Losing Control - By Robyn Grady Page 0,21

many years ago I was a Navy Cadet. There's a reunion on tonight. I wondered if you might consider coming along."

She listened harder. There had to be more because this didn't make sense. A reunion? Had she missed something?

"Taryn? You there?"

"I'm not certain I understand."

"I'm inviting you out. Tonight. With me."

He meant on a date? Now she was really confused.

"If you're busy," he said, "of course I understand."

"I'm not busy."

"So you'll come?"

That voice from the kitchen again. "Any luck out there? Or is she still hiding?"

Her aunt was talking about the pregnant stray. No joy there. But maybe her luck was changing on another front. Taryn knew Cole was attracted to her, but she couldn't get her head around the idea of this suggestion to mix business with pleasure. Still, if he was in need of a date tonight, could she really refuse? She'd been taken aback when Cole had stopped her earlier this week and, in front of witnesses no less, had told her to go ahead and arrange the survey. And that he'd be going, too.

If he was willing to give an inch or two, shouldn't she reciprocate? She'd already vowed to be accommodating, no matter what. The upside was that she could always use the time tonight to bend his ear more about her show.

When she thought about it that way, she'd be mad to decline.

"What time and where?" she asked.

She heard his intake of air. Relief or disbelief?

"It's black tie. I'll collect you at - "

"No, I'll meet you." She'd find her own way there as well as back. She might want to take advantage of this opportunity, but she didn't need to dwell all night on how they would say good-night. A shake of hands in the car? A brush of lips against her cheek at the door?

Awkward.

Cole gave an address and a time. Taryn had ended the call and slumped back against the landing when her aunt appeared with a fresh bowl of cat biscuits. Vi studied her.

"You look like someone just handed you a million dollars."

"Even better. That was my boss."

"Guthrie Hunter. You told me about him. Nice man." Vi set the biscuits down. "Smart man."

"No. His son. Cole."

"Calling you on a weekend? Has something come up at the studio?"

Taryn had worked long enough in television for her aunt to know the lingo, the oftentimes crazy hours.

"It wasn't about work. Or not directly. He kind of, well, asked me out. A black-tie event tonight."

"And you said yes?" When Taryn nodded, Vi grinned from ear to ear. "You haven't gone out and enjoyed yourself in such a long time."

"It's not like that. I don't actually like him. Cole Hunter is arrogant. Ruthless..."

But her aunt was busy checking the ornate silver wristwatch she'd owned for decades. "If you want to get your hair done, it's already after eleven. Do you have something to wear?"

"A gown I bought for last year's awards ceremonies."

Full length. Sequined. Very Hollywood. Taryn cringed. Hopefully it wouldn't be over-the-top.

She caught her aunt smiling again and pursed her lips.

"Don't get all excited. Tonight isn't like that, okay? Even if I did want to settle down in a relationship - " and she didn't " - Cole's not that type." Not my type.

"How do you know?"

"Spend five minutes with the guy."

He had little time for anything other than work and bossing people around. She was amazed he had any personal life.

A noise filtered over from the garden...bushes rustling then a flash of yellow fur. That cat poked its whiskers out between some leaves but, in a heartbeat, vanished again. Taryn thumped a floorboard. She'd been trying to lure that poor cat out for weeks. She looked so mangy Taryn knew she must be without a home. And yet she resisted.

"Maybe she's happier that way," Taryn murmured, thinking aloud. "Maybe she's happier on her own."

Vi patted her niece's shoulder. "Don't give up. Everyone wants companionship. Someone to care for them. Even the most unlikely types."
Chapter Eight
He'd told Taryn 7:00 p.m. Black tie. When she'd insisted she find her own way, given the debacle that evening at Marco's when she'd wanted to escape but couldn't, he guessed he understood.

But as seven had wound on to half past, the shine on his understanding had begun to tarnish. At quarter to eight, he was debating whether to call to check up, stride into the party alone or forget about this reunion deal altogether. He had work he could be doing. Going over that football proposal, for one.