Free The Question by Zena Wynn Page B

see your point, but you’d make more money as a lawyer.”
    Gail threw back her head laughed.  “Money isn’t everything. Besides, with the hours you put in on a case, who’s really making more? I have a job I’m happy with. That’s important to me.  All the money in the world wouldn’t mean a thing if I hated what I was doing.”
    “That’s one thing I like about you. Most women look at me and see dollar signs. Not you. You’re the first woman in a long time to make me work for a date. Most throw themselves at me at the slightest sign of interest on my part.”
    Gail reached out a hand and touched his face briefly, causing his eyes to widen in surprise. “Are you sure it’s your money they’re attracted to? You’re a very handsome man.”
    Greg was the very embodiment of tall, dark, and handsome. If he weren’t a lawyer, he could make a killing modeling, with his tanned skin, black hair, and deep, dark eyes. His hair was too long to fit his conservative profession, and he wore it pulled back into a short, curly queue at the nape of his neck. In one ear, he wore a diamond stud, giving him a rakish look. He looked like the playboy that he was, and she’d seen women fall all over themselves trying to attract his attention.
    He grasped her hand as she drew it back and held it in his own on the table.  “It’s nice to know you find me attractive. You brushed me off so many times that I was beginning to think you were immune to my charms. Either that or I was the wrong color. Is that a problem for you?”
    “You mean the fact that you’re white and I’m not?” He nodded. “No, not really. I’ve never dated outside of my race before, so this will be really different for me. But in this instance, that’s a good thing. At least I won’t be mentally comparing you to Jason at every turn.”  Jason had been African-American like herself with a dark complexion. She used to refer to him as her Hershey bar.
    “The last thing I want is to be compared to another man, especially your sainted, deceased husband.”  Greg released her hand and sat back as the first course was served.
    “Sainted?” she echoed sharply.
    “You know what I mean. Your husband was a good man. Even if he wasn’t, death tends to lessen people’s memory of the bad, humanizing things of the decease’s nature and they remember only the good, elevating the deceased to a sainted status. There is no way that I could compete. I’d always fall short.”
    Gail’s mouth gaped as her fork hung in mid-air over her food. “You’re right. I never thought of it that way. We’re taught as children not to speak ill of the dead, whether they deserved it or not. I knew plenty women who wouldn’t date a widower, for the reason you just cited. Although I’m a widow and in a better position to understand someone else’s pain, I still would have to think twice about accepting an invitation from one,” Gail was able to admit.
    “Fortunately for you, accepting other men’s invitations is not something you have to worry about.” His look challenged her to disagree with his claim of exclusive rights to her company.
    She let the challenge pass, not willing to make it an issue, especially not on a first date. She’d wait and see what happened when and if an invitation from another man presented itself. For the rest of the meal, they spoke of mundane things—happenings at the office, mutual acquaintances of which Gail discovered were many, and general things men and women discussed when trying to establish a relationship apart from the office.
    The evening was fun and relaxing. Greg was good company. When they finished their meal, they strolled along the Riverwalk, enjoying the breeze coming off the river. The city was pretty at night.  They sat for a while at Friendship Fountain before deciding it was time to call it a night. Gail reminded him that they both had to go to work the next morning, and it was getting late.
    Greg took her home after