A Match for Celia. GINA WILKINS
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Miss Carson, we—”
“Celia.” A familiar deep voice overrode Mindi’s squeak of protest. A large, warm hand fell on Celia’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m late. Must have overslept. Are you ready for breakfast?”
Celia looked up gratefully, meeting Reed’s sympathetic smile. “Yes, I’m starving,” she said fervently.
He nodded to the openmouthed social director. “Good morning, Miss Kellogg. Nice day, isn’t it?”
He left her sputtering an answer as he all but towed Celia toward the restaurant.
“You looked as though you were in need of rescue,” he said before Celia could speak, as soon as they were out of the social director’s hearing. “What was she trying to do, sign you up for a talent show or something? A bungee jumping tournament?”
“No, she wanted to introduce me to endangered sea turtles or take me shopping in Mexico,” Celia corrected ruefully. “I’m sure both would be interesting, but—”
“But not with Mindi standing on the sidelines cheering you on, right?”
“She is a bit cheerleaderish. I’m sure she means well, though,” Celia added quickly, feeling guilty for making fun of the other woman.
“Too perky for my tastes,” Reed said with a shake of his dark head. “All that bubbly energy and enthusiasm makes my teeth hurt.”
Celia giggled. “I was trying to be nice,” she reproved him.
He shrugged. “I’d rather eat. Are you really starving, or was that just an excuse?”
“No, I’m really hungry. I was just on my way to breakfast.”
“There’s no reason for us to eat alone, is there?”
She hesitated, and looked up to find him watching her with an intentness that belied his light tone. Since she couldn’t think of any good reason why they shouldn’t have breakfast together—none she could have explained, anyway—she smiled and shook her head. “No.”
Reed looked pleased with her answer.
Reed seemed to go out of his way to be entertaining during their leisurely breakfast, and he succeeded. Celia found herself forgetting her reservations and chatting with him as easily as an old friend.
They had almost finished their meal before she realized how closely they were being watched.
The staff was being discreet—sort of. They weren’t exactly staring at Celia and Reed. But they were watching, and Celia wondered if this shift had been told that she and Reed had been together for dinner last evening. Were they speculating whether she and Reed had spent the entire night together?
The only restaurant employee who didn’t seem overly curious was their waiter, a good-looking young African-American with an engaging smile. The service he gave them was nothing more than briskly professional—which was a great relief since Celia was so painfully aware of the more open curiosity from the others.
This was getting ridiculous. She was not the personal property of Damien Alexander, despite what his staff might think. Or was she being completely paranoid?
She looked across the table. “I need to get away from this place today, Reed. Are you interested?”
“Tired of being the center of attention?”
She widened her eyes. “You’ve noticed it, too? That everyone seems to be watching us? I thought—I hoped I was imagining it.”
He shook his head. “You aren’t imagining it.”
“I don’t know why they’re doing this. It’s not as though I’m all that interesting.”
“They’re guarding the boss’s interests,” Reed explained with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
She frowned. “That’s stupid. Damien and I aren’t—we haven’t even—we’re only friends,” she concluded awkwardly, wondering how many times she had to repeat it. And whether Reed believed her any more than anyone else seemed to.
Reed studied her for what felt like a long time. And then his smile deepened, becoming just a shade more genuine. “Where would you like to go?”
“Anywhere,” she said in quick relief. “How far are we from San Antonio?”
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