After Hours.
Theirs was not the kind of relationship in which he felt he could call her up and say, "I'm lonely, talk to me." He'd never really had that kind of relationship with anyone, even Daniel. He would call Daniel when he was lonely, but always with some excuse. He was good at excuses, less good at admitting weakness.
He shouldn't be lonely, he knew. He had a little address book overflowing with affectionate young women whose eagerness to tackle any loneliness he might feel was matched only by their total inability to do so.
As a kid, it had been any port in a storm. The cheapest, weakest beer quenched his thirst as well as the best wine and any smile could make him feel a little warmer in a world with little love to offer, but just as Daniel had taught him to thirst for the stuff with the most digits on the price tag, being around Laura had made him crave the best of company.
It was not difficult to engineer an encounter. He knew where she would be at eight o'clock on a Thursday evening, so he went back to the office and, finding it lit, headed for her lair with a smile as his only defence.
He knocked and went in.
She looked up from the paperwork she was perusing. "Mr Steele?"
He liked that. He loved the way she said it, the tonal equivalent of a cat with sheathed claws, playfully catching the name with a velvet paw and batting it towards him.
"I was passing." he said, "I saw the light."
"On the way to where?" she said.
He picked up a folder and ran his fingers along the edge, looking at her. "Do you really want to know?"
She smiled. She sat back and steepled her fingers. "Concealing something, or merely preserving an air of mystery?"
He grinned and put the folder down. "You're the detective, you tell me."
"I hope there's no elegant woman outside in the limo."
"So do I, Fred can pick up elegant women in his own time." said Steele.
She looked at him, appealingly amused. He loved to bring a smile to her lips. "Well, as you're here, perhaps you'd like to make some coffee."
He leant on the desk. "I had something a little better in mind."
"Oh?" she said.
He winked. "A table at Spago."
"On agency funds?" she said, "I'd rather have take-out ribs."
"I think Adam regretted having those." he said.
"I'm serious." she said, waggling a pen in his direction, "The agency can't afford ... "
He seized the pen. It meant holding her hand and he didn't find that at all regrettable. "The agency isn't paying, I am."
"Why did I just get chills?"
"Close proximity to me?" he said hopefully.
"Is there a reason for this largesse?" she asked.
"Spago always starts with a large S." he said.
"So does suspicion when you're around." she said and she sounded stern, but there was a glow about her fine cheeks and a little glint in those exquisite eyes.
"Have dinner with me, Laura." he said.
She looked down at the paperwork, then up at him. "I don't want to know where the money came from, do I?"
"One should never discuss money on a date, terribly bad form." he said.
"This is a date, is it?" she said.
He went to get her coat. "Entirely up to you." he said.
She stood. "And what exactly are your intentions?" she asked.
He helped her into her coat. "Miss Holt, when a man takes a lady like you to Spago, he doesn't have intentions, only aspirations."
She looked at him and for a moment, he felt he saw a longing to match his own, a desire to talk to someone who cared and understood. He had Daniel and she had Murphy and Bernice and yet each of them seemed, he hoped, to need the other.
"Do I need to change?" she said.
He looked her up and down and then pressed his lips to her hand. "I don't think I could bear it if you did." he said and then he had chills. It was a little too much the truth.