Mitchell snatched his hand back too quickly, rapping it on the door jamb, and Julie felt a small measure of relief. At least he’d felt it too.
“So what do you do, Mitchell?” Julie asked, hoping to defuse the sudden shock of awkwardness as they settled at a cozy table in the corner
“Wall Street,” he said as though it needed no further explanation. And really, it didn’t. In Manhattan, you were either on Wall Street or not on Wall Street. If you were in the “not” category, you didn’t have the faintest idea what the hell happened down there, and you didn’t really care.
Or at least Julie didn’t care. Except this time she had to pretend that the topic didn’t bore her to death. If she was going to survive a month with this dud, she at least needed to be able to speak his language.
“How interesting,” she said, leaning forward slightly and casting her eyes up. “What’s that like?”
To her surprise, Mitchell snorted and sat back in his chair, watching her with a faintly incredulous look. “Does that usually work for you?”
Julie jolted out of her fluttering routine, blinking in confusion. “Does what work?”
He waved a dismissive hand over her. “This whole thing. The eyelashes and the cooing and the false interest.”
Julie sat back sharply in surprise, feeling stung. “Who says it’s false?”
He braced his forearms on the table as his eyes bored into hers.
Abruptly Julie realized her mistake. Mitchell Forbes might look harmless, but he was definitely not to be trifled with. She’d played her cards all wrong.
“Of course it’s false,” he said slowly. “You can’t honestly tell me you give a crap what I do from nine to five all day.”
“I care,” she peeped softly.
“I’m sure. Do you even know where Wall Street is?”
Shit. “Um … downtown?”
He gave her a small smile that let her know he knew it was a lucky guess. “You hungry?”
“Gee, I don’t know. Whatever I say might be fake.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry for rushing your game,” he said, not sounding sorry at all as he grabbed a couple of menus from the corner of the bar. “I’ll just be quiet for a few while you try to decide whether or not I want you to be hungry. In the meantime you can ask any questions you want.”
Julie’s surprised embarrassment at her transparency was giving way to anger. Nobody had ever talked to her this way before. And if anyone else had seen through her, they’d certainly never called her out.
“Okay, fine,” she snapped, snatching the menu out of his hand. “Where are you from?”
“Around here.”
She gave him a look over the top of the menu. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible after that ‘free drink’ dud, but your sad attempts at humor are actually going downhill.”
The dimples again. “There, now that’s what I’m talking about. Give me something real.”
“Something real?” she asked, gazing at the menu. “How about this … what I would usually order, and what I really should order, is this boring-sounding cranberry turkey salad. But what I really want is the fish and chips. I’m going with the latter. Just for you.”
She gave him a patently false grin.
He shrugged, not looking at all impressed by her foray into fried foods. “It’s a start.”
“I’m just trying to get to know you,” she snapped, losing patience. Just play along!
“Fine,” he said smoothly, leaning back and studying her. “I’ll be thirty-five on November eighth, my mother was a high school math teacher, my father was also on Wall Street, and yes, I did follow in his footsteps. I’m a middle child, with an older brother and younger sister. I’ve never done drugs, I love red wine. I ran the New York Marathon last year. Reading is my favorite hobby. And I like vanilla ice cream.”
Julie couldn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes. She could have written his bio for him. Vanilla ice cream, for God’s sake.
“Anything else?” he asked.