I followed her, and we spent the next two hours talking about ways to keep HJH&A at the forefront of shareholders’ minds, without freaking anyone out with the unavoidable fact that Howard Jahn would not be returning to the helm. Honestly, I’m not sure of the details we discussed; I was too busy thinking about lost opportunities.

I only fully tuned in, for that matter, when Esther sighed, closed her folio, and said, “I think that’s enough for today. Though there is one more thing I’d like to ask you to do. It involves the foundation, though, so if you want to decline, I understand. But since you’ve had social contact with so many of Mr. Jahn’s friends …”

“What is it?”

She explained that the one official act of the foundation since Jahn’s death was to announce an upcoming fund-raiser and kick-off party. “We want to start this new phase in the life of the foundation with a bang. Tie it in a tasteful way to Jahn’s passing. It is, after all, his legacy.”

“How can I help?”

“We need to find a venue in which to host the function. To be honest, we’ve already been contacted by several local businesses and philanthropists interested in participating. It’s going to be tricky. As soon as we pick one to host, we risk insulting the ones we decline—”

“—and losing their future charitable contributions,” I said. “I get it.”

“It’s a job that requires diplomacy,” Esther said, with a barely suppressed grin. “It seems to me a young woman with a burgeoning political career would be able to negotiate those land mines brilliantly.”

“Or fail miserably and then escape to Washington?”

She laughed. “That, too.”

I had to laugh as well. At least she was honest. And, frankly, the politics of society notwithstanding, it sounded like more fun than writing upbeat press releases for investors.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m in.”

“Excellent.” She gathered her papers as my cell phone began to ring. “I’m going to get out of here so you can get that. And,” she added, pointing a red lacquered nail at me, “so that I’m long gone by the time you change your mind.”

I rolled my eyes and snatched up my phone, my heart doing a little butterfly flutter when I saw that it was from the number that Evan had given me over the weekend. “Hey,” I said. “You called at the perfect time.”

“I planned it that way, of course.”

“Would I sound too desperate if I told you that anytime would be the perfect time?”

“If it’s me that you’re desperate for, I have no objections.”

I giggled—god help me, I actually giggled. “Well, then. You’ve found me out. What’s up?”

“Tonight. My place. Seven.”

“All right,” I said. “But I don’t have a clue where you live.”

“I’ll send a car. To the condo or to your office?”

“Condo,” I said. “A woman needs to freshen up before a date.”

“Does she? Well then, I look forward to enjoying the results of her efforts.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I bet you do.”

When I hung up, I was smiling. Maybe I was leaving town for a job I didn’t really want, but at least for right now, I had it pretty damn good.

sixteen

“Here? Seriously?” I peered out the window of the Lexus that Evan had sent for me. We’d just turned into the entrance of Burnham Harbor, and now we were maneuvering our way through the slips. “I thought you were taking me to Mr. Black’s house.”

The driver, who’d introduced himself to me as Red, met my eyes in the rearview mirror. “I am, Ms. Raine.”

“Yeah? He lives on a boat?” I had to admit it seemed pretty Evan-like. I mean, the guy constantly surprised me. And, honestly, it was pretty freaking cool. It added to the illusion that he could fly away at any moment—and that he could take me with him wherever he went.

I settled back in my seat, grinning, and watched as we passed slip after slip. I played a game with myself, trying to guess which boat was his, but each time we reached a boat that looked truly spectacular, Red just kept on driving. I was starting to think that Red had turned onto the wrong section and was just too proud to admit it, when we reached the very end.

Evan’s boat was anchored in the very last slip, and as I stepped out of the Lexus I saw Evan on the deck wearing cargo shorts and a polo-style shirt. His hair was wind-tossed, and he looked like he’d spent most of the day on the water. For all I knew, maybe he had.

“Ahoy,” I called, and he grinned like a boy, full of eagerness and life. “You have a houseboat.”

“Your powers of observation are truly spectacular.” He hurried toward the ramp that was set up for easy access and met me halfway. I’d boldly brought a backpack with a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and some makeup, and he took it off my shoulder. And although it may have been my imagination, I think he not only correctly guessed what I’d brought, but that he wholeheartedly approved.

It’s a wonder I didn’t trip walking up the ramp I was so busy ogling the boat. It was massive, all white, and formed in sleek lines and curves that gave it a futuristic feel. I didn’t know much about boats, but I knew it was huge. And I knew that it must have cost a fortune.

“So what made you decide to live on a houseboat?” I asked, once I’d reached the deck. I had to admit that even from the small peek I’d had so far, I could see the appeal. The deck was both spacious and well appointed, with furniture designed for dining or lounging, fishing or swimming. Hell, it even had a hot tub.

“It was a whim,” he said. “I’m not prone to them—I tend to plan out my moves in both my business and my personal life.”

“Do you? What do you have planned for me?”

“A great many things,” he said. “I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

“Oh.” I swallowed, suddenly feeling very warm.

“To be fair, though,” he continued, returning to the topic of the boat, “while this is technically a houseboat since I live on it, most people would call it a yacht.” He shrugged. “I don’t call it, either. She’s His Girl Friday to me.”

I laughed, delighted. “I love it.”

He inclined his head. “I’m glad you approve.”

“But you still haven’t told me why.”

“I suppose the thought of living on a boat played to my fantasies of being a pirate. Of taking off whenever I want. And, of course, it has all the essential compartments for smuggling my ill gotten gains.”

“Well, of course,” I said lightly, even though I was wondering if he meant it. “Who’d bother with a houseboat that wasn’t well-equipped?”

“I knew you’d understand.”

He cocked his head toward the stern. Or maybe it was starboard? I never could keep anything nautical straight in my head. At any rate, I followed him through a wooden door into a stunning salon that resembled a high-end condo’s living room. That opened onto a dining area, and beyond that I assumed there was some sort of cockpit area, but I didn’t see that because Evan led me down a small staircase to the next level that consisted of only one giant stateroom. The realization didn’t sit well with me, primarily because it conjured up thoughts of all the women he’d undoubtedly entertained there—women who didn’t come for platonic visits in which they slept in their own room. I mean, “Come back to my place,” is a time-tested pick up line. But how much better must it be if the line is, “Come back to my boat”?