“Good girl,” Hawk responded, and then mischievously patted her knee, his hand lingering. “I’ll be a wedding guest, by the way.”
“Then it’ll be déjà vu.”
He grinned. “I’ve developed a taste for baba ghanoush.”
She threw him a stern look, and then picked up and returned his hand to him. Her actions belied the emotional tumult that he so effortlessly engendered in her.
Facing forward as the lights dimmed, she was left to reflect that her company had again received a desperate transfusion of new business thanks to Hawk.
She’d acted quickly in accepting the job—or, at least, agreeing to call—forced into an impulsive decision by the imminent start of the show, but she didn’t want her feelings toward him to get murky.
She could start feeling gratitude or worse.
Six
Hawk emerged from an Aston Martin at the New York Botanical Garden—where Victoria’s wedding would shortly be held at four o’clock on a Saturday afternoon—and looked up.
He saw nothing but clear blue skies. There was just the faint hint of a warm breeze. Perfect.
As the valet approached for his car keys, Hawk heard his cell phone ring and smiled as the notes of “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole sounded. He’d assigned the ringtone to Pia’s cell, whose number he’d acquired ostensibly for business reasons.
He’d thought of using the theme music from Jaws for her ringtone, but then he figured that while it might be appropriate, given the sparring nature of his relationship with her, she didn’t need further encouragement, if she ever found out, to attempt to annihilate him.
With a grin, he took the call.
“Hawk, where are you?” Pia demanded without preamble.
“I’m about to hand my cars keys to the valet,” he responded. “Should I be anywhere else?”
“I’ll be right there! The bride left her veil in the back of a Lincoln Town Car that departed minutes ago. I need your help.”
“What…?”
“You heard me.” Pia’s voice held an edge of crisis. “Oh, I can’t be associated with another wedding disaster!”
“You won’t.” Not if he could help it. “What’s the name of the car service?”
As Pia gave it to him, Hawk shook his head at the valet and jumped back into his car to start the ignition.
“Call the car company,” he told Pia, “and tell them to contact the driver.”
“I already have. They’re trying to get in touch with him. He can’t go too far. Otherwise, we’ll never get the veil back in time for the ceremony.”
“Don’t worry, I’m on it.” He started to steer back down the drive with one hand. “Do you think he’s heading back to Manhattan?”
If he had some idea in which direction the car was heading, he’d know which way to go once he got out of the Botanical Garden. Then when contact was made with the driver, at least he’d be nearby and they could meet at a convenient exit or intersection.
“I think he is heading south, and I’m coming with you,” Pia replied.
“No, you’re needed here.”
“Look to your left. I’m heading toward you. Stop and I’ll hop in.”
Hawk turned to look out the driver’s-side window. Sure enough, there was Pia, hurrying toward him across the grass, a phone pressed to her ear.
“Good grief, Pia.” He disconnected the call and stopped the car.
Moments later, she pulled open the passenger-side door and slid inside.