"We need to be careful with him. Make sure he has everything he needs tonight," Kane said, rounding the corner back into the restaurant.
"I plan to," Randall mumbled as he slipped past Kane. Justice Sawyer met him at the bar before he could say anything more to the greeter. The man's big grin and compliments to the chef did help ease Kane's weary soul.
Chapter 4
Avery sat quietly, staring at the large mahogany desk in the center of his masculinely-decorated office. Dark cherry wood paneling covered every wall, with deep hunter green shag carpeting and dark red plaids covering the furniture. The drapes matched the furniture and were closed up tight, forbidding any sun from daring to peek inside this office. Avery found the entire room impossible to think within, and it seemed to zap his entire will to work.
He rose on a huff and stalked across the office. He tore open the curtains, letting the sunshine in. Avery turned back to the office as if he expected a miracle with the influx of light. How had the sun not helped the room look any better? Damn.
Avery pressed the intercom, his direct line to his secretary, and waited for her to answer. She was sharp and equally as quick, and just as he expected, she answered immediately. Janice had been with him for years, moving to cold Minnesota from sunny California to continue being his assistant. That loyalty said a lot.
"Yes, sir?" Her voice boomed through the small speaker into the quiet office.
"Can you find an interior designer to meet with me tomorrow? I can't think with all this brown. It's sucking my will to live," Avery said, holding the intercom button down on the phone as he spoke.
"Sure. I figured that was coming. I can arrange to have the company who decorated your office—" Avery stopped her.
"No, someone new. As a matter of fact, I'll handle this myself right now," he said. He'd fly his designer out from California. Surely he could pay her enough to get her up here to make changes to this god-awful place, something better suited to fit his taste.
Ignoring the files on his desk and meeting requests from the attorneys who worked for him, Avery dug through his Rolodex searching for his personal designer's telephone number. A thought crossed his mind. The handsome restaurant owner was completely his taste. Perhaps if Kane Dalton would just sit in this office, he might magically take away all this brown, and there was no doubt the man would definitely make the room look more inviting.
Avery took his seat, leaning back against the firm leather, and abandoned his task of finding the phone number for the moment. Instead, he twirled a ball point pen through his fingers as he thought about Mr. Dalton.
Avery hadn't been able to get Kane out of his mind. He stayed transfixed by the man, completely captivated. Even now, with all these case files lying untouched and work piling up around him, he still let his mind wander to the night he'd had dinner at La Bella Luna. He'd taken up residence in the small booth that evening, unwilling to give it up for several hours as he sat and mingled with some of the patrons that recognized him.
Avery told himself he was doing what the Democratic Party asked of him. Their great strategic plan of being seen out in the community and all that, but he knew the real truth. He only had eyes for Kane and yet Kane seemed to have eyes for everyone else but him.
They never crossed paths again for the remainder of the evening. Avery left, not even taking the blatant offer made by the greeter. Yesterday, a large bouquet of calla lilies arrived, with an apology note attached on behalf of the restaurant. It was a simple, generic apology. The kind he himself gave over the years when he had no idea what he had done wrong, the gesture meant to soothe ruffled feathers. It gave Avery a clue as to why the owner hadn't come back to his table no matter how long he stayed or how much money he'd spent. Perhaps Avery's awestruck moment had been interpreted as hostile instead of the true fact—he'd been undone by the man standing in front of him.
"Mr. Adams, you aren't paying attention to me," Janice said from the doorway.
"Of course I am. I'm just pretending to ignore you," Avery immediately shot back, turning toward her with a sheepish grin on his face.
"Good! Then you're agreeing to double my salary with a nice six months of vacation every year?" she said, cocking a severely arched eyebrow. He ignored her comment and went straight to his agenda.
"Did you get me bi-weekly reservations at La Bella Luna?" he asked.
"See? You didn't hear a word I said. I move halfway around the world, to the coldest place on the planet, and you pay as little attention to me now as you did before. You don't need me. You could ignore anyone just as effectively," she said, and he could tell she was a little put out as she entered his office uninvited, taking a seat across the desk from him.
"Now, that's not true. You are far easier to ignore than most people I've met along the way. Now answer my question, am I scheduled?" Avery teased, kicking back farther in his seat.
"No, sir. They're booked up solid for several months. The best I could get was to randomly fit you in. I put the dates on your calendar," she said and pointed to his Day-Timer. He rarely looked at his calendar, as it was her job to keep him on task. He never made that easy for her.
"So when's my next reservation?" Avery asked. The twirling of the ballpoint pen came to an abrupt halt as his brow narrowed.
"Not for a couple of weeks. I think three weeks from tomorrow, but you could open your Day-Timer and check yourself," she said, trying for funny and falling short, at least in his estimation, but clearly not hers as evidenced by the big, bright smile she sported.