Page 11 of Players Like Us
At 2:54 p.m., Rachel opened the door to the upscale restaurant and headed inside. She’d only dined here once, but she’d been taken in by the intimate feel long before the waiter delivered the first appetizer. The dark wood, dim lights, linen tablecloths, and soft music drew her in. The tables were arranged in a pattern of intimate sophistication. There were leather booths along the walls and large paintings scattered throughout the area. She hadn’t recognized any of the artwork, assumed it might be the owner’s personal favorites.
When she first arrived in McLean, she’d heard Matilda’s was a must-visit. You’ve never tasted filet mignon like this. It will melt in your mouth. And the salmon? Flown in daily. The prices indicated such.
Rachel made her way to the back of the restaurant where a man sat in a booth, dark head bent over a report. “Dominic?” He glanced up, smiled, and removed his reading glasses. Dark hair, darker eyes, tanned, late thirties. Very nice-looking.
“Rachel.” He slid from the booth, extended a hand. The smile and the gesture made him even more handsome. “So glad you could come.”
She absolutely should be thanking him. “Thank you for seeing me. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course. I’m anxious to see your work.” He pointed to the portfolio tucked under her arm. “It’s time for a change and I hear you might be just the person to bring about that change.”
There was the tiniest hint of curiosity in his voice that made her wonder if he were speaking of more than just a restaurant remake. Was he talking about Simon as well? Maybe Simon didn’t ask for favors often and the idea that he would had Dominic wondering if there was a personal level of interest tied to the asking and the favor?
“Before we discuss business, might I interest you in a few samples?”
Who would say “no” to that offer? “I would absolutely love that.” Rachel eased into the booth, set her portfolio next to her on the table.
“Excellent. I’ve asked the chef to prepare a few of my favorites. What would you like to drink? Wine, tea, a mixed drink? I could suggest a wine or if you’d like something stronger, I can help with that as well.”
She was supposed to be working, not sampling the menu and drinking. However, the man did seem very interested in sharing items from his menu. And his bar. “A glass of cabernet would be wonderful.” Even if nothing came of this meeting, she owed Simon for arranging it.
“If you’ll excuse me a moment, I’ll let the chef know we’re ready to begin.” One more smile, followed by a nod and Dominic headed toward the kitchen. Rachel glanced at the portfolio resting beside her. Dominic Lombardi had such a sense of elegance and style, from his black turtleneck and jacket to his dark-washed jeans and Italian loafers. She closed her eyes, massaged her temples, and considered what she’d show him. Would the simplistic designs she preferred be enough for this place and meet this man’s expectations? Would he be willing to get rid of the dark interior and opt for a bolder, more open look? Intimacy could still be achieved with color, fabric, and brighter lights. She was contemplating a way to approach the conversation when a familiar and unwelcome voice crashed into her thoughts.
“Rachel Reese. Fancy seeing you here.”
7
“Neal? What are you doing here?”
Interesting question. He’d asked himself that same question last night as he wandered the Westfield Plaza, making conversation he wasn’t interested in, asking questions whose answers he didn’t particularly care about... Always watching...assessing...gathering information, appearing nonchalant and distant from the target a.k.a. Rachel Reese.
Of course, Neal understood why he’d attended the event, but that didn’t mean he liked it. Still, how could he ever tell Meredith “no”? He’d disappointed his sister too many times, and this request had appeared inconvenient but not horrible. But he hadn’t expected the Rachel Reese he remembered from high school to be even more beautiful, more compelling...
You have to promise you won’t get involved with her.
His sister’s words pinged his brain, forced him to come up with a plan to expedite the “information gathering” process. He needed to offer Rachel something she couldn’t refuse. That’s where Dominic came in. His best friend was part owner of Matilda’s and the restaurant needed a makeover. Why not offer Rachel a chance to submit a proposal? It wasn’t like they had to agree to it, Neal just needed time to figure out a few significant details like did she have a job? Where did she live? How about friends? He’d guess there was no boyfriend since Simon Bainbridge had been all over her last night. How had she ended up with an arrogant jerk like him? Money? Compliments that were emptier than a blank piece of paper?
What she did and who she did it with was none of his business. His job was to gather and deliver information to his sister so she and her new husband could continue living happy lives forever and ever. Sure, whatever. Neal was glad Meredith had found her person because after watching the disaster their parents called marriage, it was hard to tell what that should look like.
“So, why are you here?” Rachel Reese eyed him as though she thought he might be stalking her.
Neal smiled, slid into the booth opposite her and watched her agitation grow. He couldn’t reveal the fact that he’d asked Dominic to meet with her, so he’d have to come up with another line. More believable, no doubt, because she still thought of him as a good-for-nothing playboy with too much money and too little ambition. That opinion could serve him on occasion. His smile spread, his voice dipped in what he was certain would draw a scowl. “I know the owner. There are actually two owners, but one’s more of a silent partner.” No harm in sharing a little truth.
“I see.” The narrowed gaze and tone said she thought his association had more to do with his wallet and less to do with a friendship.
Wouldn’t she be surprised to hear Dominic was his best friend? Of course, he couldn’t share that. “I know a lot of people, but then why wouldn’t I, right?” His smile spread. “This is one of the best restaurants in McLean and if you’ve never tried the short ribs, you’re missing a real treat.”
The huff said she wasn’t interested in his recommendations. “Well, it was nice seeing you again, but if you don’t mind…” She glanced behind her, frowned.
“Ah, you want me to disappear.” His gaze landed on the portfolio resting on the table. No doubt it contained some of her design work. He’d like to take a look—a quick peek into her work would tell him a lot, spark questions that would lead to more questions, and hopefully answers. He’d find out all about Rachel Reese but he would not resort to an investigator. Absolutely not. He’d suffered through years of someone poking around in his business, reporting back to his father, stealing every chance for a normal life. Neal wouldn’t do that to her, or anyone.
He’d have to play the rich fool who didn’t care about anything but the next good time. And while he was doing that, he’d conduct his own investigation, gather data, analyze the information. Nobody other than Dominic and their business associates would guess Neal possessed analytical capabilities. His family certainly wouldn’t and it wasn’t just his old man who believed he lacked business sense. His brother, even his sister, assumed he didn’t possess the desire or the skillset to manage his own life—personal or otherwise.
What would they say if they knew one of his restaurants was the most sought after in the city and had won several awards? He pushed aside the disappointment that he couldn’t share this information with his family, turned back to his current dilemma a.k.a. Rachel Reese. Neal pointed to the portfolio, curious to study the contents. “I’m guessing you’re not here to sample the short ribs or the wedding soup?” The pinched lips said she wasn’t answering. Fine, no need because he’d tell her why she was here. That would definitely get a response. “I would say you’re here to talk with Dominic about updating this place.”
Those amber eyes narrowed to slits. “How would you know that?”
He laughed, intrigued by this woman’s assumptions about him. “You’re an interior designer. Dominic is looking to give this place a makeover. Pretty simple math.” He rubbed his jaw, pretended nonchalance when he tossed out the question. “But I’m curious as to how you knew about this? Did someone make an introduction?” I made the introduction. A small piece of him wanted her to see him in a different light, one that didn’t make him look like such an irresponsible, good-for-nothing fool.
