his life. Exploring the streets, checking out the architecture, the galleries, restaurants, finding his local market, the dry cleaners.
He grinned. Dinner with all the tenants. In the five years he’d lived in Greenwich, he’d met two of his neighbors, but he’d never shared so much as a cup of coffee with them. This was a good move. A new beginning. But he’d have to break out of his old habits, be willing to experiment. He headed toward the elevator. This felt right. Just what he needed. He hoped.
“OH, MY GOD, he’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. I swear, Margot, he’s like six feet tall, and he has dark hair that’s tragically unhip, and he wears these round glasses that went out with the eighties, and his jeans were ironed. He tucked in his Polo shirt, for heaven’s sake. And I swear, if I wasn’t married I’d eat him up with a spoon. Wait’ll you see.”
Margot couldn’t help but laugh. When Corrie got going it was like listening to an auctioneer on helium. “Is he coming on Sunday?”
“Yep. He’s in. Oh, God, what a doll baby. I’m telling you, girl, we’re going to have so much fun with this one.”
“It sounds like a major redo.”
“From the ground up. His tennis shoes. Did I mention his tennis shoes?”
“No, but I can’t hear about it now. I’ve got serious staff issues.”
“Oh, I’m such a jerk. You’re having this first-day thing, and I’m going on and on about Daniel. Can you stand it? Daniel Houghton III. Have you ever?”
“Never. But they only gave me two assistants, which is insanity. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Break a leg.”
“Right. Bye.” Margot switched off her phone and watched as one of the assistants, Bettina, shaved lettuce. The other one, Rick, was sorting buns. She couldn’t believe there were only two, and neither one of them had enough experience to clean the fridge.
It was unheard of that there were so few people on a food commercial. She’d put in a call to her boss, Janice, but the woman hadn’t been there. Surely this was a mistake, and would be rectified soon, but in the meantime, she had to get her ass in gear if she expected to get anything out to the director.
They had almost a hundred buns that had to be sorted, looking for the perfect combination of symmetry, color, shape, size and the placement of the sesame seeds. Once they’d found the perfect bun, what they called the hero in the biz, they’d set that aside. The second best, they’d use as the stand-in, building a burger for the lighting guys. She had her bag of extra sesame seeds in her kit, along with glue, in case they had to make adjustments.
Then there was the lettuce to tear, the ketchup to drain, the burgers to shape and cook just enough so they wouldn’t look raw, the grill marks to place, the cheese to melt, the onions, the tomatoes… It was too much for so few people with so little time.
She sat down with Rick and examined buns. The thing to do was take it one step at a time. And not hyperventilate.
Fifteen minutes and forty-six rejects later, the assistant director stuck her head in the door. “What’s your ETA?”
“At least three hours.”
“Oh, shit.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
“I’ll tell him.”
Him was Joe DeVario, the director. In the five seconds she’d talked to him, she’d gotten a really bad feeling. He scowled, didn’t shake her hand and dismissed her without so much as a backward glance.
Her mood didn’t improve when she heard his voice, yelling from the sound stage.
Not a good way to start a new job.
The only bright spot in all of this was one Daniel Houghton III. Interesting.
From Corrie’s description, he sounded like a man who needed a fashionista’s touch. A designer’s eye. Devon and Eric had to be giddy with anticipation. She just hoped they wouldn’t scare Daniel off, as they had one of the previous residents.
Margot smiled. There was nothing she liked more than a new project. A challenge. Surprises.
“Aha,” she said, holding up the most gorgeous bun this side of heaven. “We have our hero!”
2
DANIEL LOOKED at the clothes in his closet as he tucked his white towel around his waist. He had no idea what to wear to this Sunday-night dinner. He’d only had glimpses of his neighbors in the four days he’d lived here. Mostly he’d been buried in unpacking, and although he wasn’t quite finished, he’d gotten most of it done.
He gazed around his new bedroom. His furniture looked good against the white walls, his favorite books placed neatly in the shelves. He’d even splurged and bought a new tartan bedspread with pillow shams, something he’d never had before. But this was his new beginning, and there was no law that said he had to have a traditional quilt just because he’d always had one. He could do whatever he pleased. Go nuts. Buy art because he liked it, not just because it would be a good investment.
Starting tomorrow, he’d go back to his regular world, but he had the feeling it wouldn’t be the same. Stepping outside of his comfort zone had already changed him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Last night, for dinner, he’d ordered a Hawaiian pizza. He’d hated it, but that was beside the point.
Back to the wardrobe. Nothing seemed right. Not his jeans, not his suits. Finally, he settled on something simple. Black slacks, white shirt, gray sportjacket. And what the hell, the purple tie his niece had given him last Christmas.
The decision made, he went back to the bathroom to finish getting ready. As he shaved, he studied himself in the mirror, not at all happy with