Business With Pleasure (Empathy in the Preternatural PNW Book 2) Page 7

  I turned back to Owen and lifted a brow, hoping he’d caught Chloe’s meaning. He just shrugged, lifting his hands to waist level, making it clear it was up to me how much time we spent away from the office and what we did with it. I sighed, tempted but determined to keep my head on straight.

  “One-thirty is fine. I’ll be back by then.” I reached out and offered my hand to Owen, pulling him out into the lobby when he took it. Chloe watched us quietly as we headed out, but called after us as we stepped out into the hallway.

  “You hear that, Owen? She’s got a curfew! You bring her back in one piece.”

  I wasn’t sure if the threat I’d heard in her tone was serious or imagined.

  Chapter Seven

  Usually an early lunch saw me invading The Internets café for some of their hot beverages and internet-themed pastries. I wanted a mellower atmosphere, though, so we ended up at a little Thai place down the street. Once the menu small-talk had been exhausted and we both knew what we wanted, Owen leaned back in his chair, watching me. His curiosity was back, grabby and determined as it had been right after he found out I’d been married to Stan. I thought I knew what he wanted to talk about, so I gestured toward him as if to say, ‘go ahead.’

  “There’s something different about you,” he said, surprising me.

  “Different good or bad?”

  “Oh, definitely good, but not necessarily human.”

  Swallowing hard, I stiffened, unsure if he meant that metaphorically. Chloe had quickly picked up on something different about me, but she hadn’t asked about my empathy it until I’d brought it up. If Owen knew about people like me, he was being surprisingly candid about it.

  “Meaning?” I asked when I was sure my voice wouldn’t squeak.

  He tipped his head, gave me a look that said, Oh come now. Don’t play that game. Out loud, he said, “Meaning you’ve got a little something else going for you. Mind reader?”

  “Not quite,” I said, still unsure how I should feel over him pegging me so easily. There were many reasons I didn’t talk to strangers about my empathy, but I felt no malice in Owen. He was curious, but not in a worrisome way. To him, my irregularity was no more unusual than someone being able to roll their tongue. “I read emotions, feel what people are feeling.”

  “Ah,” he breathed, leaning forward. The curiosity was turning to something else, intrigue mixed with delight, maybe. I thought I could sense a note of nostalgia in him, but I couldn’t fathom why.

  “You’re not going to ask me to prove it, to tell you what you’re feeling?” I asked.

  “Well, I already know, don’t I?” He was teasing me. I rolled my eyes over a laugh and nodded.

  “Fair enough. Do you…” I waggled my fingers toward him. “Do anything special?”

  “I do plenty,” he offered with a wink. “But nothing preternatural. I’ve met a lot of people like you, though.”

  “Way to make a girl feel special.”

  “You’re special, Gwen. Not just because of your powers.”

  “Oh,” I said, before a flustered giggle snuck through. Had it really been so long since I’d been interested in a man that I was turning into a teenager at the slightest compliment? Chloe was right; I needed to get out more. “That’s a good line.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “It’s not exactly one you get to use a lot, is it? But you gotta go for it when you get a chance to say something that cheesy.”

  “I’ll give you that,” I said. He met my eyes intently, and his smile said very clearly that he hoped that wasn’t all I’d give him.

  The waitress came by, brought our drinks, took our orders. He sipped his tea until she was out of earshot again and then mirrored my earlier gesture, giving me the go ahead.

  “How’d you know?” I asked.

  “That you’re special?”

  “Yeah. You don’t—I don’t really talk about what I can do. Chloe—my assistant knows. Family, one or two friends. Usually the men I date have no clue.”

  “Oh, is this a date?” he asked, feigning shock. I shrugged my shoulders.

  “Well, you’re the one paying.”

  “Am I?”

  I narrowed my eyes and leaned in close. “One way or another, yeah.”

  He laughed, genuinely amused by my false threat. Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on the table and linked his fingers.

  “It’s my job to notice, to know about people like you. And…those who might not be people.”

  My brows jumped, though I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. If he knew about humans who could read minds, it shouldn’t have shocked me that he knew we weren’t the only oddities running around.

  “So…what sort of job requires a specialty like yours?” I asked.

  “Well, I don’t work in a nice office with a couch and a lovely assistant. Essentially, I handle problems the police can’t. There are creatures out there that can do a lot of damage if they set their minds to it. There are even people whose powers far exceed yours—” He paused and held his hand up as if worried he’d insulted me; it was a courtesy, I could tell. He didn’t actually think he’d hurt my feelings. “I’m assuming.”

  “You assume right. I’m just a notch above a stage magician, really.”

  “I handle those problems.”

  “And you’re handling a problem right now?”

  “Oh, I don’t consider you much of a problem,” he teased.

  “Careful,” I said, realizing his tactic was to avoid the question. I let him. “Or you won’t get to handle me at all.”

  Sitting up straight as if chastised, he held his hands up in surrender. “Please, forgive me.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “If you buy me dessert.”

  ##

  Back at the office, we stood outside the door in my second-floor hallway and finished our conversation about authors we liked and books we’d read. On the end of a sentence, he slid a hand around my waist and pulled me in close for a kiss. He was slow, giving me the chance to lean away or tell him no. His lips were soft, his arm warm against my back. I put a hand to his cheek and then up into his hair. Taking that as further invitation, he brought his other hand to rest on the side of my ribs, his thumb teasing the side of my breast.

  I smiled, not sure if I was feeling ticklish or embarrassed, and it broke the kiss. His eyes stayed closed a second longer than mine but he watched me step back, keeping a hand on my waist.

  I cleared my throat daintily and spoke. “We should have dinner tonight, really see where this is going.” He smiled, and I knew we were both well aware where things would end up.

  “I’ll pick you up. Here, if you’re not comfortable giving out your home address.”

  “Such a gentleman,” I purred, deciding I trusted him enough to tell him where I lived. Like I’d told Stan, I’m good at sniffing out crazy, and there wasn’t a trace of it on Owen. The only things he wanted to do to me I knew I would enjoy.

  “I’ll pick you up and cook you dinner. I’m renting a house while I’m here.”

  “You cook?” I asked as I pushed open the office door. “I may not let you leave Seattle.” Owen’s hand stayed on my hip until I walked through the door.

  Chloe looked up from a book that I was sure she’d just grabbed to cover any eavesdropping she’d been doing, and smiled at us. She’d left a pen and a notepad on the desk in easy reach. I rolled my eyes at her, but she just winked cheekily.

  As I bent to write my address, I dipped a little lower than was normal before turning to face Owen.

  “When in the animal kingdom…” I said as I handed him the sticky note.

  He smiled and gripped my hand deliberately as he took the note. “I’ll pick you up at eight?”

  I nodded and he looked past me to Chloe.

  “Ma’am,” he said, miming the tip of a hat. Without another word, he turned and left. Chloe pounced as soon as he was out of earshot.

  “Spill it, every detail down to you two sucking face outside the office.�
��

  I can’t tell you why I started blushing at that moment. I’ve never been shy about men or talking about dating before. Chloe and I could get pretty raunchy in our descriptions of gentlemen callers and their various parts. Something about Owen, though, made me feel embarrassed. Chloe’s excessive suspicion wasn’t helping. She didn’t trust him, and I wasn’t sure why.

  “Well, we met at the con, and then he showed up here.”

  “Coincidence?”

  “No, no. He won my business card in a bet.”

  “A sexy bet?”

  I snorted. “No. He started an argument for me, between some Sneeds.”

  “The squid thing?” Chloe asked, surprising me. I nodded.

  “Does everyone know about that except me?”

  “If you actually read those books in your closet instead of keeping them under layers of shoes, you’d know.”

  I went stiff as a board, shame flooding through me in a tingling rush. Chloe nodded, a knowing smile parting her lips.

  “Oh yeah. I’ve seen them.”

  “I’ve got to get ready for my one-thirty,” I squeaked, twisting and fleeing to my office, all the giddiness I’d worked up over Owen gone in a flash.

  ##

  Despite Chloe’s teasing, my good mood returned and hung around right up until I got into the elevator at the end of the day. Mel stood inside, his emotions still an unusually mild fizz.

  “You’re still being weird,” I said as the doors shut. He blinked at me as if he hadn’t realized I’d gotten on the elevator.

  “Oh, hey Gwen. Come to give the security guards a show?” Mel sashayed the short distance to me but I stood my ground and just waved a hand in front of his face as if I was testing his sight. It wasn’t the fact that our building doesn’t have security guards that confused me.

  “What is this? What’s happening here?”

  “I’m suggesting we have elevator sex. What else could be happening?”

  “No,” I said, before smiling. “That’s not happening. Your mojo is broken. I think I actually like you better this way.”

  Mel’s head snapped back, his thick brows furrowing. As faces went, his was pretty spectacular, but with the pout on he was no more alluring than a grumpy cartoon Batman.

  “My mojo is fine. You shut up about my mojo.” Without warning, he pushed against me again, locking his arm around my back and pressing me to his sculpted chest. “I’ll show you my mojo,” he murmured. His voice broke, making him sound like a teenager trying to seduce someone on a bet.

  Normally something like this would have probably caused me to vomit right into his mouth, but whatever Mrs. Q had done to him three days before had made him not only tolerable but actually somewhat pathetic. His emotions were benign, the worst part about them being the occasional, spastic jump against my skin.

  The doors to the elevator opened and I just shook my head, shoving him away. He barely fought me, his grip breaking like a wet strip of paper.

  “I’ve got a date to get ready for. You…” I was backing out of the elevator and halfway to the back door to The Internets as I tried to decide how to finish the sentence. “I don’t think there’s any help for you, but if there’s a mojo doctor, you should go see her.”

  “You and I should play doctor!” he called after me. I waved a hand dismissively back at him as I pushed into the café and headed straight for the counter. The place was packed with college students dressed in all manner of strange outfits, all inspired by pop culture. There were Starfleet uniforms, cowls and capes, all genders and body types rocking the slave Leia outfit, and enough noise to wake the dead.

  “Yo,” Holly said as I approached the counter. The weary look on her face wasn’t half as bad as the brick-heavy swamp of exhaustion surrounding her. I could tell she wasn’t exactly unhappy about being so overworked, but she still needed a break. She enjoys her job, but she’s only human.

  “Still no Madeline?”

  “Oh, she thinks she’ll be back tomorrow. Said she had to take care of something this evening, that she’s sure it’ll clear her schedule.”

  “But she’s okay?”

  “Far as I know.” Holly jerked her attention past me and raised her voice as she called firmly over my shoulder, “You hit anyone in the eye with that and you’re out on your ass.”

  I twisted to find a young woman in cut-off jeans, a t-shirt, and a Stormtrooper helmet aiming a plastic water pistol at the table next to hers. I snorted and turned back.

  “You have nothing to worry about.”

  Holly laughed and gestured lazily at the pastry case. “What’ll you have?”

  “Just a small Slimer,” I said, though I did eye the case full of geek-themed sweets. “I just want something sweet to slurp on while I head home.”

  “You said a small, right? Have you suffered a head injury?” Holly asked as she punched my order in. I shook my head as I handed her a five.

  “I’ve got a date tonight. He promised to feed me.”

  “Right, and there’s no way a sugar-packed mixture of Kool-Aid and green dye will ruin your appetite.”

  “You see?” I said, waving away the change she tried to hand me. “You really get me.”

  Chapter Eight

  Owen had picked me up from my house exactly on time, and I was pretty impressed. I felt like I shouldn’t be, since who gives props for someone doing exactly what they said they would? I think his pretty face played a role in my feelings on the matter. He had an intensity in his eyes when he looked at me that was most definitely backed by a heady lust. I was very into him.

  He drove a practical car, a basic, boring sedan you wouldn’t look at twice. Our conversation was about what you’d expect from two people on a first dinner date: movies, music, hey-did-you-hear, oh-no-tell-me-more. The usual. Despite summer looming, Seattle will be Seattle and pulled one of her many rain cards. The weather was warm, but drizzles were lurking in the many grey clouds, waiting to drop and possibly ruin a perfectly good date night. I was reserving judgment to see what Owen had planned and if it would require being outside at all.

  It was warm enough for a picnic, though I spotted no wicker baskets or checkered blankets in the back seat.

  We drove north into Edmonds. Sweeping out of a small area bustling with businesses, we crawled through neighborhoods, up some winding, hilly streets. At the back of a large cul-de-sac, we pulled into a driveway. The house seemed completely out of place, if only because it sat in the middle of what should have been three full lots. It had a smattering of old, well-kept trees, a stone fence around the property, and a spectacular view of the water beyond. The houses around it looked years older, though no less classy.

  “You can afford to rent this place?” I asked, suitably impressed. Owen shook his head as he turned the car off, unbuckled his seat belt.

  “It’s a friend’s place. She doesn’t spend a lot of time in one location, so she lets me use some of her homes when she’s not living in them.”

  “Plural ‘them?’” I asked, slipping out of the car.

  “I don’t know what other kind of them there is.” Shutting his door, he smiled at me over the roof of the car.

  I adjusted my long pencil skirt, self-consciously tugged at my vintage-style jacket, and took a peek down to see if my cleavage was still as spectacular as I hoped.

  Of course it was.

  “How do you two know each other?” I asked as he gestured for me to move first up the porch steps.

  “We’ve never dated,” he said, as if worried I was jealous. I shrugged as he unlocked the door and leaned in to punch a complicated series of numbers into the alarm system.

  “I wasn’t asking because of that, I’m just wondering how friendly you really are. How far does that trust go?” I asked, affecting a serious, James Liptonesque tone. “She isn’t even a little bit worried you’ll put on one of her many suits of armor and take a rapier to the priceless tapestries?”

  “Suits of armor? Priceless tapestries?”
he said, smiling at me from just inside the doorway. “Do you assume I’m friends with Queen Elizabeth?”

  “You’re friends with someone fancy. I was just wondering how you’d met. You’ve told me a few good stories at lunch, I just figured maybe this was another.”

  “She’s not royalty-levels of fancy. Now, come on, let’s get inside lest a neighbor get nervous about what we’re doing and release the hounds,” he said. I realized in that moment that he was pretty good at being charming as a way of not giving me the information I asked for.

  I dropped the subject, following him inside as he crossed the tiled foyer into the living room. The house looked big, but that might have just been the impression given by the high ceilings. The kitchen was to my right, stretching out of my view. In front of me, along the left wall, was an expensive grouping of electronics that would have been hidden by modern shelving had someone not left the doors to the entertainment center open. Across from that, a plush couch and two matching chairs flanked a curving coffee table. I walked in further, glancing up briefly when the lights came on and then over when an electric fireplace in the center of the room burst to life.

  “Wow,” I said.

  “That’s what I said,” he agreed. It was a lie, but I could tell it was a habitual, social fib, something to say because it fits the moment but doesn’t matter.

  He left me to my perusing and headed in to the kitchen. The lights in there came on and I heard the sounds of pots and pans being moved around. Something occurred to me and I fought the urge to say ‘wow’ again.

  “You’re actually cooking?” I asked, incredulous. “You weren’t lying just to get me into bed, huh?” The rest of the house forgotten, I hustled into the kitchen. It was long, which made it look narrow, and done in slate gray, white, and black. Touches of red in the forms of expensive-looking appliances dotted the counters. I had to hold my jaw shut to keep it from smashing into the lovely tiled floor.

  “Yes, is that a problem?” Owen set down two pots—one big, one small—and a pan as wide as my torso. I shook my head, moving around to the opposite side of the island that held the stove and watched him unpack the things he would need from around the kitchen.