Page 86 of Positively Pricked

Happily, there were no other visitors in the lobby. This made it only slightly less awkward when he added, "I saw you on TV last night. You lookedreallygood." He gave me a sly wink. "And smooth, too, like melted butter."

Isodidn't want to encourage this. "I looked like butter?"

"No, I mean you handled it smooth, like a real pro, when the reporter was asking you about the fight."

I knew which fight he meant. Thankfully, it hadn't been the physical kind. But ithadinvolved a whole lot of yelling – all on the part of Zane's latest victim, a hotshot land developer whose condo-construction plans were squashed when Zane refused to sign on the proverbial dotted line.

I'd handledthatpart of the interview just fine. But when the reporter started asking about Zane's latest dinner companion, some spokesmodel named Serena, I didn't have a lot to say.

So I'd pulled out the only response that didn't get me in trouble.

No comment.

I swear, it was becoming my catch-phrase.

In front of me, the professor said, "And you lookreallygood today." His gaze dipped to my legs. "That skirt looks nice on you."

I glanced down. I was wearing a tailored skirt, along with a creamy silk blouse. Ididlove the outfit, but I could hardly take credit, since I hadn't picked it outorpaid for it personally.

No. The clothes had been selected by the shopper and paid for by Zane – or his company. I still didn't know which, and in truth, I tried not to think about it.

Absently, I mumbled, "Thanks."

"I always thought you were gorgeous…" The professor chuckled. "…even if you did dress like a troll."

Now,thatgot my attention. "What?"

He held up a hand, palm out. "Hey, I meant it as a compliment."

Okay, first of all, he'd seen me dressed like a "troll" because he and Paisley had this annoying habit of coming in so late that I was already in my pajamas – which lately, yes,hadconsisted of comfy sweatpants and a T-shirt. But that didn't mean Ialwaysdressed that way, not even for bed.

In truth, I would've loved to lounge around in sexy lingerie, but lingerie was expensive, and I'd always been too busy or too broke for those kinds of luxuries.

And besides, who was he to talk? He was like Paul Bunyan without the ax – or without the big blue ox, for that matter.

I felt my gaze narrow. "And what about your wife?"

He gave it some thought. "She dresses, okay, I guess."

Oh, for crying out loud."That's not what I meant." I felt my jaw tighten. "I meant, where isshetoday? Wouldshebe joining us for lunch?"

He looked away and mumbled something that I couldn’t make out.

I gave an impatient sigh. "What?"

He looked back to me and said, "She, uh left me, actually."

"Oh." I felt sympathy for only a split second before reality kicked in. The guy was a cheating, pompous toad. If he wanted sympathy fromme, he was barking up the wrong tree.

I said, "What about Paisley?"

He gave loose shrug. "We've got an understanding."

What a crock.

When I made no reply, he said, "So about lunch…?"

I was still holding the flowers.Hewas still holding his briefcase. I looked to Carla.Shewas holding a pen, but doing absolutely nothing with it.