Falling Angel (5 page)

“I’m good. Loving this weather.”

It had turned warm and sunny overnight, and Seattle was showing off the brilliant greens that caused it to be named the Emerald City.

“Me too,” David said. “I just hope it lasts through the weekend. My friend promised to take me out on his yacht if it’s fine. Do you have any plans?”

He counted the crisp bills into her hand with practiced ease.

Cara pulled out her purse and stashed the money safely inside. “Nothing big, no. Though I am planning a trip to the mall to buy a new outfit.”

David raised his eyebrows. “Is there a special occasion coming up?”

“It’s my birthday next weekend, and I’m going to buy myself a dress. I’m turning twenty four,” she confided.

“That’s nothing,” David said. “I remember when I turned thirty last year, I thought that suddenly I had to get serious about everything. There was no more time for slacking off.”

“I know what you mean.”

“At any rate, though, a birthday is a time to celebrate. Are you having a party?”

“I’m helping to put together a huge birthday bash for someone else, so I will be at a party, only not my own.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Actually, I’m looking forward to it. I don’t think I’d be comfortable if everyone were making such a fuss about me. This way I can still celebrate, only without a spotlight.”

“Still,” said David, “it doesn’t seem fair you have to work on your birthday.” He looked at her with frank brown eyes. “How about we meet up for a bite to eat after work tomorrow, to celebrate? Is that low-key enough for you?”

Cara laughed. “Sure,” she said. “That would be nice.”

She left the bank, feeling slightly dazed. Was David asking her out, or just being friendly? She had no plans for Friday, and it would be fun to go out after all her hard work during the week. David seemed like a nice guy, and spending a couple of hours with another man would help put the thought of Ben Kilpatrick out of her mind. Not that she’d been thinking about him. Not much, anyway. If only she’d found that business card, she could have called him to apologize, and the whole experience would be over and done with. She would have achieved closure. Cara sighed as she slid behind the wheel and programmed the GPS to direct her to the Fairmont Hotel. Perhaps it was better not to call him, after all. Perhaps losing the business card was a sign that she should put the whole incident out of her mind. No doubt Ben had already written her off as a flaky girl who’d fallen into his life long enough to share a meal before disappearing forever. It would be an amusing story to tell his friends about.

At The Fairmont Hotel, the caterer informed her that the fresh wild Copper River salmon she had selected for the entrée was out of season, and worked with her to select another option. After lunch, she spent a long time with the florist, attempting to match the flower arrangements to the dining room décor. They finally settled on blue and purple hyacinths and yellow tulips with salal greenery for the tables, arrayed in the restaurant’s own crystal cut vases. An effusive combination of white lilies, purple and yellow iris, and green bells of Ireland would compose the larger displays.  Caught up in the minutiae of party plans, Cara happily put all thoughts of Ben and David out of her mind until she was in the car again, on her way to the videographer’s studio. It would be fun to see David after work on Friday. She wondered whether he would let loose a little at the restaurant. He was always so buttoned up and professional at the bank. Perhaps another side to him would be unleashed with the aid of a drink or two. As she pulled into the driveway of the studio, her thoughts turned back to Ben. It was silly, but she couldn’t help feeling that she needed to contact him again. She didn’t want him to think that she disliked him, or that he had offended her. I should just look up his number and call him, she thought. But a warning bell sounded in her head. If she called to apologize and explain her sudden departure from his apartment, what was to stop him from thinking she wanted to see him again? And what if he were right?

Chapter Four

Ben applied primer to the oversize canvas with meditative strokes. He had woken at dawn and gone directly to his studio. It took all morning to miter and assemble the 6-foot long frame and staple the thick linen canvas to it.

Ben always preferred to construct his own canvases when he had the time. It wasn’t the act of painting alone that interested him. The entire process - from initial conception and preliminary sketches to assembling the canvas and mixing the paints - was completely absorbing. Whether working on a painting, a sculpture, or a functional pottery piece, it was the melding of art and craft that Ben found primally satisfying.

After five years in the Pacific Northwest, Ben had made a name for himself and was working steadily as a professional artist. Although he maintained a teaching position at the Institute of Contemporary Art on Capitol Hill, he no longer had to rely on the supplemental income generated from the part-time job. He kept it because he enjoyed the regular contact with students and faculty, and because he often learned new things by teaching others. Finishing the first coat, Ben set the canvas on the window ledge to dry.

Today, however, it was more than excitement over the new commission – an abstract painting for a downtown federal administration building – that fueled him. Even as he moved to his drafting board to consult the sketches for the project, the image of the gorgeous woman who had unexpectedly fallen through his front door, before departing with equal suddenness, was foremost in his mind. Who was she, where had she come from, and, most importantly, where had she gone?

He poured himself a cup of coffee and walked out onto the balcony.

The view of the Puget Sound beyond the Alaskan Way Viaduct was inspiring, even with its glory muted by the roar of traffic below. On a sunny day like today, the water sparkled like thousands of cut sapphires, partially enclosed by the green belt of West Seattle curving around to the right, and, further out, the shoreline of Vashon Island. In the distance, he could make out the austere, white-capped peaks of the Olympic Mountain range, only visible on clear days. A seaplane soared overhead above the circling seagulls.

She was a knockout in the looks department, he thought, taking a gulp of coffee and grimacing at the bitterness. Model-thin, with long legs, small, pert breasts, and a cascade of golden hair. Her face, with its wide-spaced blue eyes, snub nose, and full lips held a childlike innocence. On it, he could clearly read her every emotion, from embarrassment to pleasure to stubbornness. Her vulnerability definitely brought out his protective side. He’d always been a sucker for a damsel in distress. Which, he reminded himself cynically, usually ended up getting him into trouble.

At thirty four, Ben no longer wasted his time with women who weren’t straight with him and didn’t know their own mind. Cara, with her half-baked ideas regarding the dos and don’ts of relationships, was the last person he needed to get involved with.

After the failures of his last two relationships, both with strong-willed career women who put their own needs first at all times, Ben had made the decision to do the same himself. Given the creative and administrative demands of his work, he didn’t have the time or emotional energy to invest in another doomed romance. Sure, he’d dated casually since then. But the moment a woman hinted she was interested in more than an intimate friendship, Ben extricated himself from the relationship as gently as possible.

Something about Cara’s combination of intelligence, beauty and vulnerability had moved him. The way she appeared, laid out on his welcome mat like a special delivery, made him question whether their encounter was more than chance. Not that he believed in fate or predestination. But serendipity had played an important role in his life on more than one occasion.

Ben returned to his painting, consoling himself with the thought that if Cara decided she wanted to see him again, she had his card and knew where to find him. He reflected that it was probably for the best that he had no way to get in touch with her, even if he’d wanted to. He didn’t know where she worked or lived. He didn’t even know her last name.

.   .   .

On Friday, Cara walked briskly down Madison Street toward The Loft restaurant where she was to meet David. At the entrance, she pushed through the wooden saloon-style doors and surveyed the crowded room. David was already seated at a booth and waved her over. She slid in across from him. He was dressed casually in blue jeans, a khaki polo shirt and blue blazer. He was wearing glasses, which gave him an appealing intellectual look. Cara was glad that she had changed out of her work suit into a pair of brown corduroys and a white sweater.

“It’s busy here,” she said. “But I see you’ve already been served.” She nodded at the pitcher of beer on the table.

“They’re very efficient,” he said. “I come here at least once a week with my colleagues. It’s a great place to network. Hope you like Alaskan Amber.” He poured her a glass. “I also ordered us a plate of onion rings.”

“Great.” Cara forced a perky smile although she hated deep-fried food. It made her face break out. Beer wasn’t exactly her favorite, either; she much preferred white wine. More than one glass of the bloating brew and she’d definitely have to undo the top button of her pants. Still, she reminded herself, it was nice of David to order for them on such a busy night.

“How long have you worked at the bank?”

“Since getting my BA in economics from Washington State. I’ve worked my way up over the past seven years. Got my student loans paid off. Bought my car with cash.” David pulled off his glasses and polished them methodically. “Once I get my MBA I expect to be promoted to branch manager. I’m already there, in terms of my experience and ability. Now all I need is the piece of paper to prove it.”

“So you’re planning to go back to school?”

“Not planning to. I’m enrolled in the MBA program at the University of Washington. Go there nights and weekends.”

“That’s great.”

“It’s a lot of work, but I figure now’s the time, while I’m relatively young and unencumbered.” David smiled. “It’s all part of my plan to make my first million before I turn forty.”

Cara laughed. “Are you serious?”

David didn’t smile. “To quote Donald Trump, one of my personal mentors: ‘Life is a game, and money is how we keep score,’” Replacing his glasses, he rested his chin on his hands and gazed levelly at her. “Don’t you agree?”

Cara shrugged. “Well, certainly money is important, in terms of personal comfort, and I, yes, I guess I agree.” Cara had to admit that David’s statement was perfectly in keeping with her own resolve to date only wealthy men, or those aspiring to wealth. So why did she feel so squeamish about agreeing with him? “I mean, obviously there are other things that are important, too. Like how you play the game, for instance.”

“Of course,” David said. “I’m a firm believer in ethical business practices.”

The onion rings arrived, with a side of ranch dressing. David bit one open and steam rose into the air. “Help yourself,” he said, gesturing to the plate. Not wanting to appear rude, Cara picked the smallest of the hot and greasy rings and nibbled on the breading. 

“So, what do you like to do for fun?”

Cara started to speak, and then faltered. Gardening and reading sounded so boring. She wished she had taken up something more daring, like scuba diving or rock climbing. “I like hiking,” she ventured.

David appeared unconcerned by her lack of interest in extreme sports. “So you’re an outdoor type.”

“I suppose.”

“Me too. On the weekends I like to golf. I have a five handicap.”

“Wow.” Cara tried to look impressed, though she had no idea what he was talking about.