Almost as an afterthought, he’d mentioned that he had a morning meeting with an important client. If he hadn’t returned by the time she arrived, she was to go directly to Zach’s office, introduce herself and wait for him there.

Shrugging into a raincoat, Zachary moved toward the door. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, burying her hands in her pockets.

Thankfully the restaurant her grandfather had chosen was close by. Without further discussion, they began to walk the few short blocks, although Janine had trouble matching her stride with Zach’s much longer one.

Struggling to keep up with him, Janine studied Zachary Thomas, trying to determine exactly what disturbed her about the man. His height was a good example. He wasn’t tall—under six feet, she guessed—and since she was almost five-eight there wasn’t more than a few inches’ difference between them. Why, then, did he make her feel much shorter?

He must have sensed her scrutiny because he turned and glared at her. Janine gave him a feeble smile, and felt the color rise in her cheeks. Zach’s dismissive glance did nothing to boost her ego. She wasn’t vain, but Janine knew she was attractive. Over the years, plenty of men had told her so, including Brian, the man who’d broken her heart. But she could have warts on her nose for all the notice Zachary Thomas gave her.

If he found the bandanna dress disconcerting, he was probably put off by her hairstyle as well. She wore it short, neatly trimmed in the back with extra-long bangs slanted across her forehead. For years Janine had kept her hair shoulder-length, parted in the middle. One afternoon a few weeks earlier, for no particular reason, she’d decided to have it cut. She was in the mood for something radical and the style she now sported seemed more appropriate to the pages of a fashion magazine. Pam had been crazy about the change, insisting she looked “phenomenal.” Janine wasn’t convinced. Her one comfort was that, given time, her hair would grow back.

Janine suspected Zach had characterized her as flamboyant, if not downright flashy. She, in turn, would describe him as austere and disciplined, perhaps solitary. Her grandfather saw all that, she knew, and a good deal more.

“Mr. Hartman is waiting for you,” the maître d’ informed them when they entered the plush waterfront restaurant. He led them across the thick carpet to a high semicircular booth upholstered in blue velvet.

“Janine, Zach.” Anton Hartman smiled broadly as they approached. The years had been kind to her grandfather. His bearing was still straight and confident, although his hair had grown completely white. His deep blue eyes, only a little faded, were filled with warmth and wisdom. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

“It wasn’t any problem,” Zach answered for both of them before Janine could respond—as if he’d expected her to complain!

Ignoring him, Janine removed her coat and kissed her grandfather’s leathery cheek.

“Janine,” he began, then gasped. “Where did you get that…dress?”