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Drive Me Wild
Gwynne Forster
Gina Harkness is stunned when an elderly woman she befriended leaves her an inheritance of millions. Suddenly the former accountant is living in a Park Avenue apartment and interviewing potential chauffeurs. Sexy, charismatic Justin Whitehead is definitely qualified, but hiring a man whose gaze sets her whole body on fire could be a huge mistake….Reporter J. L. Whitehead will do anything for a story–even pose as a chauffeur for six months to write about the suddenly rich. His relationship with his beautiful new "boss" quickly turns from business to mind-blowing pleasure. But will Gina ever believe that, though his identity was a lie, their untamed passion is real?



Lightning flashed, and the roar of thunder sounded as if the earth would crack.
Justin grabbed Gina’s hand as sheets of rain drenched them. He pulled her to an abandoned storefront, wrapped her in his arms and turned his back to shield her from the pelting rain.
He held her closer, and she let him, pulling down his fences, laying wide his vulnerability. The rain pummeled his back, and he tucked her head beneath his chin, stroking her hair and her back as he did so. “Look, I…Something’s happening here, and I—”
She snuggled closer to him, and her arms went up to his shoulders.
“Gina, do you know what you’re doing to me?”
Her lips glistened, and her breathing shortened as she stared into his eyes with the hottest expression of female want that he’d ever witnessed. He would regret it, but he was human, and he wanted her worse than he wanted air to breathe….

GWYNNE FORSTER
is a national bestselling author of twenty-three romance novels and novellas. She has also written four novels and a novella of general fiction. She has worked as a journalist, a university professor and as a senior officer for the United Nations. She holds bachelor’s and master’s degrees in sociology, and a master’s degree in economics/ demography.
Gwynne sings in her church choir, loves to entertain at dinner parties, is a gourmet cook and an avid gardener. She enjoys jazz, opera, classical music and the blues. She also likes to visit museums and art galleries. She lives in New York with her husband.

Drive Me Wild
Gwynne Forster


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader,
Your continued support has made my novels for Kimani Romance outstanding successes. In the change from BET Books to Harlequin’s Kimani Press, I had wondered if you would find my titles. I, along with my fellow Kimani writers, am rejoicing that you have embraced this new line.
I hope you have enjoyed Gina and Justin’s story. After reading several newspaper reports of individuals whose lives were adversely affected by the acquisition of sudden great wealth (including one who inherited $342 million and who, two years later, was heavily in debt and without family and friends), I decided to explore the experience in this novel to demonstrate that the wise and responsible use of suddenly acquired wealth can bring happiness. I hope you’ve had a chance to read Just the Man She Needs, my latest Kimani Arabesque novel, released in June 2007. John Austin Underwood would light any woman’s fire.
Warmest regards,
Gwynne Forster
To Carole A. Kennedy, who never passes up an
opportunity to show me true friendship. To my stepson,
Peter, who is my solid rock and comfort and never-failing
support; and my thanks to Almighty God for my talent
and the opportunities to use it.

Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12

Chapter 1
Gina Harkness watched the preacher sprinkle what looked to her like gravel over the coffin of her dear friend Heddy Lloyd. “A wonderful, loving and God-fearing woman,” he said. Common words from a minister, but they fit Heddy. At least the first two words did. Gina had no idea how God-fearing Heddy had been, but the old woman had certainly been kind and loving to Gina. The preacher said, “Amen,” and Gina rose slowly, softly said goodbye to her friend and walked slowly toward the door of the funeral home. It didn’t seem proper to stride away as she longed to do. She’d found the solemn, almost dreary, atmosphere inside the parlor depressing. Certainly, Heddy would have detested it.
Halfway to the door, an older man—the only other human present when the preacher said the last words over Heddy’s remains—joined her and walked with her to the door. “How do you happen to know Heddy?” he asked her. She didn’t question his right to ask her, for she knew he found it odd that a young black woman should be the old white woman’s only other mourner.
“I met her in the reading room of the public library about six years ago. I discovered that the library was her second home. I saw her whenever I went there. She told me she was a widow and that she had no children. She wanted to be friends, and I liked her, so we saw a lot of each other.”
“She had no close friends, mainly because she wanted her friends to be like her, generous, tolerant and liberal. My name is Miles Strags. I was her lawyer.”
“Gina Harkness. Glad to meet you, Mr. Strags. For years, I went to the movies, dinner, the theater and concerts with Heddy, saw her two or three times a week, called her just about every day, and visited her daily during her final days in the hospital, but I didn’t know she had a lawyer. She didn’t talk much about herself except to say jokingly that she’d outlived everybody close to her, that she didn’t reminisce and couldn’t stand complainers. I loved her deeply.”
“I expect a lot of people would have cared deeply for Heddy if she would have let them get to know her,” he said.
“I’m glad you came,” Gina said as they walked outside. “I was feeling very much alone in there until I saw you.”
“I’m executor of Heddy’s estate, Miss Harkness.” He handed Gina his card. “Would you please come to my office tomorrow morning for the reading of the will?”
“The…the will? She had a will? Uh, okay…Goodbye, Mr. Strags.”
“See you tomorrow,” he said, and she didn’t miss his bemused expression as he walked away.
Estate? What was Heddy doing with an estate, and why would she have a will? The woman had dressed as if she bought all of her clothes from a thrift-store bargain bin.
Gina took a deep breath and headed back to work. It perplexed her that Heddy could have left a will and she began to doubt the veracity of Miles Strags’s words. Perhaps he attended funerals in order to trap lone women. As soon as she sat down at her desk at the prestigious Hilliard and Noyes accounting firm, she opened her computer and located his Web site where she found enough information about him to convince her that the man was indeed an attorney.
The following morning at exactly nine-thirty, as agreed, a very curious Gina walked into Miles Strags’s office and sat down.
“I see you’re punctual,” he said. “Good. This won’t take long.”
Gina looked around for other beneficiaries, and saw none. “Isn’t anybody else coming?” she asked him.
“We’re all here,” he told her in an officious manner that her boss sometimes adopted and which she hated. He read:
“To Gina Harkness, my best and only friend, I leave all my worldly goods, including the building in which I lived, stocks, bonds, bank accounts, the furnishings of my apartment, jewelry and whatever I own that I’ve forgotten to mention here.”
When Gina gasped, he said, “There’s more.” He read on:
“If Gina accepts this bequest, for the first three years, she must live in the building that I owned and which she inherits, though not necessarily in my apartment, and she must have a car and chauffeur, participate in uplifting social functions and devote herself to the service of others. I am sure that Gina will find a way to help the neediest, for she is naturally a kind and giving person. Separate and apart from my bequest to Gina Harkness, I bequeath to my attorney, Miles Strags, a life pension from a trust that I have established for him. Heddy Lloyd.
“Well, that’s it,” Miles said. “You’ve just inherited about forty-three million dollars in addition to a building in the eight hundred block of Park Avenue. I don’t know what it’s worth.” He handed her a portfolio and several keys. “I’m here to assist you in any way I can.”
“What happens if I decide not to do those things and forget about all this?”
“Oh, you won’t entertain that idea for long. She wanted you to live as a wealthy woman should,” the lawyer said smugly.
“But why did she want me to live in that building?”
He walked over to the window and looked down on Lexington Avenue. “Heddy wasn’t happy living there after her husband died. While he lived, the tenants shunned her, but they couldn’t move against her because she and her husband owned the building. I guess you know her husband was African American. Made his money in shipping. He invested wisely, mostly in real estate, and died a very rich man. Her family disinherited her, and her neighbors never forgave her for marrying a black man. The codicil to her will specifies that if she outlives you, her wealth goes to support homeless and abused women and children.”
Gina shifted in her chair, feeling that a weight had come to rest on her shoulders. “You haven’t told me why she wanted me to live in that building.”
When he shrugged, she detected an air of impatience. “They’re intolerant, and she wanted to teach them a lesson. They love their apartments, and they won’t be able to force you to move.” He threw his pen up and caught it, as if he thought the conversation frivolous. “I once asked her why she wanted you to be uncomfortable there, but she never gave me an answer. Doesn’t make sense to me, but those are the terms of the will.”
Gina stared at him, trying to size him up. “What gives you the idea that I’ll be uncomfortable? Not on your life! Which one of these keys is the key to Heddy’s apartment?”
“They’re all labeled,” he said with raised eyebrows. “Remember that you must live as a wealthy woman for the first three years,” he added.
Gina remained seated and smiled inwardly when she noticed Miles staring at her swinging leg with what appeared to be a frown. The man didn’t like the thought of her with all that money. Too bad. She stood, slung her shoulder bag over her shoulder, walked toward the door and then reversed her tracks.
“Why for the first three years only?”
“I suppose she figured that’s more than enough time for you to get used to being rich. I suspect that once bitten, the disease will stick with you.” His plump fingers caressed his chin. giving the impression that he was deliberating about something. “You know where I am, and I’m here to assist you in whatever way you need me. It’s all taken care of.”
She walked into her apartment half a block from Broadway and 125th Street, closed the door, put the chain on it and dropped her body into the nearest chair. It was true. She was now a very wealthy woman. She opened the large manila envelope, looked through its contents and saw among the stock certificates and other papers a letter addressed to her in Heddy’s handwriting.
My dear Gina,
By now you are probably in shock. I loved you dearly, for you were the only person to befriend me in the nineteen years after my husband’s death. Most people thought me weird, laughable and treated me that way. But not you. Miles is a pompous ass; don’t let him upset you. He’s white, a man and a lawyer, and that seems to be all he needs from life. And I want you to teach my neighbors that all human beings are equal. You can do that just by being yourself. I lived for ninety-some years, and no matter what happens, I shall die happy.
Love, Heddy
Gina folded the letter and returned it to the envelope whose contents testified to her new status as a rich woman. She rested her elbows on her thighs, cupped her chin with both hands and closed her eyes. It occurred to her to give prayerful thanks, but as she did so, tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d been reasonably happy—well, at least content—earning forty-three thousand dollars a year, saving ten percent of it for her old age and living in a modest apartment. Now, she had a bundle of money and the responsibility that went with it.
What on earth was Gina thinking? She reached for the telephone and dialed her aunt Elsa. “I hope you’re sitting down, Auntie,” she said.
“I’m not, so wait till I get a chair.” She imagined that her aunt was somewhere near her sewing machine. Elsa Bowen’s wizardry as a designer-cum-seamstress had provided Gina and her aunt with a pleasant enough life, even if they hadn’t been able to move more than three blocks from the projects in D.C.
Gina told her aunt first about Heddy and Heddy’s death. “But that’s not really why I called you, Auntie. I just learned that Heddy wasn’t poor. She was very rich, and she left everything to me.”
“What? Child, you go ’way from here,” Elsa said in awe.
“It’s true. I just left the lawyer’s office, and he turned over everything to me. Auntie, she owned an apartment building on Park Avenue and had a lot of money. You can stop sewing, and you can—”
“Now, you wait a minute, Gina. I know you mean well, but I sew because I love it. Anyhow, I don’t know anybody named Heddy.”
“Well, Auntie, I hope you’ll at least let me buy you a nice house on Sixteenth Street. I can’t live on Park Avenue like the will says I have to do if you’re living next to the slums. As soon as I get things organized, you can find a house you like and you can keep on sewing.”
Elsa’s laugh rang out loud and clear over the wires. “God bless you child. You be careful now. If you act the fool, you could be broke in less than a year.”
“Don’t worry, Auntie. You’re the only person I’m telling about this money. I’m just taking care of it for Heddy. ’Bye for now.”

“Well, I’d better get started. I suspect Miles would give anything to deprive me of this blessing,” Gina said to herself. She phoned the Daily News and placed ads for a chauffeur, wrote a letter of resignation from her job, mailed it and took a taxi to the building on Park Avenue that, according to Heddy’s will, belonged to Gina Harkness. One look at Heddy’s mammoth three-bedroom apartment, and Gina threw up her hands. She definitely would not live in that cheerless place, even if it did overlook some of the most expensive real estate in the world. She phoned Miles.
“I have no use for most of this stuff. I’ll get somebody to catalog it and put it on e-Bay for sale,” she said.
“You can’t do that, Gina,” he said. “No woman in your position would consider such a thing. She would choose what she wants to keep, and give the rest to a charity. A charitable organization will go there and collect whatever you don’t want.”
“Thanks, Miles. I suppose you’ve counseled a lot of heirs about the disposition of unwanted items. What charity do you suggest?”
The lawyer offered a couple of suggestions and she thanked him, hung up and called Harlem Children’s Zone. With considerable difficulty, she dismissed her suspicion that Miles enjoyed letting her know he thought she was out of her class. Still, she needed Miles. And, until she got a firm footing in her new life, she would call upon him. She didn’t know the value of Heddy’s belongings and couldn’t decide what to keep and what to give away, so she asked Miles to help her.
Immediately, she realized that she could and should have engaged an expert, for Miles delighted in providing her with advice that she didn’t need and that didn’t interest her in the least. Furthermore, she suspected that his knowledge was less broad than he led her to think.
Even so, she stopped by Miles’s office one Tuesday morning at the end of March to show him her lease for the Park Avenue apartment, evidence that she had fulfilled that term of the will.
“So you have chosen an apartment for yourself,” Miles said, aware that she had closed Heddy’s apartment and had the managing agent list it for rent.
She told him she had and enjoyed letting him know that she had engaged a decorator without any advice or assistance from him. She had begun to suspect that not only her status but her five foot nine inch height, that placed her well above him when she wore three-inch heels irritated Miles. The man was a shade under five-eight. Gina suspected that her height wasn’t the only thing that irritated Miles. He probably wished that Heddy had left her money to almost anybody, as long as the person was white.
“What’s the proper salary for a chauffeur?” she asked him.
“Hmm. I’d say around forty grand,” he said.
Gina had interviewed several men for the job, but none of them suited her. Heck, she didn’t even need a car in New York, much less a chauffeur, but she was determined to abide by the terms of the will.
“Haven’t you found a chauffeur yet?” Miles asked her one afternoon when she visited his office to get a paper notarized. “You’ll soon be moving into that apartment, and you want to make a good impression. You’ll need that driver,” he said.
“I don’t need any such thing.” She flung the words at him, angry that he thought she needed the trappings of wealth to meet the expectations of her narrow-minded neighbors. “Incidentally, I fired my decorator, and I’m going to furnish my apartment according to my own taste, so it’ll be a while before I move in. That decorator’s taste would send me to an asylum.”
His left eyebrow lifted slowly and remained up. “Gina, a woman in your position does not run from store to store looking for furniture and vases.”
“I don’t give a damn,” she said in exasperation. “Maybe women in my position don’t have my level of competence. By the way, I’ve rented office space on Madison Avenue, and the name on the door reads, Heddy Lloyd Foundation For Homeless And Abused Children And Women, Inc.” She handed him a card that identified her as president of the charity.
“Well,” he said through pursed lips, “you don’t seem to need me.”
She refused to dispute him and remained silent.
Gina didn’t enjoy the trip from her apartment on Broadway at 125th Street to her office on Madison Avenue at Thirty-eighth Street. It was either a long bus ride that included a transfer, or she could take the subway plus two buses. “My Lord,” she said to herself one morning as she walked to the subway in a heavy downpour, “I can afford to take a taxi to and from my office. What have I been thinking?”
Before the end of the day, however, the taxi was a moot point. At 5:00 p.m. her destiny walked into her office. One look at the man—tall, smartly dressed and drop-dead handsome—and her heart turned somersaults.
“I’m Justin Whitehead,” he said, offering to shake hands. “You advertised for a chauffeur, and I want the job.”
Gina simply stared at him.
“Mind if I sit?” She nodded toward the chair. “Before you say no, please check my references. I need this job. I’m a good driver, I only drink when I’m off duty, I don’t smoke and I’m punctual. I was raised to be respectful to all human beings and I am loyal.” He leaned forward. “Ms. Harkness, I promise you will not regret hiring me. I’ll always support you in every way that I can. You can depend on me.”
She opened the portfolio, read his letters of reference, put them back into the envelope and looked at him. She had no basis for turning him down, and especially not in view of the other seven applicants she’d interviewed. But why would this gentleman take a job as a chauffeur? She had a feeling that she was about to make her first big mistake as an heiress. He might be a gentleman and a good driver, but he was also a sexual tornado. Considering her limited experience with smooth-talking, knock-out-your-eyeballs men, she didn’t think it wise to hire him.
She started to tell him that he was overqualified for the job, but his hopeful expression stopped her. She knew what it was like to look for a job and have door after door closed to her. He wasn’t the potential problem—she was.
“All right. The job involves irregular hours. The pay is forty-thousand dollars a year and you don’t have to wear a uniform, although I expect you to wear a jacket and tie. Get the picture? Does that suit you?”
His eyes lit up with a brilliant twinkle, and his wide grin exposed a set of perfect, sparkling white teeth. “It’s more than I hoped for. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
His happiness touched her charitable heart, and she couldn’t help smiling in return, for nothing pleased her more than to have been able to brighten someone’s day. He raised himself to his full height, which she guessed to be around six foot four, and walked over to her desk. She wouldn’t swear that she didn’t shiver at the thought of touching his hand. When he extended it, she hesitated, though only briefly. Gina felt rush a of excitement when he grasped her hand in a strong and reassuring handshake.
Still smiling, he turned to leave, but stopped. “When do you want me to report for work, Ms. Harkness?” She could get used to his deep, mellifluous voice, she thought. When he spoke, it seemed to caress her.
“Monday will be fine,” she said, assuming an officious manner.
He frowned. “Monday? That’s April Fools’ Day. If you don’t mind, I’d rather start Tuesday. No point in jinxing my chances for success.”
“Tuesday it is,” she said.
He smiled again. “Thanks a lot. I’ll see you Tuesday morning at seven-thirty.”
“Eight-thirty will be fine. See you then,” Gina said, and closed the door behind her new driver.

Justin Lyle Whitehead braced his lithe frame against the March wind and headed up Madison Avenue on the short walk to the Yale Club to keep a luncheon date with his editor-in-chief.
“Well, how’d it go?” Mel Scott asked him when they met at the elevator.
“Great. She’s a down-to-earth, intelligent woman, and her inheritance won’t change that.”
Mel bunched his thick shoulders and leaned against the wall of the elevator. “I see she impressed you.”
“She did, but mainly with her honesty and her desire to be fair and accommodating.”
“Just don’t let your sympathy for her get in the way of your story,” Mel said.
Justin stared down at the little man, his face devoid of even a hint of friendliness. “I’m a reporter. Remember?”
“Sorry man. I didn’t mean to ring your bell. Is she the old lady’s illegitimate child?”
Mel Scott was a good editor, but there were times—like right now—when he’d like to wipe the floor with the man. “Mel, you’re way off. You only have to look at Gina Harkness to know that neither of her parents is white.”
Mel shrugged as they seated themselves in the dining room. Mel loved to dine at the Yale Club, because it made him feel important. Justin perused the menu, certain that his companion would order the most expensive entrée, and he did.
“I’ll have a hamburger on a whole-wheat bun,” Justin told the waiter.
“Man, you can’t order a hamburger in the Yale Club,” Mel said.
Justin leaned back and eyed the other man with amusement. “I can order anything that they serve here,” he said pointedly. “I do not eat a big lunch, and I do not drink midday, because I have to work after I eat.” The hamburger arrived, and he realized he’d forgotten to order French fries.
Mel regarded Justin with slightly narrowed eyes. “If you weren’t such a good journalist, you’d be somewhere eating dirt.” He savored the lobster bisque. “You coulda had this, and it wouldna cost you a cent. As I was saying, your attitude could use some fixing.”
“Probably could, depending on whose company I’m in. What about the six months’ leave? Do I get it or not? I promise to send you an occasional piece, but this job and this story will take up most of my time.”
“All right. I’ll expect you back full-time October first.”
“Thanks,” Justin said, and handed Mel a statement authorizing his leave of absence. “Would you sign this, please? I’ve learned to have anything important in writing.”
“Yeah. I see you typed it on the paper’s letterhead.” Mel signed and dated the document and handed it back to Justin. “If you let any other reporter on the staff know about this, I’m through with you. Get it?”
Justin folded the paper and put it in his shirt pocket. “Fair enough. I’ll keep in touch.”
Justin said goodbye to Mel Scott and walked to his apartment on West End Avenue. He wondered if Gina Harkness had noticed his upscale address. Would she have hired him for the job if she had? Was she familiar enough with New York neighborhoods?
What a woman! He had expected an older woman and not one so solidly in control of her life. And he certainly had not expected to see a woman who took his breath away. She wasn’t as beautiful as she was perfect. When she smiled and stood to greet him, tremors had streaked through him. He knew he was looking at a warm, loving woman who liked what she saw when she looked at him.
Justin was used to having women take a second and then a third look at him, not that it fazed him one bit. He considered female admiration as much a nuisance as anything.
He flagged a taxi and got in it seconds before a heavy rain shower would have drenched him. When the car reached the building in which he lived, he paid the driver. Although he sprinted to the door, he still got soaked. Upstairs in his apartment, he stripped, hung up his wet clothing, sat on the side of his bed and phoned a close friend in the Department of Transportation.
“Hi, Jake, this is Justin. I have a difficult assignment, and I need a chauffeur’s license today. Can you manage it?”
“Sure thing, man. E-mail me a photo and fax me a copy of your driver’s license. It’ll be ready in an hour. You’ll have to come for it because you have to sign it.”
“Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”
“Gotcha.”

Gina answered her office phone that Friday morning hoping the caller wasn’t Miles. She did not plan to give him a daily accounting of her activities, though she suspected that he would like that. “Hello. This is Gina Harkness. How may I help you?”
“Miss Harkness, this is Justin. Where do I come for you Tuesday morning?”
She gave him her address on Broadway. “It’s very temporary, Justin, because I’ll be moving in a few days. Actually, I probably don’t need you until after I move.” She listened to the silence. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m here. I was just thinking maybe I could help you move. I want to earn my pay. Besides, you have to get to work, don’t you?”
She thought for a moment. Maybe he needed the money. “Justin, I was hoping that you’d be willing to check out suitable cars for me and help me choose the best one for my purposes. We’ll have to take some long-distance trips occasionally. I’m not interested in prestige, I want comfort,” she said.
“Fortunately, you don’t have to choose between comfort and status in this case, ma’am. The cars with the most prestige usually offer the most comfort. I take it you don’t want a limo,” he said.
“Nope. Not my style,” she said. She wouldn’t know how to sit in one of those things, she thought. “Definitely not, but I want a car that was made here. Seems as if we import everything, and if that weren’t enough, we ship the rest overseas wholesale.”
She thought she heard him clear his throat. “My sentiments, precisely, ma’am. That leaves us with a choice between a Lincoln and a Cadillac.”
“Is there a big difference?” she asked him.
“To me, yes, ma’am, but you have to be satisfied. Why don’t we meet tomorrow and shop around? We can even test drive a few models.”
“Oh, dear. I was going to pack, but—”
“Miss Harkness, excuse me for making a suggestion, but why don’t you hire a good moving company and let the movers do the packing.”
“Good gracious, I hadn’t thought of that. Great idea. Would you say four hours is all we need to shop for a car tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Call a car service and make arrangements for them to pick you up, then get me, and we’ll go shopping?”
“Works for…Yes, ma’am. I’ll be at your place at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”
She called a moving company, agreed to an estimate and rubbed her hands together, symbolic of freeing herself from the packing chores. “Maybe I’ll eventually learn how to live like someone who doesn’t have to count pennies.”

What did a woman wear when she was going shopping with a gorgeous chauffeur to pick out a car that cost as much as her previous year’s salary as an accountant? Gina stepped out of the shower, sat on the little stool in the corner and began drying her feet. “This is stupid,” she said to herself as she got up and toweled her body. I’ve never been so discombobulated. Maybe poor is better. You just go to a used car lot and get the cheapest model they have. No fuss. No choices and no wasted time.
Gina enjoyed a good laugh at her silliness and then decided to wear whatever she liked. After all, it was none of Justin Whitehead’s business how she dressed. In a green silk suit, black accessories and with her hair down, she told herself she’d dressed for a casual day of shopping. However, when she put gold loops in her ears, she knew she’d lied to herself. She wanted to make an impression on the man she’d hired to be her chauffeur? “I was never stupid,” she said aloud in an effort to console herself.
Butterflies seemed to have found a home in her stomach, so she made coffee and managed to drink half a cup before the building guard—the building in which she lived didn’t have a doorman, but an armed guard—rang her buzzer.
“A gentleman here to see you, Miss Harkness.”
“Thanks, Arthur, I’ll be right down.”
She managed one more swallow of coffee, locked her door and headed for the elevator. She hated to keep anyone waiting, and it seemed as if the elevator would never come. When she stepped into the lobby, she saw him leaning against the guard’s desk.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, and suspected from Justin’s raised eyebrows that she’d said the wrong thing.
“My time is your time,” he said with a half bow, and she knew she’d made a mistake. She could only thank God that Miles hadn’t been there to witness it. Her feeling of discomfort at his appreciative appraisal was immediately overlaid with feminine pride that such a stunning man found her attractive.
He opened the back door of the hired car for her, closed it and then sat beside the driver.
Had she actually expected him to sit in the back with her?
Justin sat with his back to the door and spoke to her. “We’re going to Eleventh Avenue to look first at Cadillacs and then at Lincolns. I made an appointment with a salesman at each dealership.”
“Thank you, Justin. I didn’t think to make an appointment.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to, ma’am. If you tell me to do something, I’ll try my best to do it right.”
She didn’t doubt that. She also knew that the shopping trip wasn’t her idea, but his. “I see from the logo that this is a Lincoln, Justin. Which Lincoln is it?”
“A Town Car, ma’am.”
“It’s very comfortable,” she said.
Justin turned face forward and spoke softly to the driver. She locked her gaze on the back of his head, noticed that his hair was perfectly trimmed. She recalled that when she’d seen him lounging against the guard’s desk, she’d noticed her new driver’s grooming was impeccable.
The car stopped, and Justin turned so that he could look at her. “This is the Cadillac dealer, ma’am. We’re right on time.” He got out, walked back and opened her door just as she reached for the handle. If he noticed that, he didn’t let on.
“Will he wait for us?” she asked Justin as they entered the dealer’s office.
“Yes, ma’am. We’ve hired him for four hours. I think that’s all we need.” A salesman approached them and spoke to Justin.
“Mr. Whitehead? Glad to meet you.” He shook hands with Justin and then with her. “Thank you for your patronage, Ms. Harkness.” He smiled at Justin. “May I see your driver’s license?” Justin showed him the license. “This way, please. I suggest you take it up the Major Deegan, Mr. Whitehead,” the man said with such pride that one would have thought he engineered the automobile.
Justin opened the back door for Gina, then seated himself behind the wheel. “Relax, and let’s see how comfortable this thing is. Wait a minute.” He got out, opened the door beside her and reached across her to fasten her seat belt.
She noticed that he avoided looking at her when his hand brushed her thigh. At first, she expected him to apologize, but he didn’t, and it dawned on her that he didn’t want to call attention to what was evidently an accident. He seated himself behind the wheel and pulled out of the lot to the sound of Mozart’s Concerto for Flute and Harp.
“I take it you like Mozart’s music.”
She opened her eyes and sat forward. “What did you say?” He repeated the question. “I love chamber music. It’s so peaceful.” She looked out of the window at the river beside them. Did you or the dealer choose that radio station?”
“I did. Why?”
“I thought for a minute that it was part of the dealer’s sales pitch. Thanks for selecting it.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. What do you think so far?”
“I can’t see the difference between this and the one you rented for us, but I’d like to test the other one.”
“Then, we’ll take this one back. The Town Car dealer is also on Eleventh Avenue around Fifty-fifth Street.”
“Well, what do you think?” the salesman asked when they returned the car.
Justin made the thumbs-up sign. “As I told you, she wants to check out another model. You’ll know one way or the other this morning.” They thanked the man and left.
“Gee, there’re three couples ahead of us,” she said as they entered the second dealership.
“Not to worry, ma’am. They didn’t make an appointment, I did.” He showed the salesman his driver’s license, and they were soon once again driving north on the Major Deegan Expressway. “I thought we’d take the same route as we did in the Cadillac, go over the same bumps and around the same curves so you can make a proper comparison,” he said.
“Smart thinking. If the service and the performance histories are the same or approximately the same, I think I’d like this one, but before I choose, I’d like your opinion,” she said.
“Thank you, ma’am. If all things were equal, I’d take this one, but I’d like to check the ratings.”
“Then, can we get some information on the performance and the ratings of these cars?”
“I have it right here.”
“Wonderful. Let’s stop somewhere and go over it.”
“Good idea, ma’am. I suggest we return the car, get our driver and find a quiet coffee shop somewhere.”
I wish he’d quit calling me ma’am. He could only be a few years older than me. Now, where did that thought come from?

Twenty minutes later, the driver of the rented limousine stopped in front of a small, yet elegant café. Justin got out and opened the back door for Gina. He stood beside the door trying not to notice her long shapely legs as she maneuvered herself out of the car. Then she looked up at him and smiled. This is definitely not going to work. And as if she read his thoughts, she lowered her lashes and moved away.
He held the chair for her, all the while wondering how he was going to get used to her paying the bill on the occasions when they had to eat together in restaurants.
“I didn’t have any breakfast,” she said, “and I’ll bet you didn’t, either. I’d had about two swallows of coffee when the guard buzzed me. I’m going to have waffles and sausage with maple syrup, lots of it.”
He stared at her. “You mean, you’re not worried about gaining weight?”
She shook her head. “I get plenty of exercise. Order whatever you want. I’m starving.” She gave the waitress her order. “Could you bring some coffee now, please?”
He ordered waffles with bacon fried to a crisp and coffee. “I don’t usually allow myself all these calories,” he told her, “but if you’ve got the nerve to do it, so have I.” She smiled when he said that, and her eyes shone with what he could only describe as merriment. He told himself to remember that he was a journalist working on a story, and that he couldn’t afford to let himself succumb to the spell she had begun to weave. If she were less considerate, he could at least manage not to like her. But she took great care not to treat him as a chauffeur in the presence of others. He corrected himself; she hadn’t treated him as an employee.
Their waitress poured each of them a cup of hot coffee, and it didn’t escape him that she said “please” and “thank you” to the waitress. He’d give this woman high marks for good manners. She sipped the coffee, closed her eyes, and inhaled its aroma and sighed.
He squirmed. Good Lord, this woman was sensuous. Suddenly, he wanted to know everything about her, everything she’d done and who she did it with. He wanted to reach out and touch her smooth brown face.
“Damn,” he said to himself. “I’m way off.” He gulped down a swallow of coffee and wished he’d been more prudent when the liquid burned his throat. He opened the envelope that he’d placed in the chair beside him and put his mind on the business at hand.
“Let’s eat first,” she said. “We’ve got time for that.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said as the waitress placed his food in front of him.
To his amazement, she said grace. She continued to look at her plate and then, clearly having come to a decision, she said, “Justin, how old are you, if I may ask?”
His eyebrows shot up, and he didn’t try to control his reaction. “I’m thirty-seven. Why do you ask?”
This time, her eyebrows went up. “I’m thirty-four, which makes me too young to be your mother. So, would you please stop calling me ma’am. It’s getting on my nerves.”
He didn’t laugh, although he’d have given anything for the right to let it out. Instead, he savored his meal for a minute, glanced up and saw that she hadn’t begun to eat.
“Age doesn’t have anything to do with it,” he said. “It’s a matter of respect, and ma’am is shorter than saying Ms. Harkness all the time.”
She sucked her teeth so loudly that he stopped chewing. “Is the sky going to fall if you call me Gina?”
He wanted to tell her that calling her ma’am was a hell of a lot safer for both of them than calling her by her first name. He needed all the help he could get if he was going to keep his mind on his two jobs—his work as a journalist and his job as her chauffeur.
“Maybe not,” he said to himself, “but if I don’t watch it, we’ll both think it fell.”
“What? What did you say?”
“Nothing. Looks like I was thinking out loud, ma’am. Did you make arrangements for a mover to pack your things?”
“Yes, and I thank you for the suggestion. How long do you think I’ll have to wait for my car?”
“Not long. I’ll speak with the dealer and let him know this is an emergency.” He finished eating, pushed his plate aside and showed her the chart he’d made comparing the ratings of the two cars. “There’s not much of a basis for choosing between them. On the matters that count, they’re both boss cars.” He handed her the chart.
She studied it for a few minutes, waved the waitress over and said, “Miss, could we please have some more coffee? You’re right. They’re fairly equal, and that’s comforting. Which do you like to drive?”
“I like the Town Car. I’ve driven it a lot, and I enjoy riding in it.” She didn’t have to know that his parents always drove one. “If you do much traveling, you’ll appreciate its roomy trunk, too,” he added.
She sipped coffee, thoughtfully it seemed to him. “Okay. We’ll get the Lincoln.” She folded the papers and handed them to him. After he drained his cup, she rose. “Ready to go?”
He stood at once. Didn’t she know that a rich New York woman wouldn’t ask her chauffeur if he was ready to do anything, and she certainly wouldn’t have waited while he took his time drinking coffee.
He stood. “After you, ma’am.”
She gave him an outraged look, and he couldn’t help laughing as he walked behind her. But his mood immediately switched to serious as the view of her perfectly shaped tush wiggling in front of him heated his groin. He’d never been so relieved as when he stepped outside into the cool of April, and his gaze could fix itself on something other than her mobile behind.
She looked up at him. “Do you think we should have brought our driver a cup of coffee?”
He needed no more evidence of her humble background than that question. “I’m sure he’d appreciate it,” he said, mainly to avoid making her feel bad, “but his company probably has rules against his drinking or eating anything while on the job.”
They returned to the dealer where she wrote the salesman a check for half the price of the Town Car. “I want a silver-gray one,” she said. “These big black cars make me think of funerals.” She looked at him with what he thought was a silent appeal for approval.
“Ladies tend not to like black cars,” he said, based on his experience with his mother and sister. “Silver-gray is elegant.”
“When will I get it?” she asked the manager of the dealership who had joined his salesman.
“I can have it here for you Wednesday afternoon.”
“How’ll he manage that?” she asked him as they headed for her apartment. “It usually takes weeks to get a new car.”
“You didn’t ask him to give up any of his commission. If you had, you’d have had to wait at least six weeks. He’ll call around, find out which dealer has a gray car coming in, give him a few hundred bucks, and you’ll get your car.”
“Are you serious?”
“In deals this big, Gina, money talks.”
“I thought it always talked,” she said.
“There are some mountains that money won’t move, and I’m sure you’ve encountered one or two of them.” The car stopped, and he got out and opened the door for her.
She stood between him and the open car door. “Yes, Justin, and that’s a good thing.” She stared up at him as if searching for something, then shook her head from side to side. “Life is strange,” she murmured, almost inaudibly. “You never know what will happen next.”

Chapter 2
Once inside her apartment, Gina kicked off her shoes, walked into her living room and looked around. What on earth did she need a big expensive car and a chauffeur for? She could drive as well as anybody, provided she had something to drive, and her need of a man like Justin Whitehead definitely had nothing to do with automobiles, large or small. She didn’t have to pack, she didn’t have to clean because she was moving in less than a week, so what could she do? The phone rang and she raced to answer it.
“Well, how’re we coming?” Miles asked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, aware that her tolerance for Miles lessened each time she saw him or spoke with him.
“Well, we ought to be getting on with the terms of the will.”
“We? You mean, there’s something in the will that applies to you? I read it carefully, and that is not the impression I got.”
“Well, you know what I mean. As executor of the will, it’s my duty to see that it is carried out to the letter.”
“Miles, I appreciate help when I need it, but if you lean on me too heavily, I may make you very uncomfortable. Goodbye.” She suspected that Miles Strags would one day be her enemy, but knowing it didn’t mean she’d kowtow to him.
Later that day, Gina went furniture shopping for her new place. Being wealthy certainly had its perks, she thought. Her first stop was Bloomingdale’s furniture department to choose the furnishings for her bedroom and guest bedroom. She didn’t like what she saw, called a car service and visited the big furniture-store showrooms in the borough Queens. Two months earlier, if she had needed furniture, she would have gone directly to the Lower East Side. Within two hours, she found what she wanted. After releasing the car, she stopped by her favorite Italian restaurant and ate dinner. It wasn’t the haunt of the hoity-toity, but it suited her. Veal scallopini with spaghetti and broccoli, a salad and a glass of pinot grigio, all for under thirty dollars, was as much class as she needed. She felt as if she’d just splurged. As she walked out of the restaurant, she wondered what Justin would have thought of her having dinner in the same suit she’d worn all day. She did that regularly when she dined out, but she’d bet his previous employers wouldn’t have done it.
I wish I’d met him under different circumstances. I wonder what he did before he decided he had to work as a chauffeur. He’s nice and all, but somehow, it doesn’t suit him.
Sunday, after church, Gina went to Heddy’s apartment for one last visit. While there she saw a vase that reminded her of Heddy and decided to take it. She telephoned Miles. “People from the charity will be here tomorrow to take the things from Heddy’s apartment. Would you like to come and see if there’s something here you’d like to have, perhaps as a memento of Heddy?”
“Uh…well, now…that’s very nice of you. I think I would. Are you there now?” She told him she was. “If you can wait about twenty minutes, I’ll be there.”
Hmm. Interesting. The man was too proud to ask for a souvenir of someone he’d known, by her calculation, approximately thirty-five years. When he arrived, he went directly to a hutch in the dining room, lifted a pair of blue porcelain lions and caressed them.
“These are very old. I believe Heddy said they were Ming Dynasty or something like that. I’m not sure, but I’ve always loved them. Thank you so much. I…uh…Would you care to join me for supper?”
She caught herself just before her bottom lip dropped. “Thank you, Miles, but I already have plans,” she said.
“Some other time?” he asked, leaving no doubt about his purely male interest in her.
“Perhaps, but I’m so busy, I can’t say when.” Suddenly ill at ease with him, she walked toward the door.
After closing the door behind him, she slumped against it.
Was he after her or Heddy’s money? Stupid question. If he got her, he’d have both with no further hassle.
She heard her cell phone ringing and raced back to the living room where she’d left her purse. The ringing stopped just as she reached the phone, but a check of the messages showed Justin had called her.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said when she identified herself, “but I dialed your home phone and you didn’t answer, so I dialed your cell number. Where are you? Can you turn on a television? I’m watching an unbelievable show on channel thirteen.”
“I don’t think this TV is working. Can you tape it?”
“Yeah. I’ll save it for you,” he said.
“Thanks for thinking about me,” she said. “I’ll look forward to viewing it. Have a pleasant evening.”
“You, too.”
She hung up and stared at the cell phone in her right hand. Her driver was somewhere watching a program and enjoying it and wanted to share it with her. That wasn’t normal, was it? And he was thinking about her, too. Surely, his mind was not immersed in appreciation for her as an employer. He’d said he needed the job, but that suit he wore when they shopped for a car fitted him as if it had been tailor made. Annoyed because she seemed to be developing a crush on her mysterious chauffeur, Gina looked toward the ceiling and blew out a long breath.
“Everybody’s innocent until proved guilty,” she reminded herself aloud. “I’m going to stop second-guessing the man. He behaves properly, and seems to be an expert driver, and that’s all I can ask.” Her shoulders sagged. “But if that man isn’t a walking advertisement for sex, I don’t know what is.”

Justin stared at the television set, seeing nothing. The program had been off the air for a full fifteen minutes and he hadn’t willed himself to move. He was a grown man, and he was used to women—all kinds, ages, colors and shapes of women. But there was something about the way Gina looked at him. Every time she smiled at him, she threw him for a loop. The woman was educated, intelligent and, he suspected, accomplished. But she wasn’t jaded, nor did she have the sophistication that comes with old money. He walked over to the window and looked out into East River.
He felt protective toward Gina, and he had to get over it. Feeling for her would interfere with his performance as her employee and with his professionalism as a journalist. He needed to be totally objective.
Ordinarily, on a balmy Sunday afternoon when he didn’t feel like working, he’d take his bike over to Central Park, or ride or walk along Riverside Drive. But being alone didn’t appeal to him right then. He phoned Craig, his younger brother.
“Hi. This is Justin. If you don’t have a date, how about dinner somewhere?”
“Hi. I had a date, but she came down with a cold, and I have these two tickets to the Met. Feel like seeing Madama Butterfly?”
Justin thought for a minute. “Why not? It’s been a while since I went to the opera. Want to eat at Hanks? Say, around six-thirty? I’ll call and make a reservation.”
“Fine. I’ll see you there. Uh…anything wrong? I mean…You seem kinda down.”
“Don’t worry about it. Resilience is my middle name. Remember? See you later.” He had to decide how much to tell his brother. Craig wouldn’t repeat anything he told him, but he didn’t have a clear picture of what was bothering him.
As the first born of two university professors, much had been expected of Justin Whitehead. And he had delivered plenty. An honor graduate from Yale University, Justin distinguished himself as an investigative reporter early. Now, at thirty-seven, Justin was in a position to call his shots. Though a salaried newspaper reporter, he enjoyed the status of a syndicated columnist whose work appeared regularly in newspapers and magazines under the by-line, J. L. Whitehead. Justin attributed his success and fame to his habit of “living” in the situations about which he wrote.
Over the past couple of years, Justin had followed the story of a thirty-one-year-old woman who won a lottery for eleven million dollars and died four years later. The notion that sudden wealth changed a person’s lifestyle, and not always positively, intrigued Justin. After weeks of interviewing relatives, friends and acquaintances of people who had become suddenly rich, he decided to get to know one. He saw Gina’s ad for a chauffeur—placed in the Daily News and not The New York Times as one would have expected—and, after investigating, he learned of her recent inheritance and applied for the job.
For the first time in his career as a journalist, Justin had a tinge of guilt about not revealing to Gina who he really was and why he took the job as her driver. His guilt stemmed from a suspicion that he would not walk away from their relationship unscathed. He was beginning to think that his deception would bring pain to both of them. Had he known what she would be like, he doubted he would have taken the job.
He walked into Hank’s restaurant at precisely six-thirty and Craig rose to greet him as he approached the table. They hugged and then sat.
“I don’t think I’ll have a drink,” Craig said, “because I don’t want to go to sleep during the show.” He looked at the waiter. “Just bring us the dinner menu, please.” Craig knew that Justin rarely drank and never before going to a performance of any kind.
“What’s up?” Craig asked him. “Spoken with Mom and Dad lately?”
“Yeah. You know I call them at least once a week. Mom would freak out if I didn’t. She said something about Lynn falling in love. Geez, I hope not.”
“Why not. She’s twenty-eight,” Craig said.
“I don’t feel like sweating through it. When Lynn fell in love before, she had the whole family in turmoil.”
“That’s because the guy was a jerk, and everybody but Lynn knew it.”
After they placed their orders, Craig—a man who never procrastinated—leaned back and looked at his older brother, his friend and idol. “How are things with you, Justin? I sense that something’s amiss. Can you share it? Is it a woman?”
“In a way, I suppose it is. Keep this in strictest confidence. The only other person who knows about it is Mel Scott, my editor, and he doesn’t know the woman’s name.”
Craig leaned forward with his piercing gaze on Justin’s face. “I’m listening.”
Justin related to Craig details of his latest project. “I go undercover all the time, Craig. This time, I’m using my real name. So far, she hasn’t associated me with J. L. Whitehead the reporter, and I’m praying she doesn’t.”
“Maybe she won’t. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is that I hadn’t counted on the type of woman she is. Honest, gracious, respectful. Man, she’s soft, feminine and intelligent. She’s just plain nice,” Justin said.
“Good-looking?”
“Absolutely, and she’s in over her head. She has no idea of the benefits of being rich, and she snapped at me for addressing her as ma’am. Said she was getting tired of it.”
“She wouldn’t be tired of it if you looked and acted like a chauffeur is supposed to look and act. Do you wear a uniform?”
Justin laughed. “When I asked about that, she said I should just be neat. So when I took her shopping for a car, I…”
“You took her shopping in your Jaguar?”
“Real funny. I called a limousine company and got us a car and driver. As I was saying, when I went with her to choose a car—she picked a Town Car—I wore a suit, shirt and tie,” Justin said.
“So far, the problem I see is deception, and I imagine that doesn’t sit well with you, but why has it depressed you?”
“Beats me. She’s uh…I uh…She’s got a hook in me, and I’d swear it’s mutual.” Both of Craig’s eyebrows shot up and his lower lip dropped.
“That’s right,” Justin went on, “and I feel protective toward her. How’m I going to keep my hands off her, and what the hell do I do when she asks me to chauffeur her and her dates? I’ve taken six months from the office, though not from the paper, so I can complete this project. Mel’s expecting what amounts to a treatise on the subject of the suddenly nouveaux riches. I’m not used to defeat, but I feel like walking away from this thing.”
Craig nodded. “I see what you mean. You’re feeling guilty, because you’re attracted to her.”
Justin tapped the table lightly with the tips of his fingers. “That’s it in a nutshell,” he said.
“Look. Do your best to minimize the damage to her. I wouldn’t encourage her feelings. You know what I mean.”
“Craig, I felt the chemistry between us from the moment I walked into her office. That’s when I should have walked out, but I was too shocked to think straight.”
“Yipes. I’m afraid you’re in for it no matter what you do. What was her job before she came into all that money?”
“She was an accountant, and she has an MBA from New York University. I’m not sure how much she inherited, but I went down to the probate office and learned that the terms of the will stipulate that she live like a wealthy woman. I couldn’t read the entire document. I’ve a friend who works there and who let me see it, but he could only give me two minutes with it. I found out that she inherited from a very rich white woman.”
“Mom’s going to faint when she finds out what’s going on with you. Just imagine one of her children working as a chauffeur.”
Justin joined Craig in a good laugh. Their mother wanted all of her children to become university professors, but the three of them had chosen other careers—journalist, investment banker and linguist-interpreter.
“Tell me about it,” Justin said. “And she’ll never like Gina, because—”
“Gina, huh? That’s her name?”
“Yeah. And it suits her,” Justin said.
“Am I ever going to meet her?”
“If, after this story goes to press, all is right with the world, you may.”
“Well, do what you can to keep it between the lines,” Craig said in a tone that suggested he didn’t hold out much hope.
“That’s a tall order, brother.”

Justin had no way of knowing that, at the moment, Gina was searching for an excuse to call him. After some thought, she told herself that she’d better hire an office assistant. Perhaps if she had two employees, she wouldn’t concentrate on Justin. She arrived at her office just before nine o’clock on Monday and Justin arrived shortly thereafter.
“I figured that, while we’re waiting for the car, you might need me for something else,” he said into the heavy silence.
“I need some decent office furniture. This furniture came with the space and it’s really boring. If I’m going to be fund-raising, I’ll need a more updated look. I also want the place to look like me.”
“Some people rent office furniture, but if you want individualized surroundings, you have to buy. If you’d like, I can find you a couple of places that sell first-quality furnishings.”
A smile lit up her face, and for a few seconds, he struggled to hide his reaction to her. “That’s wonderful, Justin. Why don’t you use that desk over there? I’ll be right back.”
Among other things, the office needed a kitchen, or at least a pantry in which she could hide a coffee maker and a small refrigerator. She took the elevator to the street floor and dashed down the block to the coffee shop, bought two large cups of coffee and three cranberry scones. She got back in the office just in time to hear Justin say, “I’ll give her your message, Mr. Strags.”
“Strags called. He seemed annoyed that you weren’t here.”
She put the bag on her desk. “A lot of things annoy Miles. He’s the executor of my friend’s estate, and he thinks he controls me. Nobody I ever knew could lay claim to that. I got us some coffee.” She took the coffee and scones out of the bag, placed a couple of napkins where a tablecloth would have been and said, “I noticed you like milk and sugar in yours. I only use milk.”
She didn’t understand his frown, so she said, “It’s all right if you don’t want it. I couldn’t drink mine without knowing you had some if you wanted it.”
“I would gladly have gone out and brought coffee for you. Why didn’t you ask me?”
She lifted her right shoulder in a quick shrug. “It didn’t occur to me to ask you. You were busy checking furniture stores.”
“I love coffee and scones,” he said. “Thank you. But next time, I’d be happy to get it.”
He sipped the coffee, and she could see that he really enjoyed it. “Did you eat breakfast?” she asked him.
“Yeah, if you call half a pint of yogurt and a cup of instant coffee breakfast. I can cook, but I don’t enjoy cooking breakfast.”
“I’ve just decided that we need a pantry large enough for a microwave oven, a small refrigerator, a coffee maker and some storage space. What do you think?”
He grinned. “I would definitely supply the coffee and the milk.”
She looked at him. Did he know what his smile did to a woman?
“We also need a way for you to account for your expenditures. You could keep a record of your expenditures, such as the costs of our car and driver on Saturday—which, incidentally, you haven’t given me—or you may have a credit card. Which would you prefer?”
“I’d rather have the expense account. It’s more than decent of you to offer me a credit card, and it would make my life simpler, but in my opinion, it would be unwise for you to give a man you don’t know a credit card.”
She stopped eating the scone, leaned back and looked him in the eye. “I am a good judge of character, Justin.”
“I have no reason to doubt that, ma’am, but why do you think so many congressmen and corporate CEOs wind up in jail?”
“Justin, there are times when I wonder why you’d work as a chauffeur.”
“Life happens, ma’am. We never know what we’ll wind up doing.”
“That’s true. If anybody had told me I’d be running a charitable organization in honor of my best friend, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
Justin waited until she drained her coffee cup and took it and his to the wastebasket. He flashed her a smile and headed back to the desk that sat about six feet from hers. “You’ll never know how that coffee and scone hit the spot. Let me get started on this search.” He reached for the yellow pages of the telephone book. “If you’re planning to get more computers, it may be a good idea to have an expert hook up a computer network that includes your computers, your faxes, scanners, printers and copiers.”
She looked up from her list of possible contributors to the foundation. Unlike Miles, Justin tried to help her without being condescending. His past employment must have exposed him to numerous learning situations. She wished she could ask him about his other jobs. She wanted to know everything about him. Everything.
Just then, Justin looked up and caught her ogling him. She quickly lowered her gaze. She hoped her face didn’t mirror what she’d been thinking.
She could feel the heat of his gaze and, as hard as she tried not to squirm, her body twisted in the chair. She couldn’t get up and walk out now, because that would be downright humiliating. Gina swallowed hard and resisted the temptation to cover her taut nipples. What was wrong with her, and why didn’t he stop looking at her? With as much defiance as she could muster, she looked straight at him. The man grinned, and she restrained an impulse to scream in frustration.
“You’ll be delighted at what I found,” he said, easing the tension. “There are two great stores within three blocks of each other. If we hail a taxi, we can check them out at lunch time. It shouldn’t take long.”
“I was just thinking of reorganizing this space. I need three offices, and I don’t need that conference room back there. I need a front office for an office assistant, and an office for you and one for me. I don’t expect you to sit in that car when you’re not driving. I want each office equipped with appropriate office machines, and that reception area out there should have comfortable seating, attractive lighting and a television. I think I should make the changes before we get the furniture.”
“Want me to check out a contractor to do the work? I think you’ll probably have to get a permit. I know a guy who can get you a permit today if you want it.” When she appeared skeptical, he said, “Don’t worry, ma’am. It will be perfectly legal. I wouldn’t mislead you.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t, Justin. Didn’t I tell you I’m a good judge of character? Please call your friend. I want to get this operation underway as soon as possible.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get on that right now.”

Justin walked over to Park Avenue, flagged a taxi and settled back to contemplate all that had transpired that morning. He was rapidly concluding that Gina Harkness did not regard herself as a rich woman or, if she did, she didn’t plan to change her outlook on life. She went out in the street and bought coffee when she should have asked him to do it. She offered a man she’d seen twice a credit card. She was damned lucky to have hired him and not a swindler. The woman was way too trusting.
When he caught her ogling him, she’d almost lost her composure, but he had to hand it to her, the sistah could give lessons in cool behavior. She planned to give him an office, and he appreciated that. In fact, he needed it. But whoever heard of a personal chauffeur with a private office?
The taxi stopped at the address he’d given the driver. He paid, got a receipt and asked the man to wait for ten minutes, and in less time, he was back in the cab with an official permit enabling Gina to renovate her office space.
“You’re wonderful,” she said with a smile when he handed her the permit. “I don’t know how I’d get along without you. The manager of this building suggested a company for the renovations, and he’ll be here day after tomorrow. Gosh. I could never have gotten this far by myself.”
She talked on, but he was still at the point where she said she didn’t know what she’d do without him. “I’m flattered, ma’am. Thank you.”
When she narrowed her eyes, he suspected that she’d get down on him again about calling her ma’am, but whatever she intended went unsaid. The door opened and, without having knocked or rung the bell, a man who wore his tie too tightly knotted walked in.
“Who was the man who answered the phone while you were out? I can’t believe you went off and left your foundation to a stranger. You’re supposed to be—”
Justin looked at Gina. From her demeanor, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see smoke coming out of her ears. “Miles, what in hell do you mean by strolling in here and throwing your weight around. You have absolutely no authority to take me to task about anything. Who answers my phone is my business, and I want you to leave this minute.”
“You…you can’t speak to me that way.”
“Why can’t she?” Justin asked him.
Seeming to swell by the minute, Miles looked at Gina. “Who is this man? Is he the one who answered your phone?”
“This man is my chauffeur and my office assistant, not that it’s any of your business. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do,” Gina said as she saw Miles out.
“So he’s the executor of your friend’s estate. Something tells me he oversteps his authority,” Justin said.
“He tries to intimidate me, but that is not easily done. I suspect he thinks that Heddy should have left her estate to him, or at least to someone who’s white.”
“You may have a point,” Justin said. “But as far as the renovations go, remember that we pick up the car Wednesday, and that’s the day the builder comes. Did he say what time?”
“Ten o’clock. So we can pick up the car around two in the afternoon. This is perfect. I’m moving tomorrow, so we’ll be able to park in my building’s garage.”
She still hadn’t given him the building’s address, but he’d seen the address in the will. Of the chauffeurs working for residents in that building, he’d be the only one who didn’t wear a uniform. He’d bet anything on that. It occurred to him that he’d better buy a pair of glasses. In that building, he might be recognized.
He looked at his watch, saw that it was twelve-thirty and asked her, “What’s your policy about lunch? I’d like to find something to eat.”
When she didn’t answer, he saw that she was still angry and trying to control it. “Don’t let it get to you,” he said, and the minute he opened his mouth, her lips trembled as she fought back tears. “Please. He’s not worth getting upset about.” She turned her back to him and, man that he was, he rushed to her and drew her into his arms. He couldn’t help himself.
“It will be all right. We’ll find a way to stop him. Please, Gina, we’re in this together, and I won’t let him hurt you.” Soft and yielding, she snuggled to him as a lover would, and he wanted to squeeze her to him, to protect her and love her, but he didn’t dare.
“I…I’m sorry,” she murmured, but didn’t move out of his arms.
“I know. He was pretty rough, but you handled it well. Stay here. I’ll get you some water.” He stroked her shoulder, taking what he could get, before easing her away from him. When he returned from the water cooler, she was sitting at her desk with her head resting on her arms. He leaned over her and rested an arm across her shoulder.
“Do you feel like drinking this?”
Gina took the cup of water, drank it and put the empty cup in the wastebasket beside her desk. She didn’t look him in the eye, but found a spot past his shoulder and fastened her gaze on that. “He’s been harassing me ever since he read that will to me, and he’s becoming increasingly bold. Thanks for being so understanding.”
“Don’t mention it. If you’re all right, I’ll be back in an hour.”
He needed to get away from there. She’d nestled against him like a chick under its mother’s wing, or like a woman enjoying the protectiveness of her man. She felt as comfortable as if she’d been born in his arms. Soft. She was so soft and so feminine. True, she had a temper, but he didn’t mind that. He liked a woman with fire. If only he could keep his hands off her.

For nearly half an hour, Gina sat where Justin had left her. Her anger had subsided, but her fear that she might fall for her chauffeur had reached alarming proportions. Nobody had to tell her that he could be down on his luck, but if he wasn’t, he undersold himself and forfeited his potential. Some people only took what they needed from life and left the rest to the overachievers. He could be one of those. She shook her head. Maybe she would never understand him, and perhaps she shouldn’t try. But she had needed his gentleness and tenderness and hadn’t wanted to move out of his strong arms.
“I could love this man,” she said to herself. She remembered one of her auntie’s prayers: Lord, please don’t let me look at him with scales over my eyes. She heard the door open and busied herself with the papers on her desk.

He walked over to her desk. “What do you want to eat? I’ll be glad to get it for you.” And he meant it. In his present mood, he’d do anything for her so long as it was legal.
“You’re asking me to take advantage of you, Justin. You’re not a messenger or a gofer.”
“Forget about what I am. What do you want to eat? I can bring you a sandwich, a salad or a full-course meal.”
“All right. Surprise me.”
That sounded a little coquettish to him. “Other than coffee and scones, I don’t know what you like. Okay. What if I bring lasagna and a salad? What would you like to drink? Coffee?” She nodded, and he whirled around. “Be right back.”
Justin met Miles Strags just before he reached the elevator. Certain that the man had returned to harass Gina, he followed him back to Gina’s office.
“I think we’ve met before,” Miles said, with curled lips and a frown on his face.
“I’d remember if we had,” Justin said.
“I thought you were her chauffeur, not her bodyguard.”
Justin glared down at the man. “I’m both, so don’t bother trying to intimidate her unless you want to go out head first.” He opened the door. “After you, Mr. Strags.” He followed the man inside. “Mr. Strags forgot something, ma’am. He’ll tell you what it was.”
She sat up straight and laid back her shoulders. “What did you forget, Miles?”
Miles forced a smile. “I didn’t want any unpleasantness between us, so I came back to straighten things out. You know how fond I was of Heddy—” he cleared his throat “—and you, too, of course—and I don’t believe in letting misunderstandings simmer.”
Justin nearly laughed when she leaned back in her chair, made a pyramid of her fingers and narrowed her eyes. “What did I misunderstand?”
“I have your interest at heart, and I don’t think you realize that.”
“I know very well where your interests lie, Miles. Please excuse me, I have a lot of things to get through today.” She looked at Justin. “Would you please see him to the elevator?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Justin left the building with Miles Strags and walked as far as the corner with the man before Miles spoke. “If you’re after her money, forget it. It will never happen.” With those words, Miles strutted across the street barely missing being struck by a taxi.
Now we know where we stand. Miles Strags is after Gina and the Lloyd estate. Hmm. Knowledge is power, and I intend to learn everything possible about that obsequious bastard, including his rights as estate executor.
Justin strode down Madison Avenue until he reached an Italian restaurant operated by a man with whom he occasionally enjoyed a fencing match. The quaint restaurant reeked with the smell of seafood, garlic and tomato sauce. He’d always liked the simplicity of the red-and-white and green-and-white checkered tablecloths on tables that were hosts to Chianti bottles holding lighted candles.
“Where’s Tony?” he asked the waiter. “Tell him J.L. is here.”
Smiling broadly, the handsome restaurant owner approached Justin with open arms. “Hey, man. You’ve been scarce. What’s up?”
“I need a carry out. Lasagna, a nice mesclun salad and a small bottle of red wine.”
“You taking this to a woman, I gather.” Justin nodded. “Trust me, friend, I’ll make it nice for you.”
Meal in hand, Justin hurried back two blocks to Gina’s office. “Let’s see what we have here,” he said, eager to see delight in her eyes. He opened the package and found a large white napkin, a heavy, white, plastic plate and transparent plastic dinnerware. So far, so good. He opened the wine, poured a glass for her, said, “bon appetit” and went back to his desk.
He looked up to see her rim her lips with the tip of her tongue and inhale deeply. “Justin, if it wouldn’t be in poor taste, I’d walk over there and hug you,” she said, and savored the first bite of what he knew was the best lasagna in town.
“You may think it would be in bad taste,” he said under his breath. Aloud he said, “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. What time are the movers going to your place tomorrow?”
“Nine o’clock. You can have the day off.”
“You sure?” He needed the time because he’d done nothing on his project, and he had to sort out the information he’d collected so far. Once he did that, he’d know what he needed from Gina. He had already decided not to mention her name or the Lloyd estate.
“I’d appreciate the time,” he told her. It wouldn’t hurt to be away from her for at least one day, either. In the short time he’d known her, he’d already gotten used to her, and it occurred to him that her calming presence did wonders for him. The only stress she generated had to do with his libido, and he didn’t have much hope of that getting better.

“How do you go home?” Justin asked her at five o’clock when they closed the office.
“I usually take the bus up to Forty-second Street and change to the Amsterdam Avenue bus. It takes me right to my door.” When he stared down at her with an expression of disbelief, she felt uncomfortable, almost as if Miles were censoring her. “What is it, Justin?”
His shrug didn’t fool her. “I don’t know. In this traffic, it’ll take you almost an hour to get home, and you may have to stand all the way.” He paused and looked into the distance. “Gina, you have to get used to taking a taxi when you’re by yourself. Someone could kidnap you. You can afford a twenty-five dollar cab ride.”
Without thinking, she put her hand on his arm. “I know, Justin, but it’s not easy reordering my life. I’m sophisticated in many ways, and I like to be independent, but I’m used to a simple life, and I like it. I never asked for all of this money, but I’m delighted that I can use Heddy’s money for the betterment of others. But you’re right. I should take a taxi.” A grin floated over her face. “But mainly because my shoes are too tight.”
She laughed aloud at the look of amazement on his face. “See you day after tomorrow.”
“Right,” he said, “and don’t forget we pick up the car that afternoon.”
“I’ll remember. You have a good day tomorrow.” He hailed a cruising taxi, opened the door for her, and when she got in, he closed it and walked on up the street. “This won’t do,” she said aloud.
“What’s that, ma’am?” the driver asked.
“Just thinking aloud.” She gave him the address, sat back and mused over the day. When she got home, Gina prepared to spend her last night as a middle-class woman. She wasn’t going to stress about her new neighbors or wonder about Heddy’s reason for insisting that she live in the building for at least three years. After all, Heddy hadn’t spent much time with those neighbors, at least not in the last six years of her life. She pinched her arm. Yes, she was alive and sane, and her new life was real.
At home, she phoned her aunt Elsa. “Auntie, I’m moving tomorrow, and here’s my new address and phone number. As soon as you can, come to see me, we’ll shop for some really nice fabrics.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing where you live, but I can’t get up there right away. I have a backlog of orders, and you know I don’t turn my work in late. How you making out?” She told her aunt what she had accomplished so far.
“Looks to me as if you either got a prize in that chauffeur or you made the mistake of a lifetime.”
Chills coursed through her veins. “What do you mean by that, Auntie?”
“So far, he’s a blessing, and it looks as if he’s a good man, though looks can be deceiving. He may be the kinda man you fall for, and if you do, you’ll rue the day. Never go for a man who works under or over you, and for goodness’ sake, don’t go to bed with him. If you do, you gotta swing to their rhythm and play the hand that they deal.”
“But, Auntie, I have this strange feeling that his role in my life was preordained. If you were around us, you’d probably think the same. We don’t seem to be controlling this.”
“No? Well, child, you’d better control it. Human beings are not saints, so no matter how good he is or what you think of him, remember that every cowboy wears spurs on his boots, and only one perfect man ever walked this earth. You get my meaning?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be careful,” she said, but if she didn’t stop fantasizing about the man, she wouldn’t want to be careful. She still felt his arms around her and the gentle caress of his fingers when they stroked her shoulder.
She kicked the carpet until her toe ached. If he only knew how badly I need him, she thought. He’s the most decent man I’ve ever known. It would be easier if he didn’t want me. But he does.

Chapter 3
The following morning, Gina walked out of her upper Broadway apartment for the last time, took a taxi to a building on Park Avenue three blocks from the famed Guggenheim Museum, smiled at the doorman and introduced herself.
“I’m Ms. Harkness and, as you know, I’m moving into 17-G this morning. My mover should be here any minute.” Gina looked him in the eye as she spoke to him. “I assume the management has informed you.”
She couldn’t figure out whether he was looking at a tenant or a woman he liked, so she stared at him until he said, “Yes, ma’am. I’ve been informed that you were moving in today, and I must say it’s good to have the owner living here. In the past that has meant we workers get a fair shake, and the building is well managed.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I assure you that there’ll be no change in those respects. Your name is?”
“Carver, Ma’am.”
“How many vacant apartments do we have, Carver?” She wanted to know whether he connected her with Heddy Lloyd.
“Just one, but I’m told there’re five applicants. We rarely get a vacancy, and an apartment doesn’t remain empty any longer than an ad is posted.”
“Thank you, Carver.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. I hope you’ll be happy here.”
She introduced herself to the concierge and went to her apartment. Some thoughtful person had placed a chair near the door, and she put her pocketbook and briefcase on the chair and decided to check on the work she ordered. To her delight, the walls and floors in all the rooms and the kitchen were as she requested. She looked out of the living-room window across the avenue and could hardly believe the beauty that her eyes beheld.
Green trees and the plethora of daffodils, tulips and primroses in a myriad of colors and in well-tended patches brought a gasp from her. The avenue’s parklike center sparkled in its beauty. This was a New York she’d never known. She took a deep breath and went to get her cell phone, hoping that she could capture what she saw in a photograph. She stopped. She hadn’t seen the tiniest shred of paper since she left 125th Street. Her door buzzer rang, and she found it quickly and answered.
“Your movers have arrived. May I send them up?”
“Yes. Of course. Thank you.”
“We have your floor plans, miss. So if you’ll give us some room, we’ll have everything in place shortly.”
She took the chair and her personal things into the kitchen, sat down and took out her cell phone. Her fingers itched to dial Justin’s number, and she had to work hard at restraining them. Why should she miss him so much? At the sound of her cell phone ringing, she nearly sprang from her chair.
“Hello.”
“This is Justin. How’s it going, ma’am? Do you need any help?”
“Hello, Justin. Thanks, but I don’t think so. The movers are putting things in place, and there isn’t much. The bedroom furniture will be delivered this afternoon. I haven’t bought dining-room furnishings and additional things for the living room yet. This place is so big.”
“Do you think you’ll like it?”
“Oh, yes, the avenue is beautiful, and I have a glimpse of Central Park.”
“It’s beautiful after a snowfall, too. Well, I just wanted to know how you’re getting on. I won’t keep you. See you tomorrow at the office. ’Bye.”
“’Bye, Justin, and thanks for calling.”
She hung up, pensive and wondering what her life would be like in a year. Would Justin Whitehead still be a part of her life and, if so, would he be her chauffeur or her lover? He’d called because he cared, and if he denied it, she wouldn’t believe him.

Justin hung up the phone and blew out a long breath. That wasn’t smart, he thought. He hadn’t had a reason for calling Gina, but he needed some contact with her. “I ought to get out of this right now,” he said to himself. He knew he could write that story from the interviews he’d collected. She was so different from all of the people he had interviewed so far. She represented an exception. If he didn’t include her, he knew his story would lose validity.
He got up from his desk and looked out toward the East River. New York is full of women, approachable women, available women. Why the hell do I want this one?
Unable to work, he got into his Jaguar and headed for the probate office. “I need to look at that will and any codicils to it,” he told his friend who worked there. “Can you give me at least ten minutes or can you read it and tell me precisely what Miles Strags’s responsibilities are as executor?”
“I just clarified it for him yesterday. The answer is none. His duties were over when he handed her the will and transferred all the property to her, including keys, stock certificates, deeds and so forth.”
“What about the stipulation that she do certain things for the first three years?”
“If she doesn’t, he can’t force her to, because the will doesn’t say what action he’s to take if she ignores the terms. If he claims any rights or responsibilities, she can sue him for harassment. I can give you ten minutes.”
Justin read as quickly as he could. Satisfied that Miles had no rights where Gina was concerned. Relief spread through him. He wouldn’t tell Gina what he learned, unless it became necessary, for he didn’t want to arouse her suspicion of him. Gina had already observed that Justin didn’t seem like a chauffeur, and around her, he didn’t feel like one.
Unless you want your plans to erupt in your face, you’d better start acting like one, his inner voice said.

Gina sat in her office with the builder, discussing the renovations. “We can do the job over the weekend,” he said, “and you won’t lose two full days from work.” He agreed to put a sink in the pantry area, and to replace the conference room with two offices, one of which would be hers. “We’ll build you a very attractive place here. That reception room could use some paint.”
“All right,” she said. “Make it a dusty-rose, not pink. I don’t like pink walls. The building superintendent will let you in Saturday and Sunday mornings,” she said. “Be sure and bring some ID.”
The man left, and she rushed to the rest room, refreshed her makeup and combed her hair. “I’m going bonkers,” she said to herself. “The man is my chauffeur, for goodness’ sake.”
She made appointments with three prospective donors to the foundation and was about to go out for a cup of coffee, when Justin burst into the office carrying a bag that she knew contained two cups of coffee, if nothing else.
“Good morning, ma’am. How’d it go? I brought you some coffee.” He opened the bag, unfolded a napkin and put a paper cup of coffee and a cranberry scone on it. “Sorry, it couldn’t be fancier.”
If life were normal, she’d hug him, but it wasn’t and she had to content herself with a smile that came from her heart. “This is as fancy as I need. It’s priceless. Thanks. As soon as I swallow some of this coffee, I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Take your time.” He sat down to drink his coffee, and she noticed that he didn’t have a scone. She broke off a piece of hers, put it on a napkin and gave it to him. “Well, it went like this. He’ll do the work according to the plan I showed you, and when we come here Monday morning, it will be ready. I hope you can tolerate dusty-rose in the reception area. I love that color.”
He seemed unusually subdued, but she decided not to dwell on it. “I didn’t want you to share your scone,” he said, “but I’m enjoying it. Thanks. Would you prefer a taxi or a one-way limousine service when we go for the car? We’re picking it up in Queens.”
“If you ask a New York City taxi driver to go farther than a mile, he gets his back up. Let’s take the limousine.” He lifted the receiver, dialed a car service and made a one-o’clock appointment. “Please be on time,” he said.
“Oh dear,” she said. “We should have gone for the Town Car after we shopped for the office furniture. As it is, you won’t be able to park, and you can’t help me choose the furniture.”
As he spoke, what remained of the scone seemed to have his undivided attention. “I’m sure you can do it without me, but if you want me to help, I’ll park in a garage or somewhere. Not to worry.”
She didn’t think his diffidence could be ascribed to modesty, and certainly not to a desire to ingratiate himself with her. He glanced up then and locked his gaze on her for a fleeting second, and she sucked in her breath. She didn’t want to believe what her eyes told her, for in the speed of the moment, she wasn’t sure that it happened at all.
“Will you be able to give me a weekly schedule?” he asked her, though she knew that the question’s purpose was to cover the awkwardness of the silence.
“Of the major things, such as out of town trips, yes, I hope so.”
He looked at his watch. “The guy will be here any second.”
And then, our relationship will change for sure with you behind the wheel and me in the back.
“Will it upset you if I sit in the front seat?” she blurted out.
A frown furrowed his brow, and his skin lost its rich, brilliant hue. “I…uh…Whatever you’re comfortable with, but that’s kind of irregular, isn’t it?”
“Justin, in time, you will learn that the only chauffeurs I’m used to are taxi drivers. If we’re going to be working together all the time, it seems silly for us to follow this ridiculous protocol.”
“It’s not silly, ma’am. It keeps everything between the lines.”
She thought about that for a moment, and it occurred to her that if she sat in the front seat, he might be uncomfortable, so she said, “All right. Forget it.” In her job at Hilliard and Noyes, she supervised half a dozen clerks of which two were men old enough to be her father, so why did she have this foolish reservation about giving Justin Whitehead orders?
“We’d better go. The car’s probably waiting downstairs,” she said.
In the car, Justin sat with the driver, and she wished she could have found a way to avoid having a chauffeur. As they took the exit from the Queensboro Bridge, she made mental comparisons between the poverty and ugliness surrounding her and the beauty and elegance observable from the window of her new Park Avenue apartment. Paper, glass, cans and debris littered the streets, and every building appeared to need attention if not repair. Living quarters shared premises with grocery stores, convenience stores and fish markets. Cars and buses wrestled for right of way and overhead trains rambled along polluting the area with their noise.
New Yorkers lived in separate worlds, and she’d wager that most of the people milling around on Queens Plaza had never set foot on Park Avenue between Forty-third and Ninety-second Streets, the province of the rich. Nor, she suspected, had her new neighbors ever walked on the pavements of Queens Plaza. Did Justin live in such a neighborhood? She didn’t think so. He looked and carried himself as if he knew nothing of poverty. But it was almost second nature to her, for she had lived next door to it most of her life, and before her mother’s death, she’d lived in the midst of it.
The car stopped, and she got out before Justin could open the door for her. He stared down at her. “Are you trying to do my job?”
“Am I…what? Of course not, but I can take just so much of this.” She smiled to take the bite out of her words. “Look.” She pointed to the silver-gray Town Car at the front of the lot. “I wonder if that’s ours.” Why did he stare at her like that?
His expression softened when he grinned. “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” His fingers clasped her arm. “Let’s go inside.”
Fifteen minutes later, she sat in the back seat of her new luxury limousine. “Is there any place along here that we can eat? Getting lunch in Manhattan is always such a big deal.”
“There are some great Chinese and Italian restaurants a few blocks from here. Which would you prefer?”
“How about something Italian? One of these days, I’m going to Florence, Italy. I just love Italian food.”
“That makes two of us.”

Justin brought the car to a halt in front of an Italian restaurant favored by the locals and looked at Gina. “That’s the restaurant, but there’s no parking space. Perhaps you’d like to get out here. I’ll find a place to park and be back in a few minutes.”

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