Truthseeker

A sculpture that could be far better dressed. Lara’s palms itched with the desire to step forward and adjust his lapels, or better yet, to simply strip his clothes away and learn the canvas she had to work with. His stance suggested he would be beautiful in clothes cut to his form; as if he were meant to be dressed by someone like her, who could take the ordinary and trick the eye into believing it was extraordinary. Given the extraordinary to begin with, she could create such a vision that people would stop on the street, an emperor in new clothes.

She actually stepped forward to do that, to touch him and see if the gift she’d been given was real, before she remembered he wasn’t a client. Curiosity lit his eyes, then turned his smile warm and amused. Lara, cheeks afire, stopped where she stood, and Kirwen’s smile grew broader still. “Am I that bad, then?”

“No. No, I just forgot you weren’t here for a fitting, Mr. Kirwen. I’m not used to men dropping by for any other reason.” While true, the statement had a ring of pathos about it, and stung her into a straighter spine and lifted chin. “Really, I’m very sorry about Kelly’s behavior this afternoon. She doesn’t know when to quit.”

“Occasionally we all need someone like that in our lives. I have Dickon finagling us a table at Troquet, so I hope that despite the unorthodox approach you might have di

“I—” Puzzlement took hold. “How did you find me?”

Kirwen laughed. “If I answer, will you say yes to di

An inkling of humor worked its way through Lara, though she kept her expression cool. “So you’re a stalker, Mr. Kirwen?”

Dismay shattered across his face. “No, no, not at all. I just wan—Oh. You’re teas—No,” he said again, this time with more dignity. “But my assistant takes stalking assignments as routine when necessary.”

“I’m sure she does.” Lara ducked her head, partially to hide amusement at Kirwen’s story, but more to take refuge in the meaningless phrase. I’m sure she does: people usually meant it sarcastically, or as a way to pass off a topic they were uninterested in. It was one of a handful of things she could say, though, without triggering her own discomfort. Particularly when someone like Kirwen was making light of something but still spoke essential truth. Lara was certain his assistant took stalking, or at least Internet searching, in stride. She looked up, smiling. “I’m not sure, Mr. Kirwen. Your assistant was the one who did all the work. Maybe I should have di

Genuine surprise filtered through his expression by degrees, and though they didn’t stand close together, Kirwen fell back half a step. “I imagine that could be arranged, although I don’t think Nat—my assistant—is, um, I don’t think she typically dates wom …” He trailed off, peering at Lara in much the same way Cynthia had moments before. “This is impertinent, Miss Jansen, but would your friend have been trying to set us up on a date quite so enthusiastically if you preferred dating women?”

Laughter bubbled up and broke. “No, but it seemed like your assistant ought to get some benefit from doing your dirty work. She finds me, you get a date, and she gets …?”

Kirwen, hopefully, said, “I could bring her the leftovers from Troquet? Okay,” he admitted as Lara arched an eyebrow at him, “I wouldn’t be impressed with leftovers, either. What, then? Roses? A paid holiday in Bermuda?”

“I was thinking more in terms of a box of chocolates, although if you’re inclined to offer paid holidays to Bermuda, I think Kelly might want to talk to you about a job.”

“Kelly? Not you?” Kirwen smiled. “I thought that kind of job perk would make anyone stand up to be counted.”

Lara shrugged one shoulder, then glanced back toward her office. “I like my job, Mr. Kirwen, that’s all. I’ve never been inclined to say I’d want something that I don’t. Even jobs whose side benefits include trips to Bermuda.”

“How extraordinary,” Kirwen murmured. Lara looked back at him and he shook himself, a hopeful smile reappearing. “Does that mean you’ve said yes?”

“I suppose it does,” she said, surprising herself. Kirwen’s eyes lit up, and Lara, truthfully and teasingly, explained, “Kelly would never let me live it down if I refused.”

His face fell comically. Lara laughed, then gestured toward her office. “Let me get my coat and call her, and we can go.”

Four

Kirwen hailed a taxi outside Lord Matthew’s, and the driver’s gaze locked on him as they climbed in. Almost before the door closed, the cabbie launched into a diatribe about the weather in general and David’s inability to correctly predict it specifically, and ended with a plea for a su

“Only on days I leave the house.” The delivery was wry but honest. “I get blamed for the weather but rarely praised for it.”

“And occasionally asked to intercede, like he just did?” Lara scurried for the door, throwing a rueful glance toward the sky. “I had no idea being a weatherman was so much responsibility.”

“Neither did I, when I started. But it sends me interesting places at times. I covered the hurricanes last year.” Kirwen reached over her head to push the door open, its weight coloring his fingertips white. Lara slipped under his arm and pushed the hood of her coat back, trying to shake off the rain.

“I remember. I remember thinking a job that sent you to Florida would be wonderful, except I’d want to go when the weather was good.”

Kirwen gri

Dickon waved a greeting from a table beside enormous picture windows overlooking the Common. Even with the gray skies and rain, the polished wood floors reflected light, making the narrow room comfortable, and Lara smiled. “I think I am. I’ve never been here. Is being a famous weatherman enough to get you the best table on short notice on a Friday night, or does it just work midweek?”

“I’ve never tried on a Friday.” Kirwen gestured Lara toward his cameraman’s table, admitting, “I doubt it’s enough. Dickon, this is Lara Jansen. Miss Jansen, Dickon Collins, my cameraman and the only one with sense enough to come out of the rain.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Jansen,” Dickon said over Lara’s murmured “Lara is fine,” then corrected himself: “Lara.” He stood up to offer his hand. Lara nearly took a step back, astonished at the man’s height and breadth, though he wasn’t fat, only barrel-chested.

Rue crossed his face. “I have that effect, sorry. I look smaller sitting down. There’s a reason they put David in front of the camera, not me.”

“I was just thinking you’d look—” Lara put her fingers over her mouth, and he cocked an eyebrow curiously. “I’m sorry. I tend to redress people mentally as soon as I meet them. It can come across as rude, but I don’t mean to be. I just like imagining people at their best.” She flattened her fingers further over her lips. “I’m not making this better, am I?”