Falling for Her Rival. Jackie Braun

if I looked like Angel?”

      “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

      “Smoky eyes and Angelina Jolie lips?” Lara pouted and batted her eyelashes for effect. “Not to mention a pair of legs that start at the chin.”

      “There’s nothing wrong with your legs.” Or any other part of her anatomy, from what Finn could tell. And, yeah, he’d been looking. “Besides, she’s not my taste. Too...obvious.” His gaze lowered briefly to Lara’s mouth and more naturally proportioned lips before flicking away to gaze up at the busy street. “I prefer subtlety, complexity.”

      “Are you talking about women or are you talking about food?”

      “Both, I guess.” He laughed.

      She nodded, as if processing that. Then, “I’m still not clear on why you want to have coffee with me.”

      Why indeed? He wasn’t quite clear on that himself. So, what he went with was “Ever hear the saying, ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’?”

      “Gee, you know how to make a girl feel special.”

      He laughed at her deadpan delivery. He’d always found a good sense of humor attractive in a woman.

      “Actually, I’ve got a job in this neighborhood in a couple of hours. It doesn’t make sense to go home, and I don’t feel like sitting alone while I kill time.”

      “Kill time,” she repeated. He nearly winced. Had he really just said that? “That’s a lukewarm invitation, you know. You need to work on your people skills, Paper.”

      She had a point. He was a little rusty when it came to flirting with women. The ink on his divorce decree might have been dry for a couple of years, but Finn hadn’t gone out much. He’d been too busy. And, yeah, too bitter.

      He wasn’t feeling bitter now. Oh, no. The emotions pinging around in his head were a lot more palatable than that.

      “Is that no?”

      “I should go home,” she told him. “I mean, I have laundry to do.”

      “Laundry?” He placed a hand over his heart. “You’re turning me down to go home and throw in a load of dirty clothes?”

      A smile lurked on her lips when Lara added, “Well, my refrigerator needs to be cleaned out, too.”

      “Yeah. That makes me feel better. What? No game of Candy Crush calling your name?”

      “How did you know?” Her full-on grin had his heart doing a funny thu-thunk. “But I can multitask and do that while I’m waiting for my clothes to dry.”

      “Who needs to work on people skills now?” he asked sardonically.

      “Fine.” Her grin made a mockery of the sigh that followed. “I’ll have a cup of coffee with you.”

      Finn nodded, more pleased than he wanted to be that she’d accepted his invitation.

      “I know a coffee shop not far from here that makes excellent biscotti.”

      “You’re not talking about Isadora’s, are you?”

      “That’s the one.” He blinked in surprise. “You know it?”

      “Best biscotti in all of Manhattan. And the coffee is pretty good, too.”

      Together, they headed off in the direction of the café. The rain had stopped. In fact, little evidence of the earlier downpour remained except for errant puddles in places where the sidewalk dipped. He watched Lara widen her stride to step over one. Her legs weren’t as long as the aforementioned Angel’s, but they were slender, which gave them the illusion of length. And he’d bet they were toned, too, based both on the way her pants fit and the lithe grace with which she moved.

      Although she was petite, she hadn’t worn dangerously high heels to compensate. Her footwear choice on this day was a sensible pair of flats whose only bow to femininity was a row of flirty ruffles that crossed the toe. They were a practical choice for the kitchen, although he’d noticed that Amazon-sized Angel had gone with spikes and even down-home Flo had opted for a wedged heel that added a couple of inches to her otherwise average height.

      Lara was saying, “I’m at Isadora’s at least twice a week, although I limit my biscotto intake to one piece once a week.”

      Disciplined, he thought. But what surprised him was the fact they hadn’t met before now given their affinity for both the hard Italian cookie and the place.

      “I’m there most weekday mornings. I bring my laptop, clear my email, that sort of thing. I can’t believe I’ve never run into you.”

      “I know. What time do you arrive? I usually show up around seven, and then I’m in and out pretty fast. I get my order to go.”

      “Seven?” Finn whistled through his teeth. “That explains it. I’m still in bed at seven. In fact, I rarely throw back the covers before nine.”

      She blinked as if trying to clear away an inappropriate visual. Or maybe his ego just wanted to believe that was the case.

      “Night owl?” she asked.

      “I didn’t used to be, but...” He shrugged. “I work as a private chef now, so I’m a night owl if my client is, and lately, she is.”

      “She?” Lara’s eyebrows rose.

      “I signed a confidentiality clause, so that’s about all I’m allowed to say.”

      “Ah. Someone famous, then. Got it.” She nodded before asking, “Do you have a lot of freedom to plan the menu or does your client tell you what she wants and how she wants it?”

      Finn couldn’t stop his laugher. He didn’t try, even when a blush stained Lara’s cheeks.

      “You make me sound like a gigolo,” he responded once he’d managed to catch his breath. “I know food can be a sensual experience, but...”

      “Sorry. I—”

      He shook his head and waved off the apology. Then Lara did it again, put her foot right back in that very appealing mouth of hers.

      “It must pay pretty well. Otherwise, why would you...? I mean, obviously, you’d rather run a restaurant kitchen.” She squinted through one eye. “That came out wrong.”

      “That’s all right.” Hell, sometimes Finn felt as if he’d sold out, but a guy had to make a living and at least he was still able to do so with his cooking. “To answer your first poorly phrased question—” He laughed again. “I plan the menus, but sometimes she makes a request. And she likes to have dinner parties, so...”

      “Late nights.”

      “Exactly. Tonight included. I’ll be lucky to plant my face in my pillow by three.”

      “It’s Wednesday.”

      “Yeah. Welcome to the life of the idle rich.”

      Isadora’s was just ahead on the other side of the street. Finn swore he could already smell the coffee on the stale afternoon breeze. They stopped at the curb. While they waited for the light to change, he asked, “What kind of coffee do you drink?” He tipped his head to one side. “You’re not one of those half-caf-with-skim-milk women, are you?”

      “And if I say yes?”

      “I’d have to turn you on to the beauty of a plain old cup of freshly brewed French roast.”

      Her brows notched up.

      Now who was guilty of poor phrasing? Finn thought. But she didn’t call him on it.

      Instead, she agreed, “Simplicity is underrated.”

      “Yep. Everyone wants to complicate things, thinking that somehow makes the end result better.”