Catching The Corporate Playboy. Michele Dunaway

“Would I steer you wrong? This is one of those authentic places, all family-owned.”

      “Mmm,” Cameron said noncommittally. From the various ethnic appearances of the people the restaurant employed, it didn’t look too family-operated.

      “Although I hear the man who owns it ventured out into a whole bunch of other areas,” Lee added.

      Cameron gazed around. Despite the fact it was three in the morning, a crowd of people mingled. “There are a lot of people here for it being so late.”

      “It’s Saturday night, well, early Sunday morning, and the bars on Laclede’s Landing have just closed.”

      Great, Cameron thought with a pucker of his lips. Lee had taken him somewhere where drunken patrons headed to detox. That didn’t say much for the quality of the food.

      Grandpa Joe’s obviously catered to the eclectic. Cameron had never seen an odder assortment of people gathered in one place, which intrigued him, considering the condo where he made his home was on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. New York, famous for its variety of people, had nothing on Grandpa Joe’s.

      Cameron focused on his friend and shrugged in resignation. “I hope the owner’s other ventures were more successful. This place is a dump. It looks like a truck stop that hasn’t been updated since the fifties.” He shifted his six-foot bulk, and, to his dismay, found his legs sticking to the red vinyl seat. Given it was July he would have thought it was safe to wear shorts. “Good grief. What possessed you to bring us here?”

      Much to Cameron’s chagrin, his best friend chuckled. Lee leaned forward and put his elbows on the yellowing white Formica tabletop. “If the press could only see you now. New York City’s most eligible bachelor at Grandpa Joe’s.”

      The dirty look Cameron shot Lee didn’t have any impact. Disgusted, Cameron raked his left hand through his short blond hair. “If I hadn’t gone to college with you, I’d fire you for bringing me here and risking another exposé.”

      Lee laughed, and Cameron knew his former roommate didn’t feel in the least bit threatened.

      “I’m absolutely sick and tired of being that stupid tabloid’s front cover just so they can sell papers,” Cameron said.

      Lee took a sip of water. “Must suck to be you. Thirty-four years old and women are still throwing themselves at you, begging for sex. Heck, I’m sure being named one of America’s one hundred most eligible bachelors really hurt your feelings.”

      Hardly, but Cameron wasn’t about to admit it. “Shut up, married man. You don’t know anything anymore.”

      Lee laughed. “That’s right, and I like it that way. You should try it, you know. Marriage might suit you.”

      Cameron scowled. Marriage was the last thing on his mind, even though it seemed as if everyone else around him was trying it. He drummed well-manicured fingers on the yellowing tabletop. “You’re just a sore loser. It still pains you that you had to fork over the cash when I won our bet.”

      “It was an unfair bet.”

      Cameron arched an eyebrow. To this day, he and Lee always had some bet going, from their yearly Superbowl and Final Four bets to the more outrageous ones that became more a matter of male pride and principle than of money to win.

      A prime example of male pride had been their bet involving that M word. He tried staring Lee down. “It’s not my fault you tied the knot first.”

      Lee simply shrugged. “Yes, but my bed’s warm and I don’t have to worry about her turning psycho the next morning. Unlike some people I know.”

      Cameron deliberately ignored his friend’s jibe. He’d long ago purged that memory. “Oh look, here’s our food. Finally. I’d about given up.”

      He swept the feathered layer falling in his eyes away from his face and managed a tight smile as the waitress came forward. His blue eyes narrowed, missing nothing. She balanced the tray cautiously, a strand of her own blond hair plastered to the side of her face.

      The tray wobbled as she transferred it to only one hand. A bit of some unnameable brownish substance flowed over the rim of a plate, and Cameron jumped to avoid being hit with the drips that instead splattered on the vinyl seat right next to his leg.

      “Oops,” she said, catching the tray before it completely upended. She placed it on the tray caddy and grinned, as if proud of her accomplishment. Finding her perfect white teeth an odd contrast to her grease-shiny face, Cameron busied himself with wiping up the spill. He emptied the napkin holder before he was through.

      “Let’s see,” she said, her voice making a nervous tinkling sound. “You both ordered the special. That makes it easy.” She placed a plate of something he couldn’t describe in front of him.

      “Anything else right now?” She barely waited for him to answer as she tossed packages of soda crackers on the table. Already she was inching away, ignoring the used napkins he’d piled up. “No? Great. Ketchup’s on the table. Pay the cashier before you leave.”

      And with that she walked off, her pink uniform flaring behind her. A strange smell assaulted his nose, and he looked at the source of the odor, the plate in front of him. Was that grease floating on top?

      He glanced up to find Lee choking back another laugh. Cameron practically groaned aloud with exasperation. “Now what? I’ve been in town less than five hours and I think you’re over your quotient of gotchas for the next five years.”

      “I can’t help it. The look on your face is priceless. Haven’t you ever eaten anywhere that wasn’t chic or five-star?”

      “If chic means somewhere the waitresses pick up dirty napkins, then no, I haven’t.” Cameron frowned.

      “You are so cloistered.”

      Cameron’s jaw dropped open and he managed not to sputter. He ran a hand across his three a.m. shadow. “I’m cloistered? Are you kidding? Are you really suggesting that I should have checked out some dump like this in New York?”

      As if in disbelief, Lee shook his head, sending his brown hair forward. He pushed it back. “How did I miss this side of you when we were at Yale? You’re such a snob.”

      “No, I’m not. I just expect not to wear my food. Geez, now I know I’m in a cow town. Come on. You know me. I’m not snobby, just picky.”

      Lee ignored that and feigned indignation instead. “So St. Louis is a cow town?”

      “Compared to New York, yes, this is a secondary market, which is why I’m buying your excuse for a weekly newspaper in the first place. Remember?”

      “I remember. It’s a good purchase, but just relax a little. This isn’t New York.”

      “That’s for sure, and you’ve never lived there.”

      “Thank the gods for that.” Laugh lines surrounded Lee’s mouth. He leaned forward. “St. Louis is just fine for me. I’ll take it over New York any day.”

      “Hmph.” Cameron snorted as Lee spooned some of the chili and eggs into his mouth.

      “Pellers are really good,” Lee said with a wave of his empty spoon. “Eat.”

      Cameron rolled his eyes heavenward. As his blue-eyed gaze returned to earth, their waitress again came into view. From a distance he could tell she had decent legs. At least she had one point in her favor. The way he figured it, if the only job she could get was working in a diner in the middle of the night then she needed all the breaks she could get.

      “So, honestly, what do you think?”

      Cameron snapped to attention and returned his gaze to meet Lee’s. After years of being friends, he knew Lee wasn’t referring to their errant waitress, but rather the Mound City Monitor.

      “I’m pleased,” Cameron said. “It’s a great newspaper, and