Have Me. Jo Leigh

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      “Never met her. Comes highly recommended, though.”

      “Yeah?”

      “She’s a Winslow.”

      “Those Winslows?” His dad settled his cup snugly on his lap as he wheeled over to the nook. “What the hell does one of those Winslows want with you?”

      Jake laughed. “No idea. Looking forward to finding out.”

      “Probably heard who your old man was. Couldn’t resist.”

      “You keep telling yourself that. See what happens.”

      Mike awkwardly put the cup on the table, and Jake held back his wince. It was getting harder for his father to hold the damn mug at all, as his fingers twisted and bent. But there was no use crying about it. There wasn’t a cure, and the medicines and physical therapy could do only so much. Retrofitting the house was what Jake could do, was doing.

      “You know Sally Quayle? Three doors down, her husband was killed in Afghanistan last year?”

      “Oh, no, Dad. Come on. We talked about this.”

      “We did, and we agreed.”

      “I’m not goddamn Santa and I’m not the neighborhood fixer. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m also busy.”

      “There’s always time to do right. She’s worried about being alone. Thinking of buying a gun.”

      “Ah, crap. You want me to go talk to her.”

      “I do. We all do. She needs to know how dangerous that could be. Go over her house security. Make sure she’s safe, yeah?”

      Jake sighed. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go over this week. After I get a good start on the new shower.” Why was it the only time Jake sounded like he was from Brooklyn was when he was home? He’d had the accent scared out of him at St. Francis Xavier high school, but it always came back the moment he was in the neighborhood.

      “This week is fine. And don’t start anything too big on the shower this afternoon. You need to look your best tonight.”

      “I what?”

      Mike sniffed. “You’re my only son. And a certified hero. She should know who she’s dealing with, this Winslow woman.”

      What could Jake say? “Sure thing, Dad. I’ll shave and everything.”

      REBECCA PAID THE CAB DRIVER, then got out on East 50th Street at the entrance to the Kimberly Hotel. She’d chosen it because the rooftop bar had spectacular views of Midtown. Also she liked the way they made their gimlets here with a very unique lime cordial. It didn’t hurt that their luxury suites were gorgeous, the feather beds to die for. Even if magic didn’t happen between her and Jake, she’d enjoy staying the night by herself, and if that happened, she already decided she’d be utterly decadent with room service.

      With that in mind, she went inside, her gaze lingering on the lobby’s beautiful grandfather clock as she went to the front desk. She handed them her overnight bag and her coat to put in her room. Registration took no time at all and once her key card was in her purse, she went to the lobby restroom. She had to remind herself that whatever happened would be fine, that if he was an ass, she’d lose nothing but a fantasy. Still, she wanted that fantasy, so she freshened her lipstick, fluffed her hair, checked her breath and let her heart pump and her hopes soar as she caught the next ride up.

      It was the express to the roof, not giving her much time to think, which was good. There were only three men in business attire aboard, none of them speaking, although she had the feeling they’d been in the same meeting. They all looked as though they’d been to the battlefield and lost and that drinks at the penthouse bar would be a just reward.

      Her nerves hit what she hoped was their peak as they reached the thirtieth floor. It was all she could do not to take Jake’s trading card out of her purse and hold on to it like a talisman. Not that she wouldn’t recognize him. She’d practically memorized his face. He’d look good on the roof with the blue and white fairy lights under the glass domed ceiling, with the city skyline behind him.

      Frankly, he’d look good in a crumbling boiler room. But as long as she was making this into some kind of romantic one-night dream date, she might as well have the proper setting.

      Another thing she liked about Upstairs at the Kimberly was that the music wasn’t deafening. They catered to a more mature crowd and had some respect for eardrums. It was a bar made for getting to know a person.

      The elevator opened at one minute past seven. There were several areas where Jake could be. On the main floor, at one of the tables, at the light-bedazzled bar itself or on one of the leather couches to either side of the bar. She ran her hands down her black sheath dress as she walked into the middle of the room. She glanced to her right, and there he was. He’d scored a hell of a table, one close to the window that looked out at the Chrysler building.

      It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but she could tell he looked pretty much as advertised. Dark scruffy hair, broad shoulders with a well-fitting jacket, a light button-down shirt tucked into dark trousers. He saw her and stood, and yep, he had slim hips and long legs. Even at this distance, he was hotter than hell, and please, please, let this not crash and burn in the first five minutes.

      She hoped he would be equally impressed as she crossed over to him. He took a few steps himself, careful to keep close enough to the table to prevent poaching. It wasn’t until the third step that she noticed his limp.

      Katy hadn’t said anything. Meaning she didn’t deem it noteworthy. Rebecca had no problem with that. It was an interesting detail, something to discover by layers.

      “Rebecca,” he said, and goodness, yes, that was a great voice. Deep and mellow and she thought about one of her recent not-so-wonderful blind dates that hadn’t been helped by Sam’s unfortunately high and sadly nasal tone.

      “Jake,” she replied as she took his hand. It was warm and large, and the shake just firm enough. He also knew when to let go. Big plus. He almost touched the small of her back as he held her seat, giving her the best view.

      He sat across from her. The candles on the table gave a hint of his eye color, but she’d need real lights for that. Later. Now was for talking. And drinking because her heart was pounding a bit too hard for her to ignore.

      Before they had a chance to start the opening volley, a waitress came to the table. Rebecca ordered her vodka gimlet and Jake ordered a bourbon and water. Nice. Traditional. Masculine.

      The second they were alone, he leaned a little toward her. “I’m never great with openings,” he said. “I’ve always thought there should be rules, a standard pattern that all blind dates have to follow. Like school uniforms or meeting the queen. It would make things so much simpler.”

      She thought about her trading card, and how that had helped, and wondered if Jake knew he was on a card, if he’d approve. She thought, yes. “You’re right. It’s an excellent idea and should be implemented immediately. What say we start with the basics. The front page of the questionnaire. I’m Rebecca Thorpe, I live in Manhattan and work in the East Village. I’m an attorney although I don’t practice, and I was born and raised here in the city. I’ve known Katy for over a year, and she’s СКАЧАТЬ