Our wine arrives, and he does that tasting thing – which I’ve never really understood – and approves the wine. Then we fall silent again.
“I’m curious,” I say to him. “How did you decide to get into the toy software business?”
As he talks, I make a mental list of all the great things about him.
His dark hair is thick and wavy. His face is perfectly symmetrical, and just long enough that he’s good looking but not ridiculously handsome. He has a dimple in his chin. He hasn’t made a single sarcastic comment.
This isn't working. If it was working, I wouldn't be trying to psych myself into liking him.
I just can’t get Blake’s face out of my head. What is wrong with me? Do I only like jerks?
Marshall’s still talking, but it’s blurred into a kind of background noise. My gaze strays across the room and lights on a familiar silhouette.
Blake.
He’s leaning up against the bar, achingly gorgeous in a dark blue linen suit. Henry is sitting on a bar stool, absorbed by something on his phone. And Blake has also brought a date, who’s standing way too close to him. She's brunette, and she's over-the-top beautiful. She’s obnoxiously pretty. Her red sheath dress pours over her slim body like paint. She runs her tongue over her shiny scarlet lips and waves imperiously at the bartender to get his attention.
He brought a freaking date.
I suck in a sharp breath. I really did not know Blake at all. Because this is an absolute dick move. And I can’t even let myself get that mad, because I’m on a date.
"Are you okay?" Marshall asks, his brows drawing together. My attention snaps back to him. My date. "You look, I don't know, funny."
"Funny how? Funny like a clown?" I force myself to smile.
He laughs. "I love that movie. I like movie quotes."
“Me too!” My voice is loud, bright and chirpy, sending desperate “we’re having so much fun!” signals. I shove my chair back abruptly and leap to my feet. "If you'll excuse me, I'm sorry, I need to go to the restroom."
I’m being so weird tonight. I'm apologizing for needing to go to the bathroom? It's a thing people do. They have digestive systems, and when you pour stuff into one end, it has to come out the other end.
I cross the room in aggressive, angry strides. As I do, my treacherous feet lead me in the direction of Blake and his date. The restrooms are in the general direction of the bar, though; it’s not my fault.
Blake swivels around and meets my gaze challengingly. The bartender has just handed the brunette a margarita. I shoulder check her as I pass by, and her drink splatters both her and Blake. Score! Two for the price of one!
"What the hell?" She turns furiously to the blandly handsome blond man who’s just put his credit card on the bar. Paying for her drink. He’s her date. Blake did not bring a date with him. "Roy! Did you see what she just did to me?"
I shrink back, cringingly inwardly. “Sorry,” I mutter, my cheeks burning.
Blake arches an eyebrow. He glances at the lady, then gives me a triumphant smirk.
"My lovely assistant is so sorry. She was raised deep in the jungle by orangutans during her formative years, before she was rescued by missionaries. She is still new to our ways." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card and hands it to her. "You can pick another dress to replace it. It’s on Hudson’s.”
"Really?” Her eyes widen. “Any dress from Hudson’s?”
He nods, flashing her his most charming smile, and the green monster of jealousy rears up inside me again. I reflexively clench my fists to keep from clawing him. Or her. Or anyone within scratching distance.
"Any dress."
She looks at him speculatively. "So you're here alone?" she says hopefully, which earns her an outraged glower from Roy.
"Nope.” He inclines his head at Henry, who looks up briefly, then returns to his phone. He’s doing a crossword puzzle, I see.
"But you didn't bring a date?" she persists.
Blake arches his eyebrows. "Don't make assumptions."
Henry doesn’t look up from his phone, but he gives a slight head-shake of annoyance and rolls his eyes.
“Oh,” she says, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. “I see.”
She looks around for her date, who’s now making his way through the crowd, headed towards the door. “Roy? Where are you going?” she whines, and hurries after him. He doesn’t look back, and he shakes her hand off his arm when she tries to grab him. Oh well. Looks like she just lost a guy but gained a dress.
I don’t even bother asking Blake what he’s doing here. I can’t deal with any more of this hot-and-cold treatment. I have a dinner date to return to, and a doll to collect. Without that doll, I have no job. No fat commissions. No way to pay for my monthly peach jam orders, or Xena’s boarding. I’ve found her a very nice kennel, and it’s insane how much it’s costing me.
I shoot Blake a dirty look and stalk back to the table. Blake follows right on my heels. Henry shoots him a look, then returns his attention to his crossword puzzle.
"What is this?" Marshall demands, his suspicious gaze shooting from Blake to me and back again.
Blake grabs a chair from the table next to ours and plops down.
"I don't know, what is it?” His eyes gleam with malice. “Are we having fun yet?” He shakes his head. “You don't look like you're having fun. Is he fun, Winona?"
Marshall leaps to his feet, throwing down his napkin. He gives me a deeply wounded look. “I asked if you were single,” he says sadly. “Honesty is important. A lot of girls say they like me, or say they’re single, but they’re lying.”
"Marshall!” I protest. “I didn't know he would be here! I am single! I have no idea why Blake is crashing our date!”
“I thought you were the kind of girl who tells the truth.” Marshall shakes his head, turns, and stalks out of the room without another word.
“God, is he a strange one.” Blake scowls at his retreating back. “You’re better off. I don’t know what women see in him.”
“Money, you ass. He’s actually a nice guy, he just has social anxiety. And he knows it. He’s not some smooth, slick womanizer, he’s a guy who wants to find a nice girl. And he’s not the one doing the dumping. Women hit on him because he’s rich, then dump him when they find out how awkward he is.”
“Whatever,” Blake mutters sourly.
“Sir.” Henry’s appeared by Blake’s side. He gestures at my table. “I took the liberty of putting the wine on your tab. Also, I have seen several people surreptitiously taking pictures. You might want to continue this conversation somewhere more private.”
I’m angry at Blake, but I don’t want to provide fodder for the gossip columns. I grab my purse and follow Blake and Henry out the door, to the limo that’s double parked outside.
“Do you mind taking a cab home?” Blake says to Henry. “I need to talk to Winona alone.”
“Yeah, you do,” I glower. I glance at Henry. “Enjoy what’s left of your evening, Henry.”
He favors me with a small smile and a very formal bow. “I shall do my very best.”