Make Me Page 4

  Rebecca frowned at him.

  He shook his head. “Don’t give me that look. It was my idea, remember.”

  “I suppose it was.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  He sighed and gazed off into the distance for a minute, looking a little frustrated. “Never mind.”

  She called him on it. “Wilson? I mean Wil. I don’t know, I guess.” She sipped her coffee, stealing a sideways glance at him while they waited for the clerk to bag their croissants. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

  “Nothing, just…well, call it male intuition, but he kind of looks at you like meat.”

  “First of all, while I’ve heard of female intuition, I had no idea you guys had the frontal lobe capacity.”

  He took an indignant stance, pushing out his chest just a bit. “Oh, we have it.”

  “Well, do you think you could come up with something a little less obvious? Of course he looks at me like meat. He’s a man!”

  “Is that really the way you think a man is supposed to look at you?” His tone was suddenly very serious.

  She turned to look at him, a plucky smile on her lips. His hazel eyes bore into her, tearing at her pretenses.

  “No, I mean not the way he’s supposed to look at me, but that’s what seems to happen.”

  “I kind of hope it isn’t always that way.”

  “Well, it’s been a while since anyone has looked at me at all.” She huffed and wished he wasn’t waiting for a real answer to that, but he leaned in and tilted his head inquisitively. “I’ve been working nonstop on curating this recently acquired script collection. Wil was the only date I’ve had since I moved here.”

  Manny nodded, looking as if he was processing more than just the words coming from her lips. He placed a few dollars into the tip jar. “And you’re originally from…?”

  “Aurora, Ohio. Cleveland suburbs. We’re practically neighbors.”

  “Practically roommates.”

  The way his eyes travelled her face made her want to check if she had toothpaste stuck somewhere. Her tongue dabbed at the corner of her mouth.

  Manny inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring just slightly before he turned to find a table. “Only in my house the Steelers is the name that shall not be mentioned.”

  “So you’re a Browns fan, huh?” He shot her a playful look over his shoulder. “What the hell kind of name is that for a football team, anyway?”

  Rebecca raised her chin at him pointedly. “You watch it, buddy. Those are fighting words.” She couldn’t help the tickle she felt inside when he teased her. He’d probably been the cute little kid who pulled girls’ pigtails and the girls all pretended to hate it.

  When they’d sat down at a small table crowded into the corner of the shop, Manny took the quarter he’d gotten as change and manipulated it between his fingers. With his other hand he took a bite of his croissant.

  “That’s a neat trick.”

  “Spent a lot of time waiting on orders. Got a shitload of practice with useless crap like this.”

  “Are you glad to be back?” It was a rhetorical question really. Of course he was glad to be back, right? Who wouldn’t be?

  “Kind of left some unfinished business over there.”

  The answer surprised her, and she wanted to ask more, but he cleared his throat and placed the quarter on the table with a firm press of his index finger. The crisp clank of metal on granite closed the topic.

  “What else do you need to do today?” he asked.

  “I should probably visit my office and clear the cobwebs from my desk before I start work tomorrow. Craig, my boss, has probably left me a mile-high pile of grant applications to sort through.”

  “Aww, that sounds…mmm…how do I put this? Like a terrible idea.”

  “Oh really? Well I’m not sure how many apartments I’ll be able to line up to see today on short notice, but I’m going to make as many calls as possible.”

  “I meant what I said back there in the hall. You can stay as long as you need.” He tossed the last of his croissant to the back of his mouth. When he’d gulped down a swig of coffee he continued. “And I don’t want you to think you have to take the first roach-infested hellhole you find.”

  “I’ll be sure to avoid any listings for roach motels.”

  “Good. So your Sunday is basically clear?”

  “Basically.”

  “Feel like taking a drive with me? Holly needs to stretch her legs.”

  “Where do plan to go?”

  “Upstate, about an hour and a half north. Do you like fishing?”

  “Fishing?” She chuckled. “OK, that’s it. You have no business living in Manhattan.”

  “What can I say? You can take the boy out of Western Pennsylvania…”

  “I haven’t been fishing since I was a little girl and my cousins were forced to bring me along.” She stared into his hazel eyes, which creased softly in the corners from the smile he wore. “Oh screw it, I’d love to go.”

  “Do you have anything that could pass for casual in that suitcase?”

  “Sorry, all of my fishing digs are in my car, way down yonder.”

  He sighed, a happy little noise that passed through his grin. “You know I saw you yesterday. You were tugging that rolling overnight thing behind you, hightailing it like someone had lit a match under your ass.”

  She tilted her head toward him, noticing the smoky look to his eyes all of a sudden.

  “You let the umbrella fall away for a second and I caught a glimpse of your face. I remember thinking, that girl looks like she’s ready to blast somebody.”

  “Yeah, well I was pissed about having to walk and I wanted to get home.”

  “Guess that was my fault.”

  She felt a need to touch him then, to reach out and put her hand on top of his and stroke his knuckles. She looked at the number of old scars crisscrossing his fingers, and it occurred to her that she didn’t know much about him.

  “What do you do for a living?”

  “I started a new gig last week with Gotham Heli-Transport, keeping rich executives high above us common folk.”

  “Did you fly missions in Afghanistan?”

  “Lots.” It was a clipped answer, direct and vague at the same time. He took one last swig of his coffee. “Ready to grab the rest of your stuff from your car?”

  Rebecca nodded, taking the hint. He smiled at her, with soft eyes that said sorry or thank you or both. She wasn’t exactly sure how to read the slight pinch in his forehead and the arch of his right eyebrow, but she followed and she helped him change the subject. The gorgeous blue sky seemed like a safe bet.

  * * *

  Manny felt his phone vibrate in his pants again and ignored it. It hadn’t been the only action going on down there. The gorgeous and insufferable woman walking next to him had been torturing him all morning with the way she looked in that strapless sundress. Purple suited her, and with her hair piled on the top of her head, he could admire her slender neck. Even the faint scar along the delicate line of her collarbone seemed a pretty mystery painted on her skin. She was the damned definition of feminine.

  She teetered along next to him in the most ridiculous shoes to walk the streets of Manhattan. He’d offered to hail a cab, but she’d refused, swearing it wasn’t necessary. So far he’d figured out at least one thing about Rebecca Sinclair: that girl was about as stubborn as they came.

  She flashed him a taunting grin. “What will you do if I catch the biggest fish?”

  Manny laughed. She obviously liked to try to surprise him with the things that popped out of her mouth, and he enjoyed it. What a pretty mouth it was too. He stopped himself from leaning over to see if it was as spicy as he suspected.

  “I’m a modern man. I’ve got no qualms with seeing a lady on top.” He raised an eyebrow at her, hoping that comment would do the trick. Bingo. Ruby-face central.

  “You really do think you’re funny.”

  He shrug
ged. “OK, sorry, that was a low blow.” They stopped at the corner while the ever-present swarms of cars whizzed by. “I’m actually really looking forward to seeing what you can do.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  “I think we’re going to have a great time. I like hanging out with you.”

  She’d been looking out at the passing cars, but that got her attention. “You do?”

  He shrugged again. “Nana said I’d like you. She’s never wrong about these kinds of things.” He waited to hear if she would reciprocate the sentiment, hating that it felt so important.

  She looked back out to the street.

  “Anyway,” he said, doing his best to sound casual. “I, uh…hope you do catch something.”

  This got her attention again. She cocked her head to the side with a teasing smirk on her face. “Our first date and you think I’m going to catch something?”

  He laughed. Damn, he liked a girl who could give it right back to him. “Guess I asked for that.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  The fact that she’d called it a date wasn’t lost on him, but maybe she’d simply said it for effect. He passed her a sideways glance as they crossed the street.

  His phone buzzed again, and this time he looked at it. The scowl came to his face before he even finished reading the text message. “Crap.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m being called into work. Seems a VIP just requested me personally.” He frowned at the phone, wondering who would even know he was working there. “I’m sorry, but this is a new gig. I can’t blow this off.”

  “If you have to go right now, I can get the rest of my stuff and catch a cab.”

  “Hmm? No, I…uh…” He scratched the back of his head. “Let me help you get everything all set. Two bags, right?”

  “Yeah, but you don’t have to. “

  “I kind of do.” He smiled, touching her shoulder, his thumb grazing the soft skin at her neck. He wasn’t about to abandon her. He could be honorable and chivalrous when the situation called for it. But that wasn’t the whole story, now was it? “Shit, you need a key.” He gave her his. “I’ll call you when I’m done. Do you think you can have a copy made?”

  She nodded and reached for it.

  He pulled it back, unable to resist. “You’re not a psycho killer, are you?”

  She grinned. “Give me that.”

  “I’ll get it back from you when you find a place.”

  “Of course.”

  His phone buzzed again, and he finally provided his boss with an answer. On my way.

  * * *

  The way Manny hailed a cab was something to be seen. His sinewy, tanned arm locked and loaded in position commanded attention, not to mention the way his shirt rode up to expose a tempting trail of dark hair marching into his waistband past neatly packed abs.

  Rebecca sighed and immediately scolded herself for gazing so dreamily in his direction. Surely she could be more useful and less drooly. She fished some cash from her purse. He frowned at her and shook his head. She frowned back and nodded. He shook, she nodded.

  “Oh for God’s sake,” she said. “I will not let you pay for the cab too. Leave me with some self-respect, will you?”

  He rolled his eyes so hard she thought they might go skittering down 8th Avenue. “Fine.”

  When they had pulled up to the lot and retrieved her last two suitcases from her car, Manny closed her door and then tapped on the window. She lowered the glass.

  “Sorry to bail on the fishing trip,” he said.

  “No worries, I really should head into work anyway.” Disappointment rode that statement on piggyback. It surprised her just how quickly she’d fallen for the idea of spending the day with Manny and his Camaro named Holly. She imagined them both smelling like the fish they’d caught.

  “Hey, if I get off early enough, I’ll bring home a trout from the gourmet market and we can make up a grand ol’ story about how I wrestled it in from the shore.”

  “You mean how I wrestled it in,” she called after him as the cab pulled away from the curb. She watched with her head hanging out of the window as he waved at her, a grin lighting up his face.

  “Lady, please keep your body parts inside the cab.”

  Rebecca barely understood the driver through his thick Bengali accent, but she managed to oblige, her tongue still lingering on her bottom lip. There wasn’t much point in denying it. She was in extreme like of this guy who’d stolen her apartment and her parking space. No, she wouldn’t bring herself to think that her heart could be next.

  Heading into the office seemed really depressing all of a sudden. She’d rather spend the day lounging around Manny’s apartment sniffing his clothes. Sicko. Who was acting like the psycho now?

  She shrugged off the ludicrous idea, asking the cabby to remain outside while she deposited her two suitcases inside the apartment. Once back in the cab, she asked him to take her to the New York Public Library side entrance, having to speak loudly over the advertisement playing on the monitor screen.

  Once they were moving again, she sat back and watched the screen mindlessly. The person who thought to put flat-screen TVs inside cabs was an evil genius. Passengers were a perfectly captive audience, and the volume just made it impossible to ignore.

  Next up, Congresswoman Olivia Hunter proclaiming her intention to save the state from financial catastrophe. In a sensible pantsuit, the middle-aged iconic politician argued her case for fiscal responsibility. Rebecca huffed. Hunter Railways was probably the oldest corporation in the state. What could she possibly know about stretching a budget? Money leaked out of her ears. But from the way Rebecca’s boss had been ringing the alarms about funding cuts, she was certain Olivia Hunter meant less is more with a public service such as the library. All the more reason to get into her office and roll up her sleeves. As Associate Curator of Special Collections, Rebecca knew her department would probably be one of the first to face the chopping block.

  The American flag faded on the screen; cue the shot of the perfect family strolling by a pristine lake. Rebecca arched an eyebrow and stared at the tall, sandy-haired man with them, wearing his military dress uniform. Olivia Hunter’s son was smoking hot.

  A street festival cut off access to the next turn. Rebecca paid the fare so she could walk the rest of the way. New York was a place of endless activity. During the few blocks she needed to travel, Rebecca bought a shimmering fuchsia sari, a freshly prepared guava and banana smoothie, and a CD from a sitar player who reminded her of Mr. Jacobson, her hippie tenth-grade English teacher.

  This was what she loved about the city, anything and everything at your fingertips. But it was dangerous for someone like her, with zero impulse control. When she saw something she wanted, it was an impossibility to walk away. Now she was living in a den of temptation, having to look at a half-dressed Manny every morning. For sure finding a new apartment was tops on the to-do list.

  Rebecca balanced her smoothie on top of the CD and took the stairs to the second floor in the administrative wing of the library. The place was deserted, just as she’d suspected it would be. No one else would be caught dead at work on a Sunday. No matter. She kind of liked having the place to herself. Opening the door, Rebecca wondered what outlandish decorations her colleagues might have added to her cubicle. The last time she was on assignment at the National Archives, she returned to a tacky sombrero and a piñata hung over her chair. But when she entered the office, Paula’s desk was completely cleaned out and Chaya’s was full of boxes. Rebecca’s desk looked just as she’d left it, except for the mile-high pile of mail.

  She frowned, trying to make sense of it.

  “What are you doing here?” Chaya’s raspy voice surprised her from behind.

  Rebecca jumped, splashing her smoothie over her fingers. She shook her hand and finally licked her knuckles when it seemed the most efficient option. “Just got back yesterday and wanted to get a jump-start before tomorrow. What’s going on? Are you transfer
ring?”

  Chaya laughed, though she didn’t sound amused. “I’ve been laid off. Paula too.” She placed some books into a box, along with the pair of shoes she usually kept under her desk in case the ones she had on started to hurt her feet. “I was so mad when I found out on Friday that I just couldn’t deal with packing up my things.”

  “Laid off? Why? Why now?”

  “No money. The budget has been slashed to pieces.” She pointed at Rebecca. “You should count yourself lucky you still have a job.”

  Rebecca didn’t know what to say. She’d have reached out to give Chaya a hug if she’d thought it was what she wanted. But Chaya was pricklier than a bayberry bush, and thorns like that have a clear message to keep your distance.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at last. She wished something better would come to mind—something to properly show Chaya how terrible she felt, something to show that she cared. Rebecca’s eyes wandered to the boxes on Chaya’s desk while the awkward silence stretched thin.

  “Don’t know why I voted for that woman.”

  Rebecca put her smoothie down on her desk along with the rest of her things and started to help, but Chaya’s glare told her otherwise. Rebecca fiddled with a loose strand of hair instead. “Who?”

  “Olivia fucking Hunter, that’s who. Where do you think the mayor’s marching orders came from?” Chaya tossed her other pair of just-in-case shoes in the box. Rebecca wondered how many butt-ugly clogs a woman could own. “With her crusade against government spending the writing was on the wall, but it just kills me. Wait, you didn’t know?”

  Rebecca shook her head.

  “Figures our fearless leader would wait until the last possible minute to tell you. Special Collections has been frozen. You and Mr. Tiny Balls have been sent to fundraising. Now there’s a department that keeps growing.”

  Rebecca’s head was spinning. Why hadn’t Craig warned her of what was going on? She’d returned from DC to find her entire life turned on its head. Her face must have said it all.