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Fire filled her eyes. “That was a ploy you used for the courts.”
“I am not going to discuss this with you. You need to leave, now, before I have to call the manager over.”
“My, how the tides have changed. Time was, you wanted me on your arm.” Brittney waved her too-skinny arm and turned back to Rowan. “Be careful, my dear, or you’ll be the one watching him with his next conquest.”
She smoothed a hand down the side of her form-fitting white dress. “I’ll see you in court, darling.”
Gerard waited until Brittney was out of sight before he let go of the breath he’d been holding and unclenched his hands. He looked at Rowan, who studied him with curiosity in her large, dark eyes.
“She looks a lot like someone my brother once dated,” she said. “I’m not sure if she is or not. I only saw her one time as they were getting into a car at night.”
Gerard nodded, wishing this conversation were over.
“Ex-girlfriend?” she asked.
“No.”
“Ex-wife?”
“God, no.”
She nodded and took a sip of her wine. By the look in her eyes, she had a million questions, and she wasn’t going to stop herself from asking at least one more. He’d bet on that.
“Restraining order?”
He took a gulp of his very good wine, barely tasting it. “It’s a long story. Can we just get back to having a nice, normal dinner between…associates?”
Restraint probably wasn’t Rowan’s best feature, but she kept her mouth shut.
Over dinner, they managed to slip into an equal sharing of thoughts about the Scott Cybersecurity proposal. While she approached it from a different perspective than he, less business and more humanizing, she had good ideas. And when he began to talk about his ideas, she managed to find the compromise, the way their ideas could complement each other.
By the end of their dinner, they had a skeleton outline to work from. There was a lot of work ahead of them, but if they each made this a priority, they’d have one hell of a proposal to submit.
Rowan drained the last sip of her second glass of wine, much more relaxed than she’d been. He didn’t think she drank much. As animated as she was, she must be tipsy.
He handed his credit card over to the waiter. While they waited, he suggested he drive her home.
“I’m fine.”
“Be honest.”
She twirled her empty glass a couple times before answering. “I’m not fine. I’ll catch a ride share home and pick up my car on the way to work tomorrow.”
“What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t see you securely home?”
There went those expressive eyebrows again. He held up his hand, forestalling her. “You live out by the botanical gardens, right? Haight-Ashbury?” The crazy area of San Francisco. He almost shook his head over the idea of someone with her accounting and financial wherewithal living in the Haight. Artists and pot growers, he could see. But someone of her caliber?
“How do you know that?”
“Know what?”
“Where I live.”
“You work for me.”
“You know where all your employees live?”
She had him there. He’d read everything in her resume after that first meeting. “Not every one of them, but quite a few.” He smiled, hoping it would be enough to change the conversation.
