“I don’t know that yet.”
“Okay,” he concurred. “Trust me when I say I don’t mind having such a gorgeous shadow. But it’s a little out of the ordinary. Especially the gorgeous part.”
She smiled. Really, who would have guessed he could be so sweet after he’d been so angry with her, believing she’d been deceptive that night at the Four Seasons?
Clearly, there were many facets to Dr. Evan Hart—and she was fascinated by every one of them. Even if it was a bad idea to get pulled deeper and deeper into the erotic abyss they’d both created.
Over their appetizers of escargot and mussels and their arugula salads with strawberries and candied walnuts, she laid it all on the line with Evan. Every tiny detail she could give him about her company, her mission, and the fact that she’d come to realize she was destined to make a difference in the shoe industry that went well beyond inserts and shock-absorbing rubber soles.
“I’ve done extensive research,” she said. “I know there are scientific advancements to walking shoes that literally springboard the foot with every step. I know there has to be some sort of enhancement that can aid women who live for high heels.”
Their entrees arrived, delivered personally by Jean. He set out three plates and described the duck with berry sauce, veal chop, and beef chateaubriand with the accompanying sides.
As the chef returned to the kitchen, Staci said, “Jean knows I can’t cook, so I think he’s subliminally assuring you that, if you hook up with me, you’ll be well fed regardless of my lack of culinary skills.”
Over the rim of his glass of Burgundy, Evan asked, “Am I hooking up with you?”
“Come on,” she teased. “My shoe idea captivates you.”
“You captivate me.”
She smiled. “But I’ve piqued your interest with designing a better shoe, correct?”
“Sweetheart,” he said.
Her brow jumped.
“Staci,” he amended.
“Sweetheart’s fine,” she mused as she sliced into the ultra-tender veal chop and all but melted off her chair between Evan’s term of endearment and the smooth-as-butter veal. What was happening to her, she hadn’t a clue. Yet she wasn’t inclined to extract herself from this potentially messy entanglement.
She liked Evan too much for that.
And had to confront and accept the fact head-on.
“Anyway,” he said as he placed a sample of duck on his plate. “Let’s first address the fact that the human foot should not be subjected to an unnatural state for any period of time, let alone extended periods of time.”
“I already know that. But, let’s face it, Evan. Women aren’t going to stop buying four-, five-, and six-inch heels just because you’ve declared them ‘unnatural’. I’m not going to stop wearing them—or selling them.”
He chewed vigorously, gave a nod to the excellent food, she surmised, then said, “I don’t want you ending up in surgery. Regina Hines could barely feel her toes, Staci.”
“I told you I was fine with sweetheart.”
He shook his head. Chuckled under his breath. “You are too much.”
“I’m just enough,” she assured him. Then implored, “Help me, Ev. Please.”
“Oh, fuck.”
She grinned. “Come on. Two people don’t kiss the way we just did, in public no less, without ending up with nicknames. Not aliases. Actual nicknames.”
“I’ll accept you as the only person on Earth allowed to call me that. But when it comes to your request to find a better way to support women’s feet in those ridiculously tall—”
“Dr. Hart.” She glared at him. “You’re at the tip-top of the slippery slope called hypocrisy.”
Evan sighed. “Yes. I am.” He devoured half of the beef chateaubriand before he finally admitted, “You take my breath away—and the shoes are a part of the package. Because they’re a part of you.”
“Exactly.” Her heart flipped at how well he understood her.