Hank almost choked on his sip. "Excuse me?" he asked between coughs.
"Well, I was working my ass off as a junior portfolio manager, still in the office like an idiot at seven before a holiday weekend. I don't even know which it was—Memorial Day or Fourth of July—it doesn't really matter. Everyone else in my division had gone home when the proverbial shit hit the fan," Ali explained as he regained his composure.
Under the table, Hank's knee gently collided with hers again as he moved closer. "Go on," he said before placing his hand on her thigh.
Ali could feel the heat from his palm though the thin fabric, and she struggled to recall the story. "I'll spare you the boring details, but the important part is that one of our most stable portfolios was brought under investigation in the Asian market. If we didn't act on it immediately, we'd have a whole lot of investors with worthless papers by the start of the next week."
"And you were the only one around on a holiday weekend to save the day?" He guessed, slowly slipping his fingers between the gap in her legs while unflinchingly staring into her eyes.
"Something like that," she whispered, glancing down to pace her breath and noticing for the first time a faint dimple in his chin. "Um, the division's VP was the only other person who made it into the office, and we worked together to get things straightened out. Afterward, he took me under his wing, so to speak, and trained me to be his eventual replacement."
"So where does murder fit into all of this?" he asked with a mischievous grin as he made slow circles with his finger closer and closer to her most tender spot.
"That?" She laughed to keep from screaming in pleasure. "Well, officially Jack had a heart attack, and unless anyone can prove otherwise, I'm sticking to it." She owed a lot to her former mentor, but Ali knew he would have appreciated her lighthearted banter in remembering him, even if not under these particularly risqué circumstances.
Hank laughed too, but his expression turned serious when he began to lean closer. Ali drew in her breath, noticing his gaze shifting downward again. She looked at his lips and could already feel their soft touch against her own.
"Your steaks, sir," a disinterested voice cut in, making the pair jump apart.
"Thank you," Hank snapped, his jawline taut from no doubt holding back a firmer response as the waiter placed the plates in front of them.
Ali picked up her knife, fiddling with it as she quietly dug into the meal and wondered what would have happened without the untimely interruption. She was undeniably attracted to Hank and he certainly felt the same. How far would have things gone if he hadn't been forced to stop? Now she'd never know. A twinge of disappointment ran through her as she struggled to cut the tender beef, belatedly wishing she'd ordered something more cast-friendly.
"So, show jumping, huh? How did you get into that?" Hank asked, popping a bite into his mouth as if nothing had even happened.
Ali put down the knife and instead skewered a piece of broccoli onto her fork, gladly returning to his attention, even if it meant revealing more about a topic she'd earlier tried to avoid. "I asked Santa for a pony one Christmas, and he actually got me one. There was also a letter that came along with the horse, and it said she was for riding, so if I wanted to keep her, I would need to start taking lessons."
He swallowed before responding. "That was pretty clever of your parents."
"I know, right?" She bit into the broccoli.
"You must have been pretty good to get a chance at the national championships. I'm sorry you have to miss out on it," he said before wiping his mouth on the linen napkin.
"Well, it was a lot of work, so maybe a little break is for the best," she said as she looked down at her wrist. "No pun intended."
He took a sip of wine. "How did you manage everything? High-powered career and elite-level sportsmanship along with juggling a normal social life?"
She cleared her throat. "I didn't. Not that last part, anyway."
"I don't believe that," he said as he picked up the cutlery and resumed eating.
"It's true." She scooped up a bite of the baked potato. "The only time I wasn't in the office or the arena was when I was on a plane flying to one or the other."
He frowned. "That doesn't sound like fun."
"No, it doesn't," she admitted. "But as crazy as it was, I actually enjoyed it."
"How about now?" he asked.
She drained the rest of her drink. "What do you mean?"
Hank put down his cutlery again and reached for the bottle. "Do you want to go back after you're done at Pebble Creek and live your life the same way?"
While he refilled her glass, she adjusted her skirt. That got serious real quick. "I haven't considered otherwise. Why do you ask? Does my life sound so awful to you?"
He leaned back, the leather creaking under the movement. "That's not for me to say either way."
She'd been both successful and content, and his judgment now was irritating. But it wasn't worth an argument.
Not knowing how to steer the conversation back on track without getting into the intricate details of her private life, Ali tackled her steak again. Stabbing the tender beef with her fork, she—a little too aggressively—attempted to slice it with the serrated knife. When her cast got in the way of the otherwise oft-practiced maneuver, the utensil slipped out of her hand and tumbled to the floor with a clank.
They both reached for it at once, nearly bumping heads.
"Here. I've got it," Hank said before ducking to grab the knife. After popping back up, he nodded toward the fork still in her hand. "May I?"
Was he really offering to cut her meat for her as if she were a child? Her first instinct was to flat-out refuse, but he appeared sincere. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, she pushed her plate closer and nodded. She watched Hank use his own knife to cut the steak first into slices and then into bite-sized pieces. When she caught a woman at a nearby table smiling at her situation, her cheeks flushed.
"That's great. Thanks," Ali said, pulling her plate back and holding her hand out for the fork. "But what about you? Does working on your sister's ranch give you a sense of achievement?"
The question was intended to resume their previous conversation, but as soon as it left her lips, she realized it sounded extremely condescending.
"I wouldn't say achievement, but I'm where I need to be at the moment," Hank said before he began eating again.
Ali was relieved that he didn't appear insulted, but the next few minutes of silence upended her original assessment. Eventually, she was able to somewhat revive the conversation by sticking to safer topics like music and movies. But even a shared interest in nineties popcorn cinema didn't quite do the trick, and she could feel that Hank's continued reserved attitude meant the damage had been done.
Recognizing there was no hope of turning the evening around, Ali declined dessert and indicated she was ready to head home. They walked out of the hotel without touching, and she drew her arms around herself as they stepped onto the sidewalk.
"Are you sure I can't drive you back?" Hank offered, seeing the general lack of traffic on the dark street.
She really wanted to make things work, but his company wasn't worth extending the weird tension between them for longer than absolutely necessary. "Thank you for dinner, but I don't know if I really should have come at all," she said, really missing the rideshare app on her phone tucked into Liz McGhee's drawer back at the lodge. Instead, she walked to the curb to get a better view of the oncoming lanes in the hopes of nabbing a taxi.
"You mean if you should have gone out with the help?" Hank asked, stopping next to her.
"What?" She looked up, taken aback by the accusation before the pieces began to fall into place. In her discomfort at not being able to eat dinner without assistance, she had insinuated Hank wasn't worth her time because he was only an employee at Pebble Creek. The realization mortified her, and Ali wanted to slink into the cracks of the sidewalk and disappear. But the sullen man in front of her deserved clarification. "Is that what you thought?"
Hank shrugged. "What else could I have thought? Things were going great and then you said—"
"Oh, no, no. I know I said something earlier I shouldn't have and you have every right to be angry with me, but that's not what I meant," she hastily explained.
"I don't get it. What, then? Did I say something to upset you?" he asked with palpable sadness.
She studied the streetlight's reflection in the patent leather of her strappy shoes, wishing she could be more forthright. "Not at all. There are just some other things I have to deal with that are unrelated to you," she said cryptically, even as her internal monologue went into overdrive.
God, that sounded cliché. "It's not you, it's me"? Jesus, Ali. The man cut your steak and now you're flipping out. Just admit you're clearly not ready for this and stop playing games.
Hank walked closer and touched her arm. "I know, but something is still bothering you. If it makes you feel better, technically I'm not an employee," he said.
She looked up at him. "What, then? A volunteer? Or silent partner?"
With a smile, he shrugged and the dark suit stretched over his broad shoulders. "Something like that."
Ali sighed. It was so tempting to give in and go with her heart, but her brain was still spewing irrefutable arguments. "Still, you are the owner's brother. And I wouldn't want any trouble for Liz with even the perception of a conflict of interest." If they were going to end things before they really began, it was as good an excuse as any.
"Fair enough." He stepped back. "Then what do you want, Ali? Say it, and let's avoid further misunderstandings."
She wanted to rewind time to before her accident. She wanted to meet Hank Mathis on her terms. She wanted to have him get to know the real Ali Barros. The woman who made the rules, not the one who had to sit by and abide by them. But of course that was impossible, and the soft touch of his fingers against her skin had definitely been appealing. Why was she making this so hard for herself? Her time in Colorado was finite, and if Hank could make those weeks more pleasant, then what did she have to lose? Maybe if the musky smell of his aftershave wasn't lingering in her nostrils, she could think more clearly. Ali stared into his hypnotic eyes, looking for the answer, but an approaching headlight caught her gaze.
"A cab!" she exclaimed, slipping out of his grip and hailing the approaching vehicle.
"Great," Hank murmured. When the car stopped, he opened its rear door and held on to its frame with one hand. "You still haven't answered."
Ali stepped closer. "I haven't been very good at making decisions lately," she admitted.
It wasn't a joke, but he laughed enthusiastically, throwing his head back. "I don't know whether it would be good or not, but if you do want to give it another go, I promise I can be discreet."
Ali gasped. She'd given him an easy escape, yet he'd refused it. "You still want to take me out again?"
He nodded, playfully pursing his lips.
Studying the light stubble framing his shapely mouth, Ali knew she'd regret saying anything but yes. "Okay."
"Okay?" he repeated, transitioning into a full-blown grin.
She nodded, standing in front of him and waiting for the inevitable good-bye. When the moment extended awkwardly and Hank still didn't act, she sighed and slipped into the car's backseat.
"When you come up with a plan, you know where to find me." Ali began fiddling with the seat belt, but even after multiple attempts, she couldn't get it to work.
Noticing her struggle, Hank leaned into the vehicle, reached over, and clicked the unruly buckle shut. With their faces just inches apart, he looked down at her lips and whispered, "Good night."
Ali instinctively closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss, but it never came. Instead, she was left hanging as Hank stepped away and shut the door.