All Wrapped Up

“Thank you, no. I don’t have time to go out for lunch.”

“Then let me take you to dinner, unless you have to hurry home to someone,” he said.

“No, I live alone, but dinner isn’t a good idea.”

“We’ll go someplace close and quick.” Another thing hadn’t changed. He didn’t like to take no for an answer.

Liv noticed Brandi Jo standing in the doorway watching with wide eyes. Did she think Liv was so old she was on the shelf?

“All right,” Liv said impulsively. “Meet me down in the lobby at five-thirty.”

“I didn’t know you had company,” Brandi Jo said, moving over to her computer table and openly checking out Nick.

Brandi Jo’s buttocks had a life of their own under the clingy skirt, and Nick couldn’t help but notice her backfield-in-motion bid for his attention.

“This is Nick Matheson, sportswriter for the Post,” Liv said dryly. “He’s just leaving.”

“I’m Brandi Jo Willis, Miss Kearns’s intern.” She directed a high-wattage smile Nick’s way.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, to his credit not rising to Brandi Jo’s bait. “I’ll see you at five-thirty, Liv.”

He backed toward the door and left without giving Brandi Jo the appraising look she usually received from men.

Liv realized that she’d let all her stored-up annoyance with the intern trap her into meeting Nick for dinner. For a moment she’d enjoyed showing the little sexpot that she could attract men too, but it was a short-lived triumph. It was a really bad idea to see Nick again for any reason. She was totally over him and wanted to stay that way.

3

STANDING IN the lobby of the Syracuse Building where she worked, Liv stared at a tiny butterfly in the design on one of the elevator doors, a detail she hadn’t noticed in the five years she’d worked there. Of course, she’d never stood in the lobby for nearly twenty minutes. Dana and several other people stopped to ask if Liv needed anything as she waited and waited for Nick to arrive. Time meant nothing to Nick, one more reason why she was fortunate their relationship had ended.

Even the two uniformed security guards sitting in the cubicle where they monitored cameras were beginning to look at her too frequently for comfort. She knew the routine, of course. At six sharp the door would be locked. Then no one, not even fast-talking Nick Matheson, could get in without buzzing and showing a special identity card.

She’d had it with waiting. She turned up her coat collar and braced herself to fight Chicago wind and commuter crowds. If the snow kept falling in big fluffy clumps, the lot where she’d left her car would be snowed shut before she got there for the last lap of her trip home. She hoped her temperamental little compact, seven years old and counting, would start.

Nick stepped out of the snowy darkness just as she opened the door. She met him on the pavement where wet slushy snow was already as high as the ankles of her boots.

“Thanks for waiting,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I got held up.”

He was wearing a red squall jacket, the hood hanging down and filling with snow. Nick never covered his head in less than a raging blizzard, Liv remembered. She had to resist an urge to brush silvery flakes from his hair.

“I only wanted to tell you I can’t have dinner,” she said. “The way it’s snowing, I’ll be lucky to get home before the streets drift shut.”

“You drive into the city? Where do you live?” he asked, stomping snow from his boots.

“Haley Park. I take the train, but I have to drive home from the station.”

“Have dinner with me, and I’ll drive you home. You can take a cab to your car in the morning.”

“No thanks to both. I’m going to take the Metra.”

“It’s no trouble. I’ve got four-wheel drive, and I pretty much go in your direction anyway. I live in Ira Heights.”

Nick took her arm as the door behind them opened. A couple came out, and she got a glimpse of the man, tall and broad-shouldered with a big square face, a felt derby and a tan wool overcoat. She opened her mouth to acknowledge the president of William Lawrence Associates, but Billy wasn’t looking in her direction. He was too busy gazing fondly down on Brandi Jo’s sleek blond head.

She should’ve known.

Liv scooted around Nick and started to walk away before Brandi Jo saw her, not that the intern wasn’t fully focused on her conquest. Liv feared her job was toast. The intern had one more semester before graduation, then Billy might slot her into Liv’s position.

The restructuring was a ruse as far as she was concerned. They were setting her up to fail. If she couldn’t attract the kind of new clients Billy wanted, he’d use it as an excuse to replace her with Brandi Jo. The whole staff would shake their heads and say, “Poor Liv couldn’t hack it.”

“Where are you going?” Nick asked. He was half running and half sliding to keep up with her on the slushy sidewalk.

“You wanted dinner. Let’s have dinner,” she said, too upset about Brandi Jo to worry about catching a train.

“I had in mind a little Italian place,” he said. “We’re going in the wrong direction.”

She wanted to explode. Had he conveniently forgotten how they’d loved romantic Italian dinners? It was the worst possible restaurant choice after what he’d done to her five years ago. She stopped and took a deep breath.

Her parents were splitting up. Her job was in jeopardy. Now Nick had barged back into her life and wanted her to do something that could violate client confidentiality. She might as well pig out on pasta and get fat.

“Fine,” she said sharply. “Where is it?”

She’d retreated far enough so there was no danger of catching up with Billy and Brandi Jo. Dinner with Nick was just what she needed to cap off a perfectly awful day.

NICK OFFERED LIV his arm, but she stubbornly refused it even though the sidewalk was as slippery as a toboggan run. The way she was stomping along, she was cruising for a fall. She was so hostile he had second thoughts about dinner.

“Hey, slow down,” he said. “No rush to get to the restaurant. The Milano won’t be crowded on a night like this.”

Maybe he was crazy to take her to a cozy little place. The last thing he wanted was to start something with her. She took life much too seriously for him. Breaking up with her once had been hard enough. He still had residual guilt and absolutely did not want to go through that again. Maybe if she hadn’t been standing there in her office in a lacy bra…

Sometimes a good memory was a pain. He could recall every important play in a game and write a story about it with minimal notes, but he could also remember the rosy-brown pebbling around Liv’s nipples and the way they used to harden under his tongue. The downy auburn hair on her mound was the softest thing he’d ever touched, and he hoped she hadn’t started shaving it as his last girlfriend had. Bristles were a turnoff, not that he would ever have sex with Liv again.

“How far is this place?” Liv asked, still sounding angry.

“Another block.”

They were waiting for a stoplight along with a few other people with heads bowed against the blinding snow.

Nick needed to concentrate on the favor he wanted from Liv. She wouldn’t be easy to convince, but instead of planning a good argument, he was remembering her dewy-eyed look after sex. He even remembered the cute little mole on her butt and the bright red polish she’d worn on her toes when they’d celebrated Christmas Eve in the middle of the night under her parents’ Christmas tree. The next day she’d blushed every time he hinted at it, but he’d never unwrapped a package as exciting as Liv.

She barged past the steps leading down to the Milano. He caught her arm to stop her.

“Here’s the restaurant,” he said.

“Ah, basement cuisine. Charming.”

“You didn’t used to be sarcastic.” He took her elbow because snow had drifted onto the concrete steps, and he didn’t want her to slip.

“I used to be—” She broke off whatever she’d intended to say.