Temptation

not bad, though you don’t look much like a pizza kind of person.”
“Actually, I was thinking the Plaza,” he countered on sheer impulse. “The Oak Room, perhaps.”
“They’d throw me out on my ear,” she said with certainty.
“Not if you’re with me. Care to test it?”
For the first time since he’d walked into her apartment, he saw a little flare of defiance spark to life in her eyes. It transformed her. It also made him want to strangle the people responsible for dousing it in the first place. The husband who’d left and the boss who’d let her go were clearly fools.
“I’m game, if you are,” she said. Her chin rose a notch at the dare. “Let me slip on some shoes and grab my jacket.”
He wondered if she would also use the time to comb her hair and daub on some makeup. He was rather hoping she wouldn’t, if only because it would mean she was enjoying holding his feet to the fire.
Sure enough, she returned in minutes wearing worn-out, red high-top sneakers and a too-large baseball jacket, but no makeup. He couldn’t tell about her hair because she’d also added a baseball cap. He noticed the jacket and cap were for two highly competitive National League teams.
“Is that why your marriage ended?” he inquired, gesturing toward the team insignias.
An honest-to-God grin spread across her face. “It should have been a hint, shouldn’t it? Actually, the marriage ended over something far more serious....”
She allowed the thought to linger long enough for him to conjure up all sorts of dire scenarios of incompatibility before she added, “My use of his razor.”
Oddly relieved by the flip explanation, Jason nodded. “Definitely a breach of marital etiquette, all right.”
“He’s lucky I didn’t use it on his throat when I found out about the other woman,” she murmured, slamming her door emphatically and twisting the various keys in the locks with visible anger.
“Touché,” Jason said, thinking the man truly had been an idiot to walk away from a woman with such fire.
Downstairs, he ushered her across the street to his limo. His longtime driver swept open the door for her without so much as a blink. Jason resolved to give him a very large bonus at the end of the month.
“The Plaza, Henry.”
That drew the tiniest hint of surprise, but nothing more. “Of course, sir.”
As they rode toward the famed hotel on Central Park South, Jason studied the woman seated next to him. Despite her initial resistance to the idea of going out to lunch with him, she was now seated as regally as any queen. She didn’t gaze around curiously, indicating this wasn’t her first trip in such a luxurious car. She exited the limo in front of the Plaza with the same sort of aplomb, bestowing one of those rare, intoxicating smiles on the visibly bemused doorman. The man practically tripped over his own feet trying to open the door for her. He pretty much ignored Jason.
Jason was suddenly struck by the possibility that this was Callie’s natural habitat, far more than any pizza joint on the corner in her neighborhood. He knew it when the maître d’ in the Oak Room nodded politely at him, but beamed at Miss Calliope Jane Smith.
“Ms. Smith, it’s been too long,” he said, clasping her hand in his. “We’ve missed you.”
She beamed at him. “Thank you, Charles. It’s good to see you, too.”
“I felt terrible when I heard what happened, just terrible.”
Jason had no idea if the man was referring to the loss of her job or her divorce. Maybe the remark had been all-encompassing, which meant that Charles knew things about Callie Smith that Jason intended to find out before this lunch was over.
“Thank you,” she said as Charles led them immediately to the best table in the room. “I appreciate your concern.”
“You’re getting along okay?” Charles inquired, sincere worry written all over his face. “If you need anything, anything at all, I’d be happy to help.”
“I’m getting along,” she reassured him.
When they’d been left alone, Jason regarded her with amusement. “You knew perfectly well you’d never be thrown out of here on your tush, didn’t you?”
“It was always a possibility,” she corrected, an impish grin in her eyes. “Charles can be temperamental.”
Jason had seen the genuine warmth in the older man’s gaze. Whatever temperamental outbursts he might be prone to, Jason doubted one would ever be directed toward the woman seated opposite him.
After they’d ordered—the sensible fish for him, an enviably thick, juicy burger for her—he leaned back and studied her.
The dark circles under her eyes and the weary slump to her shoulders hadn’t vanished, but there was a bit more life in her expression.
“So, tell me how you and Charles came to be such pals,” he suggested. “He usually radiates polite indifference to the customers.”
“He mentioned to me once that he had a little nest egg put aside that wasn’t growing fast enough to suit him. I offered a few suggestions. He tripled it. He’s grateful,” she said succinctly.
“You have a nose for investments?”
“I’m a broker,” she said, then amended, “Or at least I was until a few months ago. Our firm downsized. I was one of the last ones hired, so I was one of the first fired. It didn’t seem to matter that I was making a fortune for the company and for my clients.”
Jason had to struggle to hide his astonishment. He tried to reconcile this bedraggled, ill-clad waif with the kind of barracudas who thrived on Wall Street in their expensive, stylish power suits. He couldn’t.
Still, this latest discovery told him he’d seriously miscalculated the kind of negotiations that would lure her into the TGN fold. Cold hard cash and a simple appeal to her vanity were exactly the wrong things to offer. He had to make her see the long-term future she could have, the example she could become with her combination of brains and beauty, the good she could do for charity, perhaps.
First, though, he had to