igence. But she knew that beneath those layers of clothes, he was a tattooed bad boy. It was such a contradiction, and while Katrina couldn’t deny that those dual sides to Blake’s personality were sexy as hell, that’s as far as her fascination went. It really was too bad she couldn’t return his interest, not when her heart belonged to someone else. Even if that someone else didn’t have a damn clue.
Which was why she needed to put distance between her and Mason, so she could learn to live without him in her life every single day. And then, maybe some guy would come along and fill that void in a more permanent way. After seeing the love and affection that Samantha and Clay shared, she wanted a man to cherish her. She wanted to get married and create a family of her own. She didn’t want to settle for less than the whole package.
They stepped up to the podium to check in for their reservation, but as soon as the twenty-something girl saw Blake, her eyes lit up and she smiled brightly, clearly recognizing him as a regular.
“Hi, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she greeted him, and didn’t bother to look at Katrina. “Your table is ready.”
“Excellent.” The hostess walked into the restaurant, and Blake settled his big hand on Katrina’s lower back as they followed the girl.
It was a gentlemanly gesture, and while Katrina thought she might feel some kind of spark of awareness or even a flutter or attraction, it just didn’t happen, and she knew it wouldn’t, with any man, until she was over Mason. God, she hoped that was even possible.
They sat down at a table in a quiet, private corner, and as soon as the waiter arrived, Blake ordered a bottle of wine for the two of them. Katrina assumed it had to be expensive, because she’d never heard of it before, and Blake didn’t look like the kind of guy who drank cheap Chardonnay. She perused her menu of Italian fare and he did the same.
After a few minutes, Blake gave her his suggestions. “The roasted duck is fabulous, and so is the smoked pork shoulder ragù.”
She wrinkled her nose and peeked at him over her menu, knowing she was about to admit to her very boring and generic palate, versus his more refined one. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I can’t bring myself to eat a duck, and a pork shoulder just sounds . . . wrong.”
He chuckled. “Okay, then.”
At least he was amused by her lack of sophistication when it came to food. “I mean, this is an Italian restaurant,” she pointed out. “Don’t they have ravioli or plain ol’ spaghetti and meatballs?”
His gaze glimmered with more laughter. “Sounds like I should have taken you to the Olive Garden.”
“Oh, my God, I love the Olive Garden,” she said enthusiastically.
“I’ll make a note of that for next time,” he said, and put his own menu aside. “In the meantime, I think you’ll enjoy the Tagliatelle Bolognese, which is long ribbons of pasta in a meat-based sauce. It’s as close to spaghetti as you’re going to get,” he said with a grin.
She flashed him a satisfied smile. “Perfect.”
The waiter arrived with the wine and poured each of them a glass, then came back with a basket of bread and butter. He took their individual orders—Blake went with the braised short ribs—and once the server left them alone again, Katrina directed their conversation toward why she was really there.
“So, what is this business proposition you have for me?” she asked.
“What? No small talk first?” His voice was once again infused with humor.
At least he didn’t take things too seriously, which made him extremely charismatic and likeable. “Tell you what,” she said as she reached for a piece of bread and slathered it with butter. “Let’s get the business stuff out of the way, and then if there’s time, we’ll do some small talk.”
He absently swirled his white wine in his glass. “Sounds naughty.”
“I think that’s pillow talk,” she corrected him, and took a bite of the bread.
“I can’t get anything past you, can I?” He shook his head in mock disappointment.
“No, I’m pretty sharp like that,” she teased.
He took a drink of his wine and then sat back in his chair, his pose relaxed but still very much in control. “Okay, here’s the deal. You know that I co-own an ad agency, right?”
She nodded as she finished her slice of bread and reached for another—dang, she was hungry, and she wasn’t one of those skinny women who wouldn’t eat bread or a bowl of pasta in front of a man. Not wanting to talk with her mouth full, she made the universal sound for yes. “Mmm hmm.” She also knew that Cavanaugh and Zimmerman was a very reputable agency, and judging by the designer clothes he wore and the sports car he drove, the firm wasn’t doing too shabby.
“Well, we’re a full-service agency that has a design department,” he explained. “We currently have an opening for a junior graphic designer who would work directly under the senior director of the art department.”
She took a drink of her wine—and yeah, the quality was outstanding—then tipped her head to the side. “And how does this pertain to me?”
“I thought it might be something that you’d be interested in,” he said seriously.
“Why me?” Her eyes rounded in surprise. “I don’t know anything about advertising. Well, that’s not completely true,” she amended. “I’ve done some marketing for Inked, but that’s hardly the kind of experience I’m sure you’re looking for or need.”
He leaned forward in his chair and braced his arms on the table, his gaze direct. “We want to hire someone with a fresh perspective and enthusiasm. Someone who isn’t trained and will think outside the box when it comes to creative designs for our clients.”