The Best-Kept Secret

“Would you excuse me, Roger?” Rosie hurried to the front of the restaurant, grabbed Hudson by the arm and tugged him over toward the restrooms out of Roger’s line of vision should he look. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re not finished with your assessment of me.” Hudson thrust his hands into his raincoat pockets. “We didn’t talk about my ideas for the city.”

“Don’t be a sore loser.” Even in her heels, Rosie had to tilt her head back to look at Hudson, to take in his determined expression on his much too handsome features framed by crisp, well-behaved dark hair. Although her time with Samuel had been brief, she’d appreciated the fact that the hair at the nape of Samuel’s neck curled uncontrollably and his nose was a bit crooked. Perfection like Hudson’s was intimidating.

“I won’t lose. I’ll just wait by the door for you to realize I’m a better risk than Roger.” True to his word, tall, dark and annoying went to stand in the foyer.

His political career was so over.

As she walked past him, Hudson leaned close. “What did you think of his handshake?”

Rosie didn’t want to admit that Roger’s handshake gave her the heebie-jeebies. With only two candidates on Walter’s radar, if Roger had other qualities that were marketable, Rosie was recommending him. Handshakes could be fixed. Personality flaws like Hudson’s could not.

“I’m sorry for the interruption.” Rosie arranged her napkin in her lap and looked about the table. “Didn’t we have menus?”

“I ordered for you while you were in the ladies’ room.”

Rosie tried to mask her irritation at Roger’s presumptuous behavior. “We’ve never met before. How did you know what to order?”

“I know what women like.” Something sexist dripped from each word and Roger’s smile was condescending.

If it wasn’t for Hudson McCloud standing watch, Rosie might have left. Instead, she vowed to get the upper hand. “Never presume, Roger.” Flagging down a waiter, Rosie requested a menu.

“I apologize.” Roger looked quite unattractive when things didn’t go his way.

Rosie was familiar with the French seafood bistro and knew what she wanted, but she still gave the menu a cursory glance before ordering an endive salad and lobster ravioli. “Why don’t you tell me why you want to be mayor?”

“My family settled in the city nearly one hundred years ago and it seems like a good place to start a political career.”

That wasn’t an answer. Rosie knew Roger lived off his family’s wealth rather than working, as Hudson did. According to Walter, his charitable contributions paled next to Hudson’s. She needed to uncover any advantage Roger had over Hudson. She tried again. “If you were mayor…” Rosie trailed off as she caught Roger’s attention drifting after a twiggy woman in a too-short skirt passing their table.

Roger gave Rosie an unrepentant grin, as if this were a common occurrence a female campaign manager wouldn’t find both insulting and problematic. “I’m always on the lookout for the next Mrs. Bartholomew. I’ve heard it’s easier to get into office as a married man than as a single one.”

Oh, pul-ease. Why had Walter set up this lunch? Roger was not politician material. Rosie didn’t need any more time to make that judgment, but she couldn’t bail with Hudson waiting. If she had to grin and bear Roger through lunch, she was going to need a glass of wine. Rosie held up a hand and signaled another waiter. At least the service at Plouf was excellent.

“Rosie?” Hudson appeared next to their table with a practiced, easy grin. Heaven forbid he show too many teeth. “I thought that was you. And then you waved and—”

“I did not wave at you.” Rosie glared at Hudson. “Did you think I was asking you to join us?” No one could be that obtuse.

“May I?” Hudson greeted Roger, shook his hand and sat beside Rosie, ignoring the look she gave him and nodding his head toward the awestruck woman at the next table. “The place is packed.”

“We’re having a private conversation,” Roger said, his brows pitching downward.

Hudson pointed at the two of them. “I’m not interrupting something romantic, am I?”

“No!” Rosie felt like jabbing an elbow in Hudson’s rib cage.

“Good. Just pretend I’m not here. I need to check e-mail anyway.” With that, Hudson pulled out his BlackBerry and started scrolling through his messages.

Where was that waiter?

CHAPTER THREE

ROGER LOWERED HIS VOICE. “The lady wants you to leave.”

“Given your track record, I prefer to stay. The lady needs protection.” From both Roger and her own mistaken impressions. Hud leaned back in his chair and put his arm across the top of Rosie’s chair. Somewhere between his office and Plouf she’d become someone who believed in him, however reluctant that belief might be, and he’d started thinking of her as Rosie.

“Gentlemen, please.” But Rosie only stared at Hud and bobbed her head in the direction of the door, freeing another wayward curl in her effort to get rid of him.

If Rosie wasn’t going to willingly give him a second chance, Hud had no choice but to create his own opportunities. “I hear you’re interested in running for mayor, Roger. I’m curious. What would you put on your agenda?”

“Agenda?” The other man frowned.

Thank you, Roger, for making this easy. “What issues would take priority for you? Education? Health care? Transportation?”

Roger shrugged. “They all seem important to me. Doesn’t the city have a lot of programs in place already?”

“Yes, we do.” Hud smiled and brought his head closer to Rosie’s because he knew it would annoy Roger. “There are several great programs in San Francisco. The problem is red tape. People don’t know how to get the help they need or they can’t work their way through the bureaucratic paper trail.”

“Like you know what’s going on in San Francisco,” Roger sulked.

“I know that with the most attractive health care and services programs around we attract more than our fair share of homeless.” Hud sensed Rosie’s appraising gaze upon him and hoped she realized how passionate he was about serving his community. “And that our city is overly dependent upon tourism. Our infrastructure is strained and the new bay bridge still won’t be large enough to handle all the traffic during rush hour.”

“What? Are you applying for the mayor’s job?” Roger snapped. Then he looked from Hud to Rosie and swore. “You are!”

“That’s enough,” Rosie interjected.

Hud shrugged. “I’d like to think I can make the city a better place.”

“That’s bull.” Roger shook his head. “No one can change a thing. The best you can do is ride shotgun and hope for no earthquakes or terrorist attacks.”

“I think you’re wrong.” And now, hopefully, Rosie would, too.

“You’re not going to impress her with that.” Roger’s voice turned sour. “Politicians are realists. Aren’t they?”

“I think,” Rosie said after looking the two of them over, “things have gotten out of hand here and—”

“You should go,” Hud told Roger, moving his hand closer to Rosie’s shoulder with a grin.

Roger stood. “Don’t make any hasty decisions about Hudson. Everyone knows he’s a quitter.” Tossing his napkin on the table, Roger left.

Hud didn’t realize he’d gripped Rosie’s shoulder until she loosened his fingers from her jacket. “Please tell me that more people wanted to go to dinner with me than with that pompous jerk,” he said.

The waiter placed a glass of white wine in front of her while Rosie scooted her chair away from his. “I have never seen such a childish display in my life,” she said finally. “You barge in here—”

“Pull out your charts.”

“Sit down in the midst of what is clearly a business meeting—”