The Marrying Kind. Judy Christenberry
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me,” Diane said, “but there’s obviously been a—”
“No time for that now,” he said, reaching behind her to the hall stand and grabbing her purse. “We’ve got a table waiting.”
“But—”
He put up a hand to halt her objection, and Diane saw red. No man was going to get away with treating her like this. She’d teach him a lesson.
She’d go along with him—and then zap him with the truth.
Smiling sweetly, she said, “I’ll drive my own car and follow you.”
“I don’t see the need—” Then, as if the light dawned, he continued, “Oh, you’re being cautious. In that case, fine. I’ll go slow so you can follow.”
He strode out the door, cradling her elbow the whole way. Did he think she couldn’t walk on her own, or was he afraid she’d balk again?
As she drove behind him to the restaurant, Diane couldn’t help but laugh when she envisioned one-upping the pompous rich guy. She knew it was rather evil, and totally out of character for her, but she couldn’t resist the temptation to take this man down a peg. All her life she’d despised how a certain class of men treated women. And she should know; she was in the male-dominated banking industry.
As soon as she parked beside his Mercedes, he was at her door to open it, leaning down with his hand extended.
This had gone far enough, she thought. “We need to talk before we go in.”
He led her out of the car. “Not here. It’s too hot. We’ll talk at our table.” And he swept her into the four-star Dallas restaurant.
The maître d’ obviously recognized him on sight. He was one up on her, Diane joked to herself. He led them to a private candlelit table and held out her chair.
With a sigh, she sat down. This little game had gone far enough, she decided. Her “date”—whoever he was—was going to be irate when she told him who she was.
“Now can we talk?” she asked, when the maître d’ turned away.
But then the sommelier stepped up to the table, rattling off their specialty wines, aged to perfection.
“I don’t drink,” she told him when he’d finished his prepared speech.
Her dinner companion seemed surprised, then regrouped. “In that case, we’ll both have iced tea.” The sommelier went away, dejected.
“I need to tell you something,” she blurted, before anyone else interrupted them.
Her companion waved her off. “Nonsense. What we need to do is decide what we’ll eat for dinner. There’s plenty of time to talk after we order.”
But her selection wasn’t met with approval. When the waiter came, her companion smoothly overrode her decision and instead doubled his own three-course dinner.
“Very well, sir.” The waiter nodded and quietly slipped away.
Her “date” clasped his well-manicured hands in front of him and speared her with a direct gaze. “Now, what was it that you couldn’t wait to tell me, Jennifer?”
“I’m not Jennifer.”
His eyes—blue like the deepest ocean—widened. Then he cleared his throat. “Then who are you?”
She lowered her own eyes, suddenly feeling a bit guilty. “I’m Diane Black, Jennifer’s neighbor.”
He unclasped his hands and lay them flat on the table. She looked up and saw the muscles bunch along his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “Don’t you think you should have told me that before?”
Was he not there before, when she’d tried five or six times? “If you’ll recall, you weren’t exactly interested in letting me speak.”
He didn’t reply.
“Next time, maybe you’ll let a woman get a word in every now and then.” She grabbed her purse and stood up, ready to make a discreet exit.
But his voice halted her in place. “I don’t like to eat alone.”
She turned back to him. “You want me to stay?”
He nodded, but his eyes didn’t soften.
She compared the thought of a mouthwatering steak to the can of soup that awaited her at home, and resumed her seat.
“Where is Jennifer?”
Diane couldn’t repress a slight, lopsided grin as she revealed the irony. “She and her husband and their three daughters are on their honeymoon.”
The man shrugged. “Not exactly the scenario I’d choose for my honeymoon.”
“It’s what Jennifer chose. She’d just adopted three little girls when she met her husband. They went to Walt Disney World for a week, then they’re going on a cruise.”
“I guess I was a little late following through with my dad’s suggestion.”
“I don’t think it would’ve mattered. Jennifer wasn’t interested in what her mother wanted for her. Even if you were Prince Charming, she wouldn’t have gone out with you.”
“But you didn’t mind? Was it the money that convinced you?”
Diane bent over, picked up her purse and stood. She didn’t have anything to say to this man. She got two feet from the table when he grabbed her arm.
“All right, I apologize. I’m sorry. I just don’t like to be tricked.”
“You also don’t like to let people talk. I tried to explain many times.”
“And I wouldn’t let you.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” She looked around for their waiter. “Why don’t we ask to be put at two different tables? I needed to eat out this evening, anyway.”
“Why did you need to eat out?”
“A rough day at the office,” she said mildly.
“Want to tell me about it?”
“No, thank you. I remember Jen telling me about you, but I can’t remember your name.”
“I’m Jonathon Davis. You can call me John. Nice to meet you, Diane.”
She offered a small smile. “Shall I wave to the waiter so he can find me another table?”
“No, definitely not. I told you I don’t like to eat alone. Why shouldn’t we get to know each other and enjoy our meal?”
She hesitated, then said, “Okay, but I’ll pay for my dinner.”
“I thought you knew I was wealthy?”
“What difference does that make? I’m not exactly on welfare!”
He leaned toward her. “I invited you, so I pay.”
“But I accepted under false pretenses.”
“I think that was my fault. Please?”
She lowered her gaze. His eyes were magnetic. “I—I suppose. Okay.”
“I haven’t had to work this hard to share dinner with a lady in a long time.”
She just shook her head. She didn’t know what to say to that comment.
“So tell me what kind of job you have.”
“I’m a banker.”
“You work in a bank? Are you a secretary or a teller?”
“I’m vice president in charge of investments.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know they gave those kind of jobs to women.”
“They