Trading Christmas - Debbie Macomber [84]
Cait took a sip of her wine to hide a smile. Joe hadn’t changed in twenty years. He was still witty and fun-loving and a terrible tease. “Very funny.”
“Hey, I wasn’t kidding. I’ll pretend I’m Paul and—”
“You promised you were going to be good.”
He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I will be. Just you wait.”
Cait could feel the tide of color flow into her cheeks. She quickly lowered her eyes to her plate. “Joe, cut it out. You’re making me blush and I hate to blush. It makes my face look like a ripe tomato.” She lifted her slice of pizza and bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. “I don’t understand you. Every time I think I have you figured out you do something to surprise me.”
“Like what?”
“Like yesterday. You invited me to dinner, but I never dreamed you’d take me someplace as elegant as Henry’s. You were the perfect gentleman all evening and then today, you were so…”
“Low and disgusting.”
“Exactly.” She nodded righteously. “One minute you’re the picture of charm and culture and the next you’re badgering me with your wisecracks.”
“I’m a tease, remember?”
“The problem is I can’t deal with you when I don’t know what to expect.”
“That’s my charm.” He reached for a second piece of pizza. “Women are said to adore the unexpected in a man.”
“Not this woman,” she informed him promptly. “I need to know where I stand with you.”
“A little to the left.”
“Joe, please, I’m not joking. I can’t have you pulling stunts like you did today. I’ve lived a good, clean life for the past twenty-eight years. Two days with you has ruined my reputation with the company. I can’t walk into the office and hold my head up any longer. I hear people whispering and I know they’re talking about me.”
“Us,” he corrected. “They’re talking about us.”
“That’s even worse. If they want to talk about me and a man, I’d rather it was Paul. Just how much longer is this remodeling project going to take, anyway?” As far as Cait was concerned, the sooner Joe and his renegade crew were out of her office, the sooner her life would return to normal.
“Not too much longer.”
“At the rate you’re progressing, Webster, Rodale and Missen will have offices on the moon.”
“Before the end of the year, I promise.”
“Yes, but just how reliable are your promises?”
“I’m being good, aren’t I?”
“I suppose,” she conceded ungraciously, jerking a stack of mail away from Joe as he started to sort through it.
“What’s this?” Joe asked, rescuing a single piece of paper before it fluttered to the floor.
“A Christmas list. I’m going shopping tomorrow.”
“I should’ve known you’d be organized about that, too.” He sounded vaguely insulting.
“I’ve been organized all my life. It isn’t likely to change now.”
“That’s why I want you to lighten up a little.” He continued studying her list. “What time are you going?”
“The stores open at eight and I plan to be there then.”
“I suppose you’ve written down everything you need to buy so you won’t forget anything.”
“Of course.”
“Sounds sensible.” His remark surprised her. He scanned her list, then yelped, “Hey, I’m not on here!” He withdrew a pen from his shirt pocket and added his own name. “Do you want me to give you a few suggestions about what I’d like?”
“I already know what I’m getting you.”
Joe arched his brows. “You do? And please don’t say ‘nothing.’”
“No, but it’ll be something appropriate—like a muzzle.”
“Oh, Caitlin, darling, you injure me.” He gave her one of his devilish smiles, and Cait could feel herself weakening. Just what she didn’t want! She had every right to be angry with Joe. If he hadn’t brought that pizza, she’d have slammed the door in his face. Wouldn’t she? Sure, she would! But she’d always been susceptible to Italian food. Her only other fault was Paul. She did love him. No one seemed to believe that, but she’d known almost from the moment they’d met that she was destined to spend the rest of her life loving Paul Jamison. Only she’d rather do it as his wife than his employee