The Million-Dollar Question. Kimberly Lang

her back, and a gold chain belt hung loosely around her tiny waist. Mile-long legs ended at slightly turned-out feet, giving her walk an unusual cadence that was still somehow graceful and smooth. Chin up and shoulders back, Olivia had presence.

      He couldn’t take his eyes off her. And that had gotten him in trouble before.

      He shook his head to clear it. Of course the woman was thin and graceful. She had to be. That was a job requirement, and from what little he did know, Olivia Madison was good at her job.

      Safely seated in the high-walled booth he favored for its privacy, the awkward silence that had started in the bar was easy to fill with menu discussions and ordering. He couldn’t stop his eyes from widening as she ordered a meal almost as big as his, and as the server walked away, she noticed. “What?”

      “That’s a lot of food.”

      She shot him a look. “If it’s a problem, I’m perfectly happy to pay for my own dinner.”

      “That’s not what I meant.”

      An eyebrow arched up. “Really? What did you mean then?”

      Her tone could be called innocent and inquiring, but he realized the danger underneath just a second too late to pull the words back. “It’s … well, you …” He usually wasn’t foolish enough to bring up weight and diet with any woman, but he’d already stepped into it. “I guess I expected you to order a small salad with dressing on the side.”

      She snorted. “Maybe for the first course. But I spent six hours in rehearsals today. I’m hungry.”

      “Okay, a large salad, then,” he teased.

      Olivia folded her hands primly on the table, and as she spoke, her tone clearly said this was a speech she’d given many times before. “I eat. I have to. I work my body hard, and my body needs fuel to do that work. I stay aware of my weight, but not in an unhealthy manner. Since I’m not obsessing over it, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t either. Okay?”

      Duly chastised, he nodded. “Okay.”

      Then she leaned forward. “And seriously, they put blue cheese cream sauce on a steak here. How am I not going to order that?”

      “Fair enough.” She talked a good game, but he’d withhold judgment until he actually saw her eat something. He worked in advertising, for goodness sake. He knew about models and the things they did to lose weight, but he had to admit that Olivia wasn’t skeletal or starving—she was very slim, yes, but she didn’t have the hollowed-out sickly look. “It’s just surprising.”

      She inclined her head, and reached for her water.

      “But not as surprising as hearing from you.”

      Olivia’s hand froze, making him suspicious all over again. She recovered quickly, though. “I’m just full of surprises then. Honestly, I feel I’ve been rather rude not getting in touch before now. My only excuse is that I’ve been unbelievably busy the last few weeks—getting settled, with rehearsals for the fall performance, and then straight into The Nutcracker and the winter special that’s coming up in January … I haven’t had time to even think.”

      He’d known Jory for over twelve years, and his sister shared many of his mannerisms, making her somewhat easier to read than the average person. Olivia wasn’t fully at ease in this conversation, which wasn’t surprising. There were many reasons—beyond the busyness of her life—not to have been in touch before now, but there was no sense bringing those up just yet. That piqued his curiosity further, but he found that he wanted to make her comfortable, nonetheless. The past was bound to come up eventually, and it would be better to have a friendly footing before that happened. “But you’re feeling more settled in now?”

      “Yeah. I’m not getting hopelessly lost every time I leave the house these days, which is good. And it’s nice to be home in Florida, where I can go to the beach anytime I want. Even in November.”

      Via Jory, he knew Olivia had done recent stays in Chicago and Boston, where the snow would be enough to drive any Florida native to the brink of insanity. “Which beach is your favorite?”

      Her mouth twisted. “I haven’t actually gone, yet. Like I said, I’ve been busy.”

      “Are you some kind of workaholic?”

      “I believe that when you love your job, it’s not exactly drudgery to put the time in.”

      “That’s not an answer.”

      “I work a lot, and I like it. How’s that?”

      “That’s a good answer. I might have to use that myself in the future.” He paused as the server brought their drinks. Then he lifted his glass to her. “And congratulations on landing the new job.”

      She accepted his toast, a real smile replacing the hesitant one. “Thanks. It’s exciting. MMBC—the company—normally chooses its principals from inside, but they decided to open the search this time. I knew one of the company members from years ago when I first went to New York, and he brought my name up to the artistic director. All the stars just aligned perfectly to get me here.” She seemed as if she was just winding up, but caught herself instead, reaching for her wineglass and sitting back against the leather seat. “But what about you? Jory says your agency’s doing really well.”

      “I can’t complain. We’re only three years old, and we still have some growing to do, but we’re good.”

      “That’s great to hear. I’m happy for you.” Olivia stared at her glass, pondering the depths of pinot gris, and silence settled again. Then she looked up at him again with that smile he was beginning to think was definitely fake. “Jory’s coming down with my parents in a couple of weeks to see the performance.”

      “I know. We’re planning to get together while he’s here.”

      “Oh, good.”

      “He says your parents are very excited.”

      “They don’t get to see me in action very often because I’m usually so far away. I send videos and stuff, but it’s not the same for them. And honestly, I’m excited they’re getting to come, too. You know,” she added casually, “if you’d like to come with them to the show, I can get you a ticket.”

      “Oh, hell, no.” The words slipped out before he could check them. Damn it. Insult the woman’s career. That’s always a great dinner conversation topic. “I mean, no thank you. I’m not really a fan.”

      “Of The Nutcracker or ballet in general?”

      “Both. No offense,” he added. “It’s just not my thing.”

      “None taken. We like what we like.” She was being gracious, but he still felt as though he’d offended her. “Are you into the arts at all?”

      He shrugged. “I used to have a membership to the art museum. I like the Egyptian stuff. There are a few local bands I keep up with.” Lord, he sounded like a cultural wasteland. He justified it by saying, “Getting the agency off the ground has kept me pretty busy.”

      “I’m not judging.”

      Her smirk implied otherwise. “Yes, you are.”

      She shrugged a shoulder. “Okay, maybe a little. The arts celebrate what makes us human. They are the cornerstone of civilization and the heart of a community.”

      He nearly laughed, but swallowed it at the last second. Olivia obviously believed what she was saying. “You should work in advertising. That sounds like copy straight from a fundraising brochure.”

      She inclined her head. “That doesn’t make it less true.”

      “That doesn’t make them less boring, either.”

      Her eyes widened. “No offense intended again?” she asked.

      “Of