“By the way,” he said as they parted in the hallway outside the office. “I bought an answering machine while I was out. I’ll hook it up before you leave tomorrow.”
“That should make things much easier for people who need to reach you.”
He shrugged. “I suppose. But then, if I’d had it sooner, you wouldn’t have felt the need to come here.”
She smiled at him. “No, I suppose not.”
Clearing his throat, he glanced away. “Let me get my clothes for tonight out of my room, and I’ll change in the bathroom.”
“I guess you’ll be glad to have your own room back—not to mention the rest of your house.”
His expression impossible to read, he turned and walked away without answering.
Adrienne had known, of course, that Gideon could be quite charming when he chose to be. She had seen flashes of that charm during the past few days, but that night he went to great lengths to make sure she had a pleasant time.
They dined at a very nice Italian restaurant, far different from the smoky diner where he’d treated her to breakfast earlier that week. Gideon looked incredibly handsome in a dark suit, a crisp white shirt and a red tie, his longish dark hair neatly brushed away from his face. She had a feeling he didn’t bother to dress up very often, and she was flattered that he’d chosen to do so tonight, for her.
As much as he might pretend to be a socially awkward loner, this was a man who was perfectly comfortable in an upscale restaurant. He might claim to be the wet blanket at parties, but that was only because he chose to be, not because he didn’t know better. Aware now of his family background—that his father had been a successful business leader who had held several local offices before his aborted run for governor—she knew Gideon must have been trained in etiquette from childhood. That training was very much in evidence during their dinner.
She had no doubt that he could handle any situation he might encounter during a book tour or any other promotional opportunity she might convince him to accept. If she could convince him, of course.
“Tell me more about your life in New York,” he said over their entrees. “What’s a typical day like for you?”
He was even making small talk. The guy was going all-out.
“I’m in my office by eight so I can work for an hour or so before the phones start ringing at nine. I’m on the phone until noon, I usually have lunch meetings scheduled, and take phone calls again in the afternoons. I leave the office at six, usually have an evening meeting of some sort, then get home by ten and work on paperwork until midnight, at which time I fall facefirst into bed until six the next morning.”
“And on weekends?”
“I do my shopping, read manuscripts and contracts, maybe attend a few professional social functions or an occasional dinner party with friends. On the second Sunday of every month, I have brunch with my father and his latest young bride.”
He skillfully twirled linguine onto a fork. “And you’re happy with this life?”
She shrugged. “I’m not unhappy.”
“Doesn’t sound very exciting.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “And your life is a thrill a minute? Remember, I’ve spent the past week with you, and I know your daily routine. You wake up early, hit the computer, stop to eat when you think about it, do a little housework every afternoon while you work out the next scene and then you write again until you fall asleep—sometimes on the couch in your office.”
He looked disgruntled. “You think you know me so well, do you?”
“Are you saying I’m wrong?”
He filled his mouth with a bite of bread to avoid answering—which, of course, was an answer in itself.
So neither of them were exactly party animals, she mused, stabbing a slice of steamed zucchini. What was wrong with that?
Washing the bread down with a sip of water, he set his glass down before asking, “How many times has your father been married?”
“Four. No, three. I don’t think he and Louisa were ever actually married. Louisa was the young blond who moved in after my mother died,” she added.
“You said you were twelve when you lost your mother?”
She wasn’t surprised that he had remembered; not much escaped Gideon. “Yes.”
“Were your parents still married then?”
“Yes. As far as I know, my father was a faithful, if obsessively workaholic, husband. My mother’s illness was brief, and I think he grieved for her, in his own way, before he started dating Louisa a few months later. In the past sixteen years, none of his other relationships have lasted more than a couple of years. Some people think it’s because no other woman can compare to the memories of my mother.”