“No, not swooning. This isn’t some Victorian melodrama. I’m not carrying smelling salts around.”
“Maybe you need to.”
“Wow, I’m so glad we’re spending time together.” I shove a piece of bacon into my mouth and chew obnoxiously. It gets on her nerves, which is obviously why I’m doing it.
“Could you not?”
“What? I’m only eating.”
“You’re such a baby sometimes. I mean, I love you, but we both know you’re a hopeless romantic, and we also both know you wouldn’t mind getting serious with somebody. Every time you start dating somebody new, there’s always this hope that this could be the one that works out. Don’t tell me I’m wrong.”
“I won’t because you aren’t.”
“I’m just saying, be careful. Take care of your heart. It’s a pretty nice heart, and I like it. I don’t want you getting all wrapped up in somebody so fast. Especially these really wealthy, business-minded people. You know they’re on a whole other level.
“He’s super handsome, super hot, and super wealthy, according to a quick skim of that article in Forbes. And from what you’re telling me about him, he’s also super awesome. Just the sort of guy who’s easy to fall for.”
I look down at my drink, stirring around what’s left. “Why did I think a Bloody Mary and banana pancakes were a good combination?”
“Beats me.”
Still staring, I admit, “Maybe I want to fall for somebody. This is, what, my seventh trope? That’s seven guys I’ve dated in roughly a year. I’m bound to get a little black and blue. I’m bound to want to settle into something more with one of them. Why not Paxton?”
“Listen, I don’t blame you. Just … maybe wait until after you go on an actual date together. It’s one thing for us to drool over how good he looks in a pair of jeans and a cowboy hat—by the way, if there’s ever an excuse to get him wearing nothing but those two things, you need to somehow manage to take a picture and send it to me, thanks in advance—and another for you to get all dreamy-eyed because he kept you from getting into a fistfight at a major fundraising event.”
She’s right. I know it.
“I will take your advice into consideration, Counselor.”
And I do. All throughout the day, as I do my nails and curl my hair and try hard not to be too nervous, I remind myself to look at this in a big-picture sort of way. This is just one date. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.
I mean, sure, he made me laugh. We’re into the same sorts of movies.
And he has a pair of brown eyes I could sink into and never surface.
And, God, he’s so tall! I never knew I had such a thing for tall men. Amazing, the things a girl can learn about herself when she’s forced to date for the sake of her career.
It’s with his height in mind that I slide into a pair of ambitious heels. They’re a lot higher than anything I’ve worn recently—a solid four inches. Even that will put me half a foot shorter than him, but it will at least make things a little less awkward if he should, you know, decide to kiss me. Repeatedly.
Not that I have my hopes up or anything like that.
I have the ankle strap to the second shoe in place when there’s a knock at the door. My heart just about jumps out of my chest, and instantly, I hate what I’m wearing.
Another knock. “Kitty?”
Oh, crap times two. It’s Sunday night!
The only thing that keeps me from slapping my forehead as I hurry to the door—carefully tottering on these ridiculous heels—is knowing I’ll leave a red mark on my head and Paxton will be here any minute.
When I open the door, Matt whistles as he takes in the full sight of me. “Wow. I didn’t know our Sunday night takeout and TV watching got so fancy. I would’ve dressed up a little.”
True, compared to my black dress and stilettos, his T-shirt and cargo shorts don’t quite match up.
“I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “You forgot? I mean, this is something we’ve been doing on Sunday nights for weeks.”
“I know; I know. But things got crazy last night. I made a date for tonight with my new book subject, and I forgot it’s Sunday and this is our thing.”
“It got crazy at a charity ball? Man, I thought the bachelor auction was something. Maybe I need to go to more of these events.”
“I really am sorry.”
He shrugs, grinning. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just one night. If anything, I could catch up on some work.”
I wag a finger at him. “Uh-oh. I think you’re working too hard.”
“I’ll try not to make a habit of it.” He follows me into the apartment, where I continue to get my stuff together. “So, who is this guy?”
“I met him last night at the ball.” I have to laugh at myself. “Doesn’t that sound weird? I met him at a ball.”
“So, he’s the next guy you’re writing about?”
“I hope so anyway.” I look up from my purse and hold up crossed fingers.
“You know, maybe I’ll go out tonight. Maybe I need to mix things up a bit. I’ve been spending too much time at home.”
I look back at him while going through my purse to make sure I have what I need. Where’s my lip gloss? “That’s a good idea.”
“You think so?”
“Sure! Why wouldn’t I?” I look at him again and find him frowning. “What’s wrong?”
“Hello?” There’s a rap against the still-open door.
Matt and I both turn in time to see Paxton cautiously entering the apartment.
And, gosh, he looks so good that I forget to breathe all over again. Just like I did when I was looking at the pictures on Hayley’s phone. Now, he’s wearing a dark suit, the collar of his white shirt opened to reveal just a hint of tanned chest.
“Hi!” I squeak like a mouse. Great, not the most confident way for that to come out.
He smiles, completely dazzling me. “Hey there. Sorry I’m a little early.”
“Don’t worry about it. Punctuality is important, right?”
To my horror, Matt snickers. “Did you just figure that out?”
I shoot him a warning glare from behind Paxton as the two men approach each other. “This is my friend, Matt Ryder. He lives across the hall.”
Did I emphasize the word friend a little too much? Maybe. But it’s important to clarify things like that in times like this—when two men are eyeing each other as warily as these two are right now.
I swear, if he screws this up for me …
Paxton extends a hand. “Good to meet you. Paxton Cleary.”
Something in Matt’s face shifts. A muscle twitch, the slight flaring of his nostrils. “Cleary Oil, right?”
“You’re familiar with us.”
“Matt is a manager for a lot of high-profile clients and their investment portfolios,” I explain.
Matt nods. “Sure, your name’s been tossed around a lot lately.”
Paxton pretends to wince and then chuckles. Almost. “So long as you aren’t advising your clients to dump us.”