remark startled a laugh out of her. Yesterday, Mitch hadn’t struck her as a man with much of a sense of humor. Which just went to show, first impressions aren’t always accurate. “Finding anything interesting?” She nodded at the paperwork on his desk.
He glanced down at the folder in front of him, then closed it. “Tell me, what did you think of Grif?” he asked.
“Grif?” The question surprised her. Why was he interested in her opinion of his uncle? “I liked him,” she said. “He was a fun guy.”
“That’s it? A fun guy?”
“Yeah. I mean, he knew how to enjoy life.” Unlike some uptight people I could name. She leaned against the desk. “I’ll bet he was your favorite uncle, huh?”
Was the hurt that flashed across his face grief, or something else? He pushed the file away. “Did you need something?”
So much for getting to know each other better. Good thing she wasn’t the type to give up easily. She flashed him her most dazzling smile. “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday.” She moved around to sit on the edge of the desk. Her skirt rose up on her thigh, not an indecent amount, but enough that she was sure he noticed. She’d purposely dressed more conservatively today, in a simple skirt and sleeveless knit top. Sometimes what a man couldn’t see was more enticing than what was right out in the open.
His color heightened as he glanced at her, then he jerked his gaze away. “What in particular were you thinking about?”
“What you said about most people being more interested in Kung Pao than the Kama Sutra.”
“Oh?”
With one syllable, he lobbed the conversation back to her. But that one word told her a lot. He was interested all right, but determined not to show it. “I think, in general, people do tend to think about food more than sex, but maybe that’s because we eat three times a day. I mean, food is always there, practically right in front of us.”
“But most people don’t have sex three times a day.”
She smiled. “No, I think it’s safe to say most people don’t have sex nearly that often.”
He nodded, still somber as a judge, though she thought she caught a hint of amusement in his voice. “If they did, it would severely interfere with work.”
“In that case, it would probably be outlawed altogether. We mustn’t let anything get in the way of the economy.”
He laughed, and she counted that a minor victory. “So what are you trying to say?”
She picked up a pencil and smoothed her fingers along its length. “That sex is more special than food. That we shouldn’t take it for granted. And if dressing up or playing with toys or using other things makes sex special for people, then that’s a good thing, don’t you think?”
He sat back, leaning away from her, his pose casual, but the tension in his shoulders letting her know he was aware of her in the way a man is aware of an attractive woman. “What’s wrong with the old-fashioned way? A man and a woman, no props?”
She looked directly at him for the first time since she’d come into the office, her expression serious, chasing the mirth from his eyes. She wet her lips, her voice low, seductive. “With the right man and woman, that can be wonderful.”
He held her gaze, not flinching. “Then they don’t really need places like this.”
“No.” She leaned closer. The spicy scent of Aramis sent a warm tickle through her midsection. “Do you like cake?”
He blinked. “Cake? I guess so. It depends on the cake.”
“Chocolate cake. Devil’s food. With so much chocolate, it’s almost black. Sinful.” She wet her lips. “With chocolate buttercream icing an inch thick.”
He swallowed. “And your point is?”
“Just 4 Play is like the icing on that cake. The cake is good without the icing, but it’s so much better with it.” She dropped her gaze to his lips. All this talk of sweet indulgences made her wonder what it would be like to kiss him.
Apparently she wouldn’t find out today. “That doesn’t mean I have to be the one to sell the cake.” He sat forward again, his voice firm, the spell between them broken. “Or the icing. Or sex toys and lingerie.”
She frowned. “You’d rather sell Chinese food. Something people can get at half a dozen other places in town.”
“But not this Chinese food. I have a five-star chef who’s going to create a special menu. We’re not talking your average dollar-a-scoop buffet.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and swung one leg impatiently against the desk. “It’s still something ordinary. Expected.” Why did it disappoint her so much that he’d settle for something anyone could do?
“Men have built fortunes providing people with ordinary services,” he said.
She leaned forward, pinning him to the chair with her gaze. “But it’s the risk-takers who’ve really made a difference in this world. Besides, you’d have more of a chance of making a fortune sticking with Just 4 Play. But of course, that wouldn’t be respectable.”
He frowned. “You say that like it’s a bad word.”
“Only if you’re willing to settle for the ordinary, instead of the extraordinary.”
“So you’re saying Just 4 Play is extraordinary?”
“It could be. How are you going to know if you don’t stick around and find out?”
“I guess I’ll take that chance.”
She slid off the desk and looked down at him. “I think you’ve forgotten what it means to really take chances,” she said. “If you ever knew.”
She turned and left, but not before glimpsing the hurt that flashed through his eyes at her parting words. Good. She’d made at least one point. And planted the seeds for further victories. She would convince Mitch Landry to see things her way. And maybe she’d show him what he’d been missing living his safe, conventional life.
4
MITCH PACED IN FRONT of his desk, debating whether to go after Jill, to tell her exactly what he thought of her unsolicited opinions and her attempts to change his mind. This was his business and he could do anything he damn well pleased with it. Why should he care what a salesgirl he’d known less than two days thought of him? He had half a mind to—
“Shit!” Pain shot through his leg as he banged against the corner of the daybed that sat against the back wall of the office/apartment. He frowned at the offending piece of furniture. The bed was covered in a fleece throw decorated with rows of bright yellow smiley faces. Another example of Uncle Grif’s appalling tastes.
He sank down onto the bed, head in his hands. No, in this case, he was the one who’d behaved appallingly. He’d dismissed Grif as a crass playboy who’d devoted his life to golf, women and the sex toy business.
Going through this office this morning, Mitch had discovered another man entirely. He found a whole file drawer devoted to the various charities Grif supported—a mentoring program for adolescent boys, a shelter for abused women, a spay and neuter clinic for indigent pet owners. The thickest file in the drawer sent a pain through his chest.
He looked up, at the folder still sitting on the corner of the desk. From here he could read the hand-lettered label on the tab: Mary Landry Mental Health Education Foundation.
Loud, tasteless, fun-loving Uncle Grif had funded a program to educate the public about mental illness and the mentally ill. He had named it after his sister-in-law, Mitch’s mother, who had spent her last years in and out of institutions, struggling for a normalcy she could never quite attain.
Mitch