out with someone on the verge of unemployment and once again he was easy-breezy about it. Leaning toward him again, she put her hand on the table between them. “Let me pick up the tab for lunch. You should conserve your resources. And you did save my purse.”
He laughed and covered her hand with his large palm. Her skin danced beneath the warm weight of it, the solidity. “I don’t know what kind of fellas you’re used to, but that’s not how I operate. Financially, I’m good, not destitute.”
The down-to-earth air about him, devoid of pretenses, wasn’t what she was used to. It was refreshing.
“I’m renting an apartment in Ocean Park.”
Nice area. Close to her gallery. “Why did you pick California to call home?”
Moving his hand from hers, he sat back and held her gaze. “I’ve been stationed and deployed to some hellholes. I wanted sunshine. Perfect weather. The ocean. But continental US. What about you? Why do you own an art gallery? More specifically, how does one come to own one?”
The waitress brought them two ice waters and a basket of bread.
“I was an art history major. In college, I did internships at museums. I wanted to be a docent, giving tours and talking about my passion.” She took a warm roll and slathered butter on a piece. “But my uncle told me to set my sights higher, to own a gallery instead, where I could control my own destiny. When I decided to buy one, he didn’t want me to use my inheritance from my father and bought it for me.”
“So, he owns the gallery?” Dutch asked.
“On paper yes, but it’s mine. Other than using his accountants, I run it freely.”
“Who’s your uncle?”
“Dante Emilio Vargas.” Her uncle was a bit of a celebrity on the West Coast, and she waited for the usual reaction of awe, but Dutch’s eyes didn’t so much as light up. For once, someone who didn’t know him. “To me, he’s just Uncle Emilio. Dante was my grandfather and my uncle has never appreciated the title junior and doesn’t use it.”
Dutch sipped his water. “I think I might’ve heard the name.”
“He’s a huge venture capitalist. What Elon Musk is to the car industry and space exploration, my uncle is to advancements in farming organically and education. Building a better world is so important to him.” Her uncle was driven, shrewd and tough, but he had the biggest heart and would do anything for her.
“Are you some kind of socialite who comes from old money?”
Isabel laughed. “Oh gosh, no. I come from humble beginnings. When I was little my father and uncle started investing their money in technology and buying farms. I guess they got in at the right time. My uncle compares it to buying stock in Microsoft or Apple when those companies were just getting started. I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I guess they got lucky.”
His brows knit as he seemed to study her closely in a way that made her self-conscious. “Does he live here?”
“Thank heavens, no. San Diego. He’s such an important man he’s surrounded by bodyguards. You’d think he was the president or something. If I lived down there, he’d insulate me with bodyguards, too.” Trading one personal hell for another. “I need my freedom. To breathe.” She was finally starting to get to a place where she could once again.
Maybe this lunch with Dutch was the first step in the right direction.
“What has your uncle thought of your previous paramours?”
Sighing, Isabel dropped her gaze to her lap. “I haven’t introduced any to him. He’d never approve of someone he didn’t pick and who didn’t check every box on his list, which is different than mine.”
He perked up at that with a bright smile and something in the conversation shifted from investigative to inquisitive. “What’s on your list? What kind of guys are you into?”
Someone like you. Isabel blushed. “Excuse me a minute. I have to use the restroom.”
She stood, grabbing her purse, and crossed the length of the restaurant down to the other side. All the tables were now taken and there were only a few open spots left at the bar. They’d arrived at the perfect time.
Inside the restroom, she checked her makeup, fluffed her hair, running her fingers through her brown curls, and washed her hands.
She threw away the paper towel and left the bathroom.
In the few short minutes that she’d been in there, every seat at the bar had been taken. Passing the row of customers