Completely Smitten Part 22

It almost seemed like Vari winced, but the movement was so quick that Ariel wasn't sure she had seen it.

"So I can hara.s.s you all I want."

"If that's the case," Vari said, "then I'll have to talk with him. There are laws against sock inquiries these days."

"But they're misdemeanors," Sofia said. "Let's see the socks."

Vari sighed and raised his trousers. His shoes were perfect, black leather with a single ta.s.sel. But his socks were an unexpected treat.

They were bright red, like the tie, the flower, and the hat band.

"Oh." Sofia's voice trilled downward in disappointment. "I was hoping for green."

"Green would be wrong," he said with complete seriousness.

"But green would prove that you're not wearing a costume."

"Green would prove that I'm color-blind, which I'm clearly not. You hate that I dress better than you do."

Sofia smiled. "I suspect you have a fas.h.i.+on coordinator on the payroll and I want you to share."

Vari smiled too, and the look was a revelation. His battered face had a warmth to it that Ariel had only glimpsed at the airport. She felt that shock of recognition again, as if she had spent a lot of time with this man at some point in her life.

Sofia had turned toward her. "Andrew," she said, her tone suddenly tentative, "apparently you haven't been introduced to Ariel Summers. She's our new--"

"Daytime hostess; I know." He faced her and bowed slightly, as if he were meeting a d.u.c.h.ess. "Miss Summers."

No one had called her "miss" in years. "Mr. Vari."

He rose to his full height. He didn't even come up to her shoulder. "I see that your ankle is better."

Her mouth was dry. "Yes."

"Is it strong enough for you to spend all day on it?"

The bartender was peering at her as if she had grown a second head, and even Sofia's smile had disappeared. Blackstone had come out of the kitchen. Ariel could see him out of the corner of her eye, making his way through the tables toward the front.

Was he coming to protect her? Or to defend his position in hiring her without Vari being there?

"Yes," she said. "It's strong enough. Thank you for asking."

She felt like a schoolgirl meeting the princ.i.p.al. One false step and she'd be gone.

Vari's gaze met hers, and she felt that same flutter again. Something about him drew her forward. She had to struggle to stay where she was.

"Did you ever find your friend Darius?" he asked, and those striking eyes had an odd expression in them. Was it hope? If so, what kind of hope? That she would find Darius for him?

"No," she said.

"You still think I know him." That was a statement and not a question. He was standing awkwardly, his hands at his sides. She got the sense of contained energy, as if he felt like he needed to bolt.

Blackstone had reached them. He paused at the edge of the tables and watched, his entire expression wary.

"He knows things about you and your house that no one else should know," Ariel said.

Vari tilted his fedora back. "You know them."

"He told me."

"And then you somehow confirmed that no one else knew them?"

Sofia glanced over her shoulder at Blackstone, as if she were wondering whether or not to step in. He held out a hand, subtly enough to keep her from moving. Vari ignored it, but Ariel saw it all.

"I saw the pictures of your--grandfather?--with Hemingway. I had to do a lot of searching before I found them. Darius knew all about it."

"Mmm," Vari said, but he seemed taken aback.

"You look a lot like your grandfather," Ariel said.

Blackstone raised his chin ever so slightly. He watched Vari as if he were afraid the other man was going to say something wrong.

Vari shrugged.

"You know Darius, don't you?"

"This is not the place for this discussion," Vari said.

Ariel felt hope build. "What is?"

"Maybe after work."

"You just got here. I'm leaving soon." She sounded demanding and knew it. This man was supposed to be her boss and she was acting like she didn't care.

"You're not in a great hurry, are you?" There was a slight edge to his voice, as if the Andrew Vari she had met in Idaho were trying to get out, but he wasn't allowing him to.

She felt very uncomfortable. Everyone was staring and she could feel their concern, although she didn't think it was for her. It felt like they were closing ranks, like she had become an enemy suddenly, for attacking Andrew Vari.

What was it about this rude little man that inspired that kind of loyalty?

Probably the same thing that drew her to him.

"I used to be in a great hurry," she said. "But now so much time has pa.s.sed that it would be silly to say that I am."

He nodded once, as if he were satisfied with her answer, and then he said, "You look a little pale. Are you sure the ankle is all right?"

She wasn't quite sure how to answer that. Was he trying to get rid of her, or did he actually feel concern? And if he did, why did he? Because she was working there now?

"I'm just tired," she said. "I haven't done this kind of work for a while."

"But she's very good at it," Sofia said in a hearty voice that Ariel hadn't heard from her before.

Vari didn't even turn around. He continued studying Ariel. "I'm sure she is."

She flushed. His tone was so ambiguous, she couldn't tell if he was patronizing her, being serious, or making fun of her, but she couldn't just let the sentence hang between them.

"Mr. Vari ..." she said.

"Yes?" He had that look of expectation on his face again.

"I know you and I got off to a rocky start--"

"I wouldn't call it rocky," he said. "Bizarre, strange, stalkeresque, maybe, but not rocky."

"Andrew." Blackstone spoke for the first time. He did not sound pleased.

Ariel glanced at her new employer. He gave her a slight nod, as if he was encouraging her. "All I was going to say is that I'll be very professional here. I work until I get good at something. That's what I do."

Vari looked her up and down. Usually she objected to men who gave her the once-over, but she didn't feel he was doing that. Instead, he seemed to be taking her in, trying to see all of her.

"The poor start was partly my fault," he said. "I hate it when my vacation ends. I'm not pleasant."

"It seems that was a difficult time for both of us."

"Indeed," he said. "And now times will be better, right?"

She nodded.

"Good." He turned, a sharp, masculine movement executed with the precision of an athlete, something she hadn't thought he was. Yet, as he walked around the maitre d's desk toward Blackstone, he moved with an athlete's grace.

Blackstone was watching him too. He mouthed a "thank you" to Vari, a movement so faint that Ariel wondered if anyone else had caught it.

Thank you. For what? For being nice to her? Had Blackstone stepped in? She felt embarra.s.sed. He was her employer, after all. She hoped he hadn't intervened in her life just because he had felt sorry for her.

She shook her head once. She had gotten herself into an interesting position. Nearly broke, working a job she thought she was too good for when she got out of college, living in a town with no family or friends--not that she ever had much support from her family.

She wasn't sure how she had come to this place, but she had seen herself reflected in Van's eyes, and she didn't like what she saw. A woman who was obsessed with a man she'd only met once, a woman who had pushed so hard that the only contact she had with that man considered her bizarre.

Ariel took a deep breath. It was time to change that perception. She would do a good job here. A very professional job. And her personal life would be no one's business-- especially at Quixotic.

Darius stepped into the kitchen and slammed the palm of his hand against the metal table leg before him.

d.a.m.n her. She looked so beautiful standing there in her dress. She spoke to him softly and asked about Darius as if he were a completely different person.

And he was, too. Darius knew he was, even though the man she wanted was him. The duality hadn't bothered him for centuries--not like this.

Never like this.

He kept expecting her to recognize him, and he wasn't sure why. She had such clear green eyes, such a sharp intelligence flowing through them, that he thought she, of all people, could see past this sh.e.l.l he wore to the inner man.

Apparently she couldn't.

"Stalkeresque?"

Blackstone had come into the kitchen and was standing behind him. Darius raised his head. The a.s.sistant lunch chef was huddled over the stove, stirring something that smelled of burgundy wine and garlic. The salad prep person and that day's busboy looked away when they saw him glance in their direction.

"Yes, stalkeresque," Darius said. "We have to have the problems on the table."

"We do?" Blackstone crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

"Yes, we do." Darius walked down the narrow hallway past the break room. Just beyond it was the former closet that Blackstone used as an office.

Darius went inside. A table acted as a desk. A computer hummed on top of it. The single filing cabinet dominated the back wall, and a large a.n.a.log clock rested above that. A transistor radio that had to date from the 1950s sat on a shelf and played 1970s rock and roll from one of Portland's less memorable radio stations.

"I thought you were going to be civil to her." Blackstone closed the door. Darius had known he would come this way.

"I was civil to her. I just had to define our relations.h.i.+p. That's all."

"Which is?"

"Manager/employee."

"Not lovelorn man/beautiful woman?"

Dar's back stiffened. She was lovelorn too--and for him. But he was the only person who knew it.

"When we're at work," he said slowly, "we're manager and employee."

Blackstone held up his hands, as if warding off the words. "All right. Do it your way."

"How would you do it, oh tall, dark, and handsome one?" Darius asked. Immediately, he wished the words hadn't come out of his mouth.

"I seem to remember a discussion about charm yesterday," Blackstone said.

"I seem to remember the sidekick telling the hero that sidekicks don't have charm."

Blackstone grunted and sat on the edge of the table. He must have b.u.mped it as he did so because the computer's screen saver clicked off, revealing an open recipe file.

"Hasn't anyone told you that each person is the hero of his own life?" he asked.

"Oh?" Darius asked. "Is that why women in those old movie serials always called their rescuers, 'my hero'? I'm sure that when athletes and movie stars are called cultural heroes, that's just a rhetorical term. I know it is when it refers to those broad-minded individuals who risk life and limb to save a child from a burning building. They're not heroes--at least to other people. They're only heroes in their own minds."

"Sarcasm," Blackstone said dryly, "is always the refuge of a person losing an argument."

"Is that why it's one of your favorite verbal tools?" Darius grabbed the computer's mouse and closed the recipe file. The computer asked him if he wanted to save it. He almost clicked no.

Blackstone stood behind him for the longest time, silent and unmoving. Darius had to play with the computer, even though he didn't want to, as if none of this concerned him. He opened the employee files and started a new one for Ariel, even though he didn't have her application in front of him.

"When most people say things like that, it's hyperbole," Blackstone said. "But with you and me, it isn't."