Read Online Conflict of Interest by Allyson Lindt - Free Book Online Page B

rattier than that, you probably can’t wear them in public anyway. You just need a couple of Oxfords and some slacks for when it’s appropriate.” She kept the tailored suit suggestion to herself. One step at a time.
    “Of course.” He winked at her. “When do we play My Fair Lady ?” His voice grew shrill. “The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.” He enunciated every word, drawing another round of glares from nearby tables.
    A musical reference. That held promise. But his delivery wasn’t doing it for her. She lowered her voice, leaning over the table and growling. “Stop. You need to learn how to behave in public instead of acting like a spoiled frat boy with a trust fund.”
    “So sorry.” His playful expression vanished, and his lips clamped shut.
    He genuinely looked wounded. Why had she said that? And if he stopped listening, how was she going to get her point across?
    An awkward silence descended over them. When the waitress brought out their appetizer, Scott was just as friendly and brash as before, and Kenzie wanted to plug her fingers in her ears and crawl under the table at the graphic conversation about breast feeding and pumping.
    Tanya left, and Scott sighed. He dipped a battered piece of squid in sauce and chewed thoughtfully. He nodded at the bar. “See the bottles lining the back wall?”
    Kenzie glanced at the multicolored glass for a brief second and then went back to staring at her plate. “Yes.”
    “Michele—the man who owns the bar—collects them. Every time he visits a new city or country, he makes it a point to find a gorgeous wine bottle, something unique, to add to his collection. He’s got killer stories about every one of them.”
    Kenzie wanted to ask more, but fear of saying the wrong thing again kept her from diving into the conversation. She wanted to do playful banter and get her job done at the same time. Was that too much to ask? “They’re very pretty.”
    Scott shrugged. “Are you going to have any calamari?”
    She shook her head.
    “You’re not allergic are you? You should have said something.”
    “I’m not allergic.”
    He nodded toward a side window. It faced an alley lined with cars. Several plant boxes decorated the bottom of the plate glass, diluting the ugliness on the other side.
    “Do you like the flowers?” he asked.
    What was he doing? “They’re flowers. They’re pretty enough.”
    Her lack of input didn’t seem to deter him. “The fuchsia ones only bloom for about a week, and always this time of year. They’ve always been one of my favorites. Bright and vibrant and not afraid to take a stand when it’s time, fading back when it’s someone else’s turn.”
    She studied his face, looking for some sort of hint that he was trying to tell her something, but his blank expression stared back. Still, she was mildly impressed he knew what fuchsia was. She nodded toward a different box of flowers. “I like the violets better.”
    The corner of his mouth pulled up. “I’m not surprised.”
    Presumptuous ass. “Oh?”
    He speared another piece of calamari and dipped it in sauce, but didn’t eat it. “They match your purse. In fact, every time I’ve seen you, you’ve been wearing something that color, even if it was just the elastic you held back your ponytail with.”
    He had noticed? She couldn’t deny the flutter in her chest. Maybe that was his problem then. He was so resistant to change because he was gay and couldn’t admit it to himself or something. Memories of the day before taunted her—his strong hands sliding over her curves, the way he kissed her … she flushed. No she was pretty sure he was straight.
    He leaned across the table, holding out the fork. “Just take one bite?”
    She accepted with the warmth inside growing as he fed her.
    “Well?” He watched her hopefully.
    She made a presentation of chewing and swallowing, washing it down with a sip of wine. “It’s really good,” she admitted begrudgingly. Like,