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mine,” he said humbly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help overhearing you say that Ms. Reynolds won the Newbury Medal. I’m not familiar with that award. Is it a prestigious one?”

      She pressed a hand over her heart. “Oh my, yes! The American Library Association presents it to the author they feel has made the greatest contribution to American literature for children.” She angled her head to smile fondly at Gina. “And this year they’ve chosen our Gina. We’re all so proud of her accomplishment.”

      “I should think so,” he agreed, then turned his attention fully on Gina. “I suppose you’ve been swamped with parties celebrating your success.”

      Color seeped into her cheeks. “Well, no. Not exactly.”

      “An oversight I hope you will allow me to rectify by permitting me to take you out for cocktails.”

      Her face went slack. “Cocktails?”

      “It seems appropriate.”

      “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I couldn’t. I appreciate the invitation, I do, but I need to stay and help Susan clean up from the booksigning.”

      “You’ll do no such thing,” Susan fussed. “You’re our guest. My staff and I will put everything away.” She pushed out her hands, shooing the two toward the store’s entrance. “Go and celebrate,” she ordered Gina. “It’s not everyday you have the opportunity to toast your success with such a handsome man.”

      Henri’s, the restaurant Case had chosen for Gina’s celebration, was not only located near the bookstore, it was reputed to be one of the finest in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. During the weekday, businessmen crowded the interior, networking while partaking in the infamous two-martini-lunch. In the evenings, it was no less busy, as many of those same businessmen returned to entertain their clients, plying them with pepper-crusted tenderloin or smoked salmon—Henri’s signature entrees—accompanied with select wines from Henri’s wine cellar. Friday and Saturday nights a different atmosphere prevailed, one created for couples seeking a quiet, romantic dinner. Gina knew this because her father had often brought her mother to Henri’s on Saturday nights, a ploy he’d used to charm his way back into her good graces, after having ignored her all week. Many of his cronies did the same.

      She stole a glance at Case, wondering if he used Henri’s for that purpose. He wasn’t married, thus had no wife to placate, but he had plenty of lady friends who might feel similarly slighted. She was aware of his bachelor status, as a week rarely passed that his picture didn’t appear in the newspaper’s society section, with a different woman on his arm each time. Trophy dates, eye candy. Whatever a person termed his choice in women, the man obviously didn’t lack for female companionship.

      So why had he insisted upon taking her out for cocktails? she asked herself, studying him beneath her lashes. She didn’t believe for a minute that it was because he wanted to toast her success. Men like Case Fortune did nothing that didn’t benefit themselves in some way and he had nothing to gain from her winning an award.

      Frowning, she continued to scrutinize him as he and the waiter went through the opening-the-champagne-bottle ritual. She hated to admit it, but he was better looking in person than in the photos she’d seen of him in the papers. Razor-cut, dark-brown hair; finely chiseled features. The leather jacket he’d draped over the back of his chair looked Italian, as did his tailored dress shirt. Probably were, she thought with more than a little resentment. He had the money, the style to wear whatever he wanted. Why settle for anything less than the best? Her father certainly never had.

      The reminder of her father was enough to have her glancing at her wristwatch, wondering how long she’d have to stay before she could make a graceful exit. Five minutes? Ten?

      “Your champagne, madam.”

      Startled, she glanced up to find the waiter offering her a flute of champagne. She forced a smile for his benefit and accepted the glass—all the while silently cursing the bookstore manager. With Susan all but pushing her out the door, there was no way she could’ve refused Case’s invitation without appearing rude and ungrateful.

      “To many more Newburys in your future.”

      She looked up to find that Case had his flute lifted in a toast. Murmuring a polite, “thank you,” she took a cautious sip of champagne. She didn’t particularly care for the bubbly beverage. It was her father’s signature drink, reason enough for her to dislike it.

      She shuddered at yet another reminder of her father and set the glass down, knowing Case was the one responsible for bringing him to mind.

      He looked at her in concern. “If you don’t care for the champagne, I can ask the waiter to bring you something else.”

      She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m really not much of a drinker.”

      He nodded, then his expression turned curious. “You know, I’m surprised we haven’t met before. Living in the same town, and all, you’d think our paths would have crossed at some point.”

      She lifted a shoulder. “No surprise, really. I went away to boarding school and college, and only returned to Sioux Falls a couple of years ago.”

      “I guess that explains it,” he said, then smiled. “I do know your father, though. In fact, I’m one of his biggest fans. He’s built Reynolds Refining into a force to be dealt with in the world marketplace. His company is both well managed and financially sound, which says a lot in today’s economy.”

      Bored with the conversation, she looked away. “I wouldn’t know,” she said vaguely.

      “You don’t stay abreast of your father’s business?”

      “No.”

      “Why not?”

      Rather than answer, she glanced at her watch again. “I really should go.”

      He lifted a brow in surprise. “But we haven’t finished our champagne yet.”

      She laid her napkin on the table and gathered her coat. “Like I said, I’m not much of a drinker.”

      Bracing his arms on the table, he leaned to peer at her intently. “I get the distinct impression that you don’t like me.”

      Embarrassed that she hadn’t concealed her feelings better, she avoided his gaze as she pushed her arms through her coat sleeves. “Not you personally,” she said uneasily. “Men like you.”

      “And what kind of man is that?”

      Annoyed that he wouldn’t let the subject drop, she grabbed her purse. “I really do need to go. Thank you for the champagne.”

      He placed a hand over hers, stopping her.

      “I’d like to see you again.”

      His eyes were an incredible blue and fixed on hers with an intensity that she found difficult to look away from. “I-I don’t go out much. My work takes most of my time.”

      “You have to eat, don’t you?”

      “I usually have my meals at my desk.”

      “May I at least call?”

      She panicked for a moment, unable to think of a polite way to refuse, then rose, dragging her hand from his. “Sure,” she said, and forced a smile. “Thanks again for the champagne.”

      Before he could say anything more to delay her, she turned and strode away.

      Case Fortune wouldn’t be calling her, she thought smugly. He couldn’t.

      Her phone number was unlisted.

      “Have you made any progress with the Reynolds merger?”

      Case reared back in his desk chair, stifling a sigh, as his brother Creed took a seat opposite his desk. Although he would’ve preferred his brother hadn’t brought up what was turning out to be a sore subject with him,

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