“Samantha!” Kayla exclaimed aghast.
Noah glanced through the pass-through between the kitchen and the dining/living room. Kayla had emerged dressed in blue jeans and a short-sleeved, deep-red top. The scoop neck, he noticed, did amazing things for her cle**age.
“What?” Samantha asked, directing her question at her sister.
Noah felt his lips curve at Kayla’s answering frown. “I like your sister,” he said. “She’s a firecracker.”
“Really?” Samantha said.
At the same time, Kayla muttered, “That’s not all she is.”
Samantha leaned against the kitchen counter. “I hear you know a lot of up-and-coming types in the computer industry.” Without missing a beat, she added, “I’m five-seven and a college junior, and I love meeting new people.”
The hint was as subtle as a sledgehammer. “Yeah, I meet with some Silicon Valley types,” he responded, enjoying himself, not the least because Kayla continued to look discomfited, “but most of them are, uh, wardrobe challenged.” And that was the tip of the iceberg.
“I’m great with clothes,” Samantha countered. “In fact, I sometimes advise Kayla.”
“Do I have you to thank for the baby-doll top?”
“That’s right. You owe me one.” She handed him an open beer.
“All right, that’s enough,” Kayla said.
“Is she always like this?” Noah asked Samantha.
“Not always, no.”
“She’s too serious,” Noah said, and they both looked at Kayla.
“And you’re never serious,” Kayla retorted.
“I’m studiedly unserious. It takes a lot of work,” he replied lazily, pushing away from his spot in the entryway to the kitchen and moving into the living room.
“Right. Well, I prefer the terms sensible and level-headed.” With a pointed look at him and her sister, she added, “Some of us need to be.”
The first thing that caught his eye in her living room was the bouquet of roses on an end table. His roses.
She followed his gaze and stiffened. “They were too beautiful to throw out, but I didn’t want them sitting around the office drawing attention.” She shrugged. “Why look a gift horse in the mouth?”
He pulled his gaze away from the flowers. For some reason, he felt ridiculously pleased she hadn’t chucked them in the trash bin. And the fact that he felt that way was, well, ridiculous.
“Here,” he said, holding out a shawl. “You left this on the back seat of my car on Friday night.”
“Thanks.” She took the flimsy, sparkly material from him.
He shrugged. “I was driving through your neighborhood and figured I’d drop it off.” He also hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. “I’d have called first, but I couldn’t locate a number for you other than work.”
From the corner of his eye, he noticed Samantha was following the conversation while pouring herself a glass of orange juice.
“Also, it gives me an opportunity to mention an event I have coming up.”
“Oh?”
“Juice, Kayla?”
“Thanks, just water.” To him, she said, “Have a seat.”
He took the couch while she sat in an armchair.
He glanced around the apartment. It was small but thoughtfully furnished. On the walls hung framed black-and-white photo reprints of cityscapes: New York, Paris, Boston, Miami, Sydney. Near the pass-through to the kitchen sat a black lacquer-and-glass table. The rest of the room consisted of an armchair, a cream-colored couch, a small television and a computer desk. The computer was a late-model Apple with a flat screen, salsa music emanating at a low volume from its two small speakers.
He nodded at the computer. “You’ve got some eclectic musical tastes. From Norah Jones to salsa?”
“We were raised on salsa,” Samantha piped up as she walked over to Kayla with a glass of water. “Our grandmother is a big fan.” Samantha looked at him. “She was born in Cuba.”
“Was she?” Noah took a sip of his beer, amused that the expression on Kayla’s face said she wondered whether her sister was planning to give him details about their entire family.
“Yup,” Samantha said, ignoring her sister’s pointed look and sitting down on the couch next to her. “Bolero, salsa, merengue—Abuela likes it all. Kayla and I could barely get anything else played around the house since our grandmother was often there. Fortunately, Ricky Martin hit it big, and we finally found a middle ground.”
“Interesting,” he murmured, looking at Kayla.
“Abuela sang around the house, too,” Samantha continued, then laughed before turning to her sister, “but Kayla only sings in the shower.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“So, you mentioned an event a minute ago,” Kayla said, clearly looking to change the subject. “What event?”
“There’s a black-tie benefit for the Boston Esplanade being thrown on the banks of the Charles River next Saturday night by the Charlesbank Association. I’d like you to come with me. You’ll get to listen in on some interesting conversations.”
“Unless it’s a costume ball with Venetian masks, the answer is no. We had one near brush with paparazzi on Friday night. I’ll follow you around but in a more low-key way from now on.”
He sat back and tilted his head. “Somehow I thought that would be your initial reaction.”
“Good, then you weren’t disappointed,” she countered.
Samantha was looking like she longed for a big tub of popcorn so she could watch the gathering storm with the same intensity she’d view an absorbing TV drama.
“Instead of inviting me to charity benefits,” Kayla continued, “if you really wanted to help me, you’d be inviting me to tour Whittaker Enterprises’ offices and giving me a list of employees to speak with.”
“Fine. I’ve been too busy this week to get to that,” he responded. “Call my office on Monday. We’ll set up a time for you to come by and I’ll have some names for you. But I still want you to go to the Charlesbank Association event with me.”
“Going to a charity benefit with you would be like waving a red flag in front of the gossip columnists in this town—they’re sure to charge, and odds are we’d be gored.”
“I’ll introduce you as the reporter who’s researching an in-depth piece on Whittaker Enterprises,” he said with patience. “Everyone will buy it because the alternative—that we’re flaunting a relationship that I just publicly denied existed—will seem too outrageous.”