Page 7 of Fire Peak

Unexpectedly, her eyes welled with tears. If only she could do that kind of hands-on caregiving. If she had the opportunity, she’d throw herself into it. She’d make sure her father had every comfort, every favorite food, anything he wanted after fifteen years in prison.

She stared into her glass of wine to hide her surge of emotion.

“Sorry,” Nick said softly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I just want him to be okay. Where he is, he isn’t necessarily getting the best medical treatment.”

“Health insurance issues? That’s the worst. If it’s a financial issue, I have some connections.”

“Connections?” She blinked at him.

“I know people who know things, put it that way.”

Was he talking about insider trading? Was this a setup? She tried to shake off the wine haze and think more clearly. “I’m fine. I have plenty of money.”

His tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Sorry, didn’t mean to overstep. Being in the investment world, sometimes it seems obscene how much money is floating around. If just a little bit of that went to ordinary people, we’d be a whole lot better off.”

That sentiment echoed her entire life philosophy so precisely that she nearly gasped. He didn’t seem to notice, busy now with cutting a piece of his veal piccata.

It was almost eerie that he would say such a thing. Or was it? It was probably a fairly common opinion, although most people didn’t act on it the way she did. But what if it was suspicious? What if he was playing her, trying to win her trust?

And then what? Pull her into some inside trading thing? What would his endgame be? Maybe she was being paranoid.

On the other hand, her instincts were pretty well-honed. What they told her about Nick Perini was that he was a good guy, but not entirely on the level.

She lifted her glass of wine in another toast. “To ordinary people,” she said.

Was that a flash of disappointment in his eyes? She couldn’t tell anymore. “To all people, ordinary and extraordinary.”

Now there was definitely something in his dark gaze—flattery. It went to her head much faster than the wine. She should stop this in its tracks. No matter how attractive she found him, this was the wrong time for her to have a fling. She didn’t need the distraction. “Are you complimenting me or yourself?”

“Depends. Do you like compliments?”

“What person doesn’t like compliments?”

“You know what Georgia O’Keefe said. ‘I’ve already decided the matter for myself, so criticism and flattery both go down the same drain and?—”

“I am quite free,” she finished with him. “That’s one of my favorite quotes.”

“It’s a good one.” He toasted again. “To Georgia O’Keefe’s drain.”

“To Georgia’s drain,” she agreed, and they both tossed back their glasses. She set hers on the table and covered it with her hand. “You know, I can see how a bunch of drinks fifteen years ago got you into trouble.”

“Good trouble,” he corrected. “I just wish I’d known about her earlier. My own fault.”

She liked the way he talked about his daughter, and even his daughter’s mother. No blame, no anger, just trying to do his best. He kept getting more appealing.

“I should get home. My goldfish is probably worried sick about me.”

He nodded and signaled for the check. No arguing. No suggesting they continue the encounter elsewhere. She appreciated his lack of pushiness, but it also irked her. He was just as attracted to her as she was to him. That much was clear. Maybe he didn’t have time for a distraction either.

“Are you okay to drive?” he asked as he helped her on with her jacket—a coppery suede that set off her blond hair.

“I’m almost six feet of nearly sober.”

“It’s that nearly part…”

“I’m actually taking a Lyft, so don’t you worry. How about you? You drank just as much wine as I did.”

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