The Last Man on Earth by Tracy Anne Warren Page A

don’t ruin my clothes in this grease pit,” he said. “Of all the places we could have gone, what on earth made you pick this one?”
    “It’s the only spot I could think of where I could be sure I wouldn’t meet anyone I know.”
    “No chance of that.”
    The restaurant was nearly deserted, only two of the dozen available booths occupied, one by a bushy-browed old man who looked as if he might pass out in his soup any second. In the other sat a middle-aged salesman, his sample case open in the center of the table, a cell phone attached to his ear.
    Madelyn planted her forearms on the scarred Formica tabletop and leaned forward. “I’d never have pegged you for a snob.”
    “I’m not a snob,” he denied. “Just far too knowing.” Places like this reminded him uncomfortably of his youth, how he’d spent it and where. “Next time, I’m doing the choosing,” he told her. “Your pick of rendezvous spots leaves something to be desired.”
    “
Shh
, the waitress is coming. And I haven’t decided for sure if there is going to be a next time.”
    He reached across the table and clasped her hand. “Of course you have or you wouldn’t be here with me now.”
    With a sinking sense of resignation, she realized he was right.
    “Evening, folks. Name’s Nell and I’ll be your server.” The gray-haired waitress slapped two flexible plastic menus onto the center of the table. “You both want somethin’ to drink?”
    “
Hmm
, yes, I’ll have tea. What varieties do you—”
    “We’ll both have coffee,” Zack interrupted. “Cream and sugar for the lady.”
    Nell eyed the pair of them, then turned to Madelyn, the older woman’s chin set in a stubborn square. “That okay with you, sweetie?”
    “Yes, it’s fine.”
    Nell shrugged. “Specials are clam chowder and tuna melt on whole wheat. Be back with that coffee in a jiff.”
    Madelyn waited until she’d gone, then turned on Zack. “That was incredibly rude. Are you always like this when you’re in a bad mood?”
    “Only saving you the misery of lukewarm water and a stale tea bag. I’ve seen that fancy loose-leaf stuff you drink. Believe me, you’re better off with the coffee, especially since I noticed the waitress putting on a fresh pot when we came in. I’d steer clear of the specials as well.” He turned her hand over to stroke the soft skin on her palm.
    “Sorry if I was overbearing.” He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to its center, raising his eyes to hers. “Forgive me?”
    A funny little flutter rose inside her, her palm tingling where he’d touched it. Slowly she drew her hand from his, curling her fingers over the spot as if to hold on to his kiss. “I . . . uh . . . I suppose we should look at the menu.”
    He smiled. “Sure, let’s look.”
    They both ordered hamburgers, although Zack predicted dire consequences for the health of their digestive tracks. While they waited for their food to arrive, he brought up the subject on both their minds.
    “When should we meet? Friday?”
    “No, Friday’s no good,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m trying to finish up the TV spot for Kincaid Brothers this week, and it’s going to be a race to get it done. By the time this weekend arrives, the only thing I’ll want to do is go to bed.”
    She caught the look in his eyes.
    “Alone,”
she added. “And of course you’re still working on Takamuri.”
    An edge had crept into her voice that Zack couldn’t help but notice.
    “Madelyn, about that account—”
    She showed him the flat of her hand. “I don’t want to talk about it. Apologizing now won’t make things better.”
    “Good, since I have nothing to apologize for. But to set the record straight, I didn’t want that account. Fielding insisted I take it.”
    “Oh, of course, Fielding insisted. No doubt while the two of you were swapping fish stories and making deals over lunch in the executive dining room. You’ll remember I didn’t receive an invitation to