Want It, page 9
She tried not to deflate but it was hard.
Didier put his hand on her back.
She looked at him, surprised to see the awareness in his eyes.
“What can I get you?” Chris asked, wiping down the counter. As they ordered their drinks, she watched Otto shuffle out of the bar, half his drink untouched.
She frowned.
Didier patted her hand. “We will take care of this,” he said in a low voice.
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you,” she whispered back. If anyone could tell her how to seduce someone, it was Didier. She’d heard about his prowess on and off the field. Also, he was French. Romance flowed through his veins.
When they all had their drinks, Jamie raised his glass. “To Lottie Morgan and her new client.”
Didier made a dismissive noise. “To Lottie, but I don’t know that I can drink to Osei.”
Taking a sip of her wine, she shook her head. “I think you have it wrong about him.”
The Frenchman just raised a skeptical brow.
“I think Danny has layers,” she said.
“Like an onion,” Didier said.
She couldn’t help laughing. “As long as he doesn’t make anyone cry. Especially Jules.”
“What is this about Julianne?” Didier asked, suddenly alert.
“I have a feeling that Danny and Jules are attracted to each other.”
Didier scoffed, waving his hand. “Osei isn’t attracted to anything but his own greatness.”
“I think there’s a lot to Danny that we don’t know.” She remembered seeing the way he’d been with Jules in the hallway outside the office and she sighed. “Love is in the air,” she said out loud, hoping it held true for her too.
Eight
Danny dressed with extra care for dinner with Jules. He’d looked up the address to the restaurant that she’d picked. It looked like it was a neighborhood kind of place that served Italian food. It seemed in between casual and dressy, but he figured she was coming from work so she’d be wearing a suit, which meant he shouldn’t go looking like a thug.
He decided to wear his new suit, the lighter-colored one, and a white dress shirt under it. He’d seen the way she’d looked at him.
He wanted her to look at him like that again.
It was just dinner, he told himself. Tonight, he was getting to know her. He’d take her to dinner, they’d talk and drink, and then he’d put her in a cab to take her home. She had work the next day and he had his first session with Lottie. It probably wasn’t wise to go too late into the night.
Not that “wise” was the first word that came to his mind when he thought of being with Jules.
He figured it’d take a good half hour to get to the restaurant at this time of evening; he had plenty of time, so he took out his cell phone to take a look at his stocks. He’d gone all in with a position that he felt was going to pay off immediately, but he needed to keep an eye on it to get out as soon as it hit its peak.
As he pulled his cell phone out, it rang. Hoping it wasn’t Jules calling to cancel, he looked at the screen.
It was his building manager in London.
That was not good. Thomas only called when there was a problem, and Danny could just imagine what the problem was.
Steeling himself, he swiped to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Mr. Osei, this is Thomas. I’m sorry to disturb you during your vacation, but there is a problem with your penthouse.”
Why was he not surprised. He tried not to imagine the worst. “What’s happened?”
“There have been complaints by the other tenants in the building, for noise and music and partying. They would be more willing to accept this, because Chelsea’s our team, but we aren’t winning.”
Danny winced at the not-so-subtle dig at the fact that he’d been playing like shit lately. In England, football was king, and the moment you started to lose, they were ready to lynch you. “What happened?” he asked again, to cut to the chase.
“Last night, the party was too loud, even after Mrs. Davies went to your door.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Mrs. Davies went to my door?”
“Yes. She tried to ask for the music to be turned down.”
Fuck. He lived in a ritzy building where most of the units were owned by people with old money. The only reason the homeowners association had approved his sale was because several of people on the board were big Chelsea fans.
He pictured the very proper Mrs. Davies going to his door and encountering the assholes in his flat. God, he hoped it’d been his dad who answered the door—or Kofi. They were at least charming.
Thomas cleared his throat. “Mr. Osei, you remember there is a rule about loud gatherings during the week?”
“I remember.” The building was under a co-op, which he’d always appreciated since he was gone a lot and there were people there to handle anything that might crop up. But given his current situation, it was less than ideal for him.
Thomas sighed. “I’m afraid last night’s party was in violation of the agreement. I’ve overlooked the other times, but—”
“I’ll take care of the fine. Just tell me what it is.” He winced at the amount Thomas named. “I’ll take care of it immediately.”
“Thank you. I also need to inform you that the next time I’ll have to call the police if it happens again.”
That made him break out in a cold sweat, thinking about the piles of drugs all over his place.
Thomas continued. “Mr. Fernsby, from the third floor, wanted to call them last night. I believe he lost some money on your last game.”
Great. He dropped his hand and exhaled. “Obviously you convinced him not to call the police.”
“I convinced him to wait,” Thomas said in his understated way. “I reminded him of the game last year against Liverpool and how you got a penalty to keep them from scoring to win. He made a lot of money that game.”
“Thank you, Thomas. I appreciate you looking out for me.” Because Thomas was the one person standing between him and disaster, he said, “Can I send something for your son? Maybe a football signed by the team?”
“There’s no need,” Thomas said, his voice lifting in pleasure, contradicting his words.
“To say thank you.”
“It’s not necessary—”
“I insist,” Danny said, knowing how the British worked. He’d ask his manager to take care of that immediately, and to send tickets to the next home game to everyone in the building.
“He would like that, thank you,” Thomas said graciously. “But the next time there’s too much noise, if someone complains, I will have to call the police. You’ve already exceeded the number of warnings.”
He rubbed his forehead again. “I understand. I’ll take care of it.” He murmured goodbye and hung up.
He needed to get his house in order. He had to get everyone out of his flat before something really went wrong. Ortiz hadn’t contacted him in the past couple days, but Danny could feel his best friend wondering what was going on.
He’d feel like absolute shit if something happened to Ortiz.
He had to get Kofi away from those people too. Danny had been around teammates who’d picked bad paths and ended up ruining their lives. He didn’t want that to happen to Kofi. The kid had a lot of potential.
Great—and now instead of being excited about his date with Jules, he was worried about everything else. “Shit,” he muttered, tucking his phone into his pocket. Sitting in the hotel room wasn’t going to help. He’d just go early, order himself a whiskey, and chill until she arrived.
The weather sucked, so getting a cab proved difficult. Danny didn’t mind because the cold wind cooled his temper down. Hands in his pockets, he waited patiently, chatting idly with the doorman.
The cab driver got him to the restaurant in good time. As he got out of the taxi, he looked the place over. There was no sign out front, which meant to him that it was a little upscale. The lighting inside was dim and romantic, which meant it’d be a little incognito.
In London, if he went out to dinner, he had to be prepared to be mobbed. At the nicer restaurants, patrons were a little more respectful, but he was still noticed. He usually didn’t mind—usually when he went out it was with his teammates. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone out with a woman where he didn’t want anything to distract him from her.
Tonight was different. Tonight he wanted it to be only him and Jules.
He went inside and gave Jules’ name. The hostess told him Jules wasn’t there yet, but she seated him, leaving him a drink menu. When his waiter came over, he ordered a whiskey and sat back to wait, trying to let the rest of the phone call ease away.
It wasn’t working. The more he tried to push it aside, the more worried he got. He got his phone out and texted Kofi to check on him.
He set his phone on the table, waiting for an answer.
He felt it the moment she pulled up to the restaurant. It made no logical sense that he’d know it was her, but then the door popped open and her long legs slid out.
He’d recognize those legs anywhere.
He watched her head to the front door, all business.
He glanced at his phone, tempted to leave it out. But he thought that was rude, and who knew when Kofi would get back to him, so he tucked it away in his suit pocket. Then he tried to shake it off so he could be present for Jules.
She stopped to talk to the hostess, who pointed her in his direction. She came to him, her gaze on his, and some of his tension melted away.
Standing, he pulled out the chair next to his for her. She looked as incredible as she had that morning, her hair still perfect and her face flawless.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said as she got to the table.
“I was early,” he assured her, remembering that she didn’t like being late. He leaned in to kiss her cheek, lingering there because he liked the way she smelled so much. But then he saw the way her face was tipped up to him, her lips right there, and before he could talk himself into reason, he lowered his mouth to hers for a brief kiss.
It was the soft gasp that she uttered that broke the rest of his funk away. He kissed her again, leisurely, just to hear it again—just to feel the hint of her excitement against his lips. It made him feel like everything was right in his world.
Her cheeks went the slightest bit pink as she looked up at him. Then her eyebrows pinched together. “What’s wrong?”
He blinked. “You can tell?”
“I know how to read people.” Setting her purse on one of the empty chairs, she undid her coat and draped it on top before taking her seat. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Yes,” he said without any hesitation as he took his seat again. “It’s why I’m at Winners Inc.”
“That’s not surprising.”
“You’ll need a drink for this. Or maybe I need another one.” He caught their waiter’s attention.
The guy came right over. Jules quickly ordered whiskey too and then turned her full attention back to him. “Tell me.”
“I have a pest problem,” he said, swirling his drink in its glass.
She tipped her head, studying him. “The two-legged sort of pests?”
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “This is hard to admit, because it’s my fault that I’ve backed myself into this corner. But I can’t seem to figure out a way out without destroying some relationships I want to keep intact.”
Their waiter returned with her drink. Jules nodded at him in thanks before giving Danny her full attention again. “Which relationships?”
“With my dad.” He thought he saw her wince, but maybe he was mistaken. “And one of my half brothers.”
“You have more than one half brother?” she asked as she lifted her drink to her lips.
“I have more than I know.” He observed her expression, surprised that there was no change. “You don’t find that weird.”
She snorted. “I’m hardly one to judge family dynamics.” She leaned in toward him, lowering her voice. “Do you know why I’m at Winners Inc.?”
“No.”
“I’m up against my biological father in a court case.” She got closer, her voice even softer. “No one knows that he’s my father, except him and me.”
Danny frowned, trying to imagine being up against his dad. The thought made him sick to his stomach. “Why don’t you have someone else do the case?”
“Because I need to get past this,” she said, sitting back. She took a healthy swig of her whiskey. “Why a pest problem?”
“My dad invited some people to stay in my flat in London, and they won’t leave.”
She frowned. “Can’t you have them evicted?”
“Not unless I want to never speak to my dad again.” He played with his drink. He debated telling her about the drugs, but taking their first date there seemed like a misstep. So he moved the conversation into a different direction. “What do you think MacNiven would say if he knew we were out on a date together?”
Jules arched her brow. “Two clients fraternizing?”
He nodded. “He’d probably rip me a new one, telling me to get my head in the game or I’d be out.”
She smiled. “He’s not that militant.”
“Yes, he is.” He finished his whiskey and then motioned to the menu. “Wine? Are you hungry? Should we order?”
She flashed him a half smile. “Are you having second thoughts about this?”
He looked at her caramel-streaked hair and frank eyes, the way they watched him so attentively. “Not at all,” he said with certainty. “Are you?”
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she admitted, setting her menu down. She glanced at his mouth. “We barely know each other…”
“And if MacNiven found out about us—”
“He’d probably scold us,” she concluded for him. “But if we’re discreet, and Jamie doesn’t find out, it’ll be okay.”
Discreet? Danny stared at her lips, her neck, the hint of curves her blouse revealed. He wanted to taste every inch of her. He didn’t think he was a good enough actor to hide that. “I hope so,” he said with a half smile. “He’d probably terminate my contract. He and I have a past.”
“Oooh.” She leaned her chin on her hand, gazing at him. “Do tell.”
“I’d rather talk about you, not MacNiven.” He reached to take her hand in his. Her palm was cool, and he knew it’d feel wonderful on his skin. “You live in Chicago. What sort of work do you do?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“So your dad is a lawyer too,” he surmised.
“One of Chicago’s best,” she said with a tinge.
“And your mom?”
“Dead.”
“Jesus.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago. She got messed up when Julian, my biological father, left her.” She sounded matter-of-fact, but he could tell she cared.
“I haven’t spoken to my mom in years,” he admitted. “The closer I got to my dad, the more distance I had with her. Her work was more important to her anyway.”
“Crack was more important to my mother.” Jules gave him a humorless smile.
He raised her hand to kiss it. “How did you end up so…” He searched for a word.
“Clean?” she offered. She shrugged. “I checked myself into a homeless shelter when I was sixteen. The woman who ran it, and her husband, saved me. If not for them, I don’t know that I’d have become an attorney.”
“I doubt that. Determination is determination. I don’t know anything about law,” he admitted. “But couldn’t he have someone else do this case?”
“He could, but he wouldn’t do that.”
“What a dick.” He frowned. “And you don’t want to excuse yourself?”
“No.” She lifted her glass to her lips, smiling a little. “Are you going to call me a dick?”
“You’re not a dick,” he said.
“What do you think I am?”
“Someone who needs to prove herself.” He sat back in his chair, his fingers rubbing the bottom of his glass. “I’m not one to talk though.”
“What are you trying to prove?” she asked, tipping her head.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Because he didn’t have an answer for her, he changed the topic. “You’re obviously good at what you do.”
“I’m excellent,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “I love what I do. I love the law.”
“And the hours?”
She shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. “It’s part of the package.”
Their waiter came back, and they ordered dinner and a bottle of wine. Jules waited until they were alone to ask, “You know I’m a lawyer. What do you do?”
“I play football. European football,” he clarified.
“With Jamie.” She nodded. “It makes sense now.”
“I didn’t actually play with MacNiven,” he admitted. “We were always more adversaries.”
She raised her brow. “And yet you came to him for help when you needed it?”
“MacNiven knows how to win.” He sat forward, bending his head toward hers. “Want to know the truth?”
“Always,” she replied, also leaning in.
“I’ve never won a match against him. Every time a team I was on faced a team he was on, we lost.”
“No wonder you trust him to guide you through to victory.” She sat back as their waiter brought their wine, quietly waiting to leave until they’d tasted it.
He shouldn’t have been surprised when she cut to the chase. She held her glass in her hands and looked at him straight. “How long are you in Chicago?”
“I have to be back in London before Christmas to go to practice for our next match,” he said, taking her hand in his.
“So a couple weeks.” She pursed her lips, looking at their twined fingers. “That’s not very much time for us.”
It wasn’t, and he didn’t have an answer for it. “We’ll just have to make the most of what we have.”
