Jordan shut the door and locked it with a flourish. She’d survived.

No offense to all her wonderful customers, whose business she appreciated so much, but she thought they’d never get the hell out. She drew the shades on the front windows and looked around the store.

Crap, it was a disaster.

She heard a knock on the door. She walked over, ready to tell whoever it was that the store was closed for the day. Instead, she saw Nick through the glass. She unlocked the door and let him in.

He was still grumbling. “You’re already too skinny,” he said gruffly. “If my mother saw you, she would handcuff you to the kitchen table and make you eat lasagna for a week.” He held up two bags from Portillo’s. “I didn’t know if billionaire heiresses preferred hot dogs, burgers, or Italian beef – I’ll skip the obvious joke there – so I got one of each.”

Jordan went weak in the knees at the sight of the red and white striped bags. Chicago dining at its finest. “Please tell me you have cheese fries in there,” she whispered.

“Yep.”

She nearly ripped the bags out of his hands. “You are a god.”

They chose a table nestled between the wine racks. As Nick unpacked the food, Jordan grabbed an open bottle of zinfandel and poured herself a glass.

“You?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Wine with cheese fries? No thanks.”

“Wine with everything. Because wine means the responsible part of the day is over.” After finishing her pour with a flourish, Jordan checked out her options and decided that billionaire heiresses liked burgers best with their cheese fries. She sighed happily as she took a seat, getting off her feet for the first time in hours. She took a bite of her burger and actually moaned.

Nick gestured with his Italian beef sandwich. “That tops your reaction to the wine we had at Eckhart’s party. The Château Seville or whatever.”

“Sevonne. And nothing beats burgers like this. When I was a kid, we used to get Portillo’s almost every Saturday night.” She took another bite and closed her eyes. “God, I haven’t had this in years.”

When she opened her eyes, she saw Nick watching her intently. “What?”

“It’s just … when you eat and drink, you make these faces that are – ” He stopped himself and exhaled. “Never mind. What were we talking about?”

Jordan pointed to her burger. “Food. Wine.”

He nodded. “Right. So wine means the responsible part of the day is over, huh? That’s catchy. You should put that on a bumper sticker and slap it on the Maserati.”

She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Nick took a sip of his soft drink. “What got you interested in wine, anyway?”

Jordan dipped a French fry into the cheese sauce. “My mom. She was really into wine. When I was in high school, my dad had a skybox at the United Center, and during the summer, he and Kyle would go to Bulls games on weekday nights. He offered to take me, too, but sports” – she made a face – “not really my thing.”

“A travesty.”

“I’d say the same thing about you always passing up good wine.”

“Hmm.” Nick didn’t look convinced.

She continued on with her story. “So on those nights, my mom and I would go out to dinner. She called them our girls’ nights out. She’d let me have a glass of wine with dinner – which, of course, made me feel extremely grown-up. I wasn’t allowed to tell my dad or Kyle about that part. The wine was our secret, something just my mom and I shared.”

She smiled at the memory before taking another sip of wine.

“I’m sorry she never got to see this place,” Nick said gently. “I’m sure she would’ve been very proud.”

Jordan nodded and felt her eyes sting. She cleared her throat and kept things light. “It’s just because I look so good in comparison to Kyle. He’s currently setting the bar very, very low for the Rhodes twins.”

Nick laughed. “I think you look pretty good in comparison to anyone.”

Jordan pulled back in surprise. “Wow. Was that actually a compliment?”

He paused midchew, as if just having realized what he’d said. He took a moment, finished chewing, then shrugged. “Sure. Even I can give my fake girlfriend a compliment when the role requires it.” He winked. “And you should hear me when I whisper sweet nothings.”

“I’m sure it’s a real treat.” Jordan reached for another fry and dipped it into the tub of melted cheesy goodness. “What about you? How did you end up at the FBI?”

“Well, that goes back to the time I was ten years old and thrown in jail,” Nick said.

She laughed. “Ten? Oh, Nick, you little troublemaker. What did you do?”

“My brothers and I broke a couple of windows after this kid called us douchebags. My father, who was an NYPD sergeant at the time, brought us down to the stationhouse and locked us in a cell for six hours. Scared the crap out of us.”

“I bet,” Jordan said with a smile. “Sorry. I’m sure it was quite a traumatic experience.”

Nick stole the cheese fry out of her hand. “Keep mocking me, and I’ll eat every one of these.”

She put on a serious face. “I’m listening.”

“When we got home that night, my dad set my brothers and me down and told us that his actions reflected on the New York Police Department, and that our actions reflected on him. And that he hoped, from that point on, that we would conduct ourselves in a manner that honored the badge he wore.” He paused. “I remember thinking that someday I wanted to have a job that I was just as proud of. And that stuck with me. So I joined the NYPD straight out of college. I liked it enough, but after five years I felt like I wanted more. Which brought me to the FBI. After I graduated from the Academy, they transferred me to Chicago. That was only supposed to be for three years, but I like it here. Having a little bit of distance from my family is not entirely a bad thing.”

Jordan swirled the wine in her glass. “What do they think about you working all these undercover assignments?”

Nick chuckled. “You should hear my mother go on about it.” He adopted a thick New York accent. ” ‘My son, the FBI agent, you think he has time to call with all those big, important cases they assign him to? I could be dead and he wouldn’t know it.’ ”

Jordan laughed, enjoying these rare insights into the real world of Nick McCall. Until now, he’d been somewhat of a mystery. “I bet you miss them all.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Although I try to keep that fact from my brothers. Our relationship is more of the sarcastic, annoy-the-crap-out-of-each-other type.”

“Oh, I think I know the kind,” Jordan said. Her relationship with Kyle wasn’t exactly defined by expressive sentimentality, either.

When they had finished eating, Nick offered to help her clean up the store.

“You don’t have to help me out,” she said. “I was just kidding about that earlier.”

“And let you do all the hard work? If anyone’s watching, my character needs to look like a helpful and supportive boyfriend.”

She tossed him a dishtowel. “In that case, your character can get to work on all these dirty wineglasses.”

Between the two of them, they cleaned up the store quickly. Nick had parked out front, and he drove Jordan the four blocks to her house, where he insisted on walking her to the door. Per usual, she saw him check out the other cars parked on the street.

“Were we followed?” she asked.

“Actually, I don’t think so,” Nick said. “We’re in the clear.”

“Oh, good.” Jordan stopped at the top of the steps. As they stood in the moonlight on her front stoop, it struck her that this had been the first evening she’d spent truly alone with Nick. No private investigators watching them, no friends, no Xander Eckhart and company. Just them.

Almost like an actual date.

“Thanks for dinner and for helping me out tonight.” She paused, struck by the truth of what she was about to say next. “I had a really good time.”