Responding to the confusion on his face, she explained. “When someone wants a personal library created for their home or office, they call me.”
“Who are your clients?”
“Sorry. That’s privileged information.”
“So not anyone I may have heard of, in other words.”
She chuckled bitterly to herself. What a jerk! “I’m sure you have. Some are NBA ballers. Super Bowl winners. Emmy- and Oscar-nominated actors. Platinum-selling rappers.”
He choked on an oyster.
She contented herself with her salad and waited for him to either recover or keel over. When he could breathe again, he viewed her with uncertain eyes, as if wondering if he’d underestimated her.
She added, “One of my clients owns a Bugatti La Voiture Noire. In his world, Bentleys are like VWs.”
His eyes widened.
She smiled falsely.
He had nothing further to say.
In fact, he remained silent for the rest of the meal. He appeared sullen, too. She guessed he hadn’t cared for her VW remark, but she refused to be bothered by his mood. She was just glad he’d finally stopped talking.
When they finished the meal and the check arrived, he was still grumpy faced.
She asked, “How much was my salad?”
“Why?”
“We didn’t discuss whether this was dutch or not, but I’d like to pay for my food.”
“You don’t think I can afford the bill?”
She sighed. Surely he wasn’t going to pick a fight over something so mundane. “How much?”
“Twenty-five.”
She withdrew two crisp twenties from her wallet and placed them on the table. “Add my change to the tip.”
Glowering, he picked up the bills and stuffed them in his wallet.
Once the server returned with his credit card, he stood. “Let’s go.”
Jas couldn’t wait to be free of him.
Outside, the summer night’s breeze was the highlight of the disastrous evening. Jasmine drew in deep breaths of the cool, fresh air and felt her irritation ease. As she walked with him toward the restaurant’s small, well-lit parking lot, he said, “I won’t be calling for a second date.”
“I wouldn’t answer the phone if you did.”
He stopped. “You really think you’re all that, don’t you?”
“I am. Always have been.”
He looked her up and down. “Then find your own way home. Get your friend with the Bugatti to come get you.”
He stalked off.
Jasmine stared, speechless, and then fury arrived. Cursing under her breath, she turned to head back to the restaurant when a male voice, soft and velvety as the night, said, “You might want to stay a minute and watch the show.”
A tall, dark-skinned man stepped into view, and she froze. Even in the low light, she could see he had the lean, chiseled face of a bearded Black god. Her inner self screamed “Stranger danger!” but he was the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen outside of a magazine or a movie, and she was mesmerized. His short-sleeved black tee showed off sleek, muscled forearms. A silver chain circled low on his throat, and a small silver hoop accented his earlobe.
The power in his eyes was intense, yet gentle. “Watch.”
At that moment, just as Wayman reached his Bentley, a large truck pulled up beside it. A metal ramp slowly descended from the truck’s rear, and three men dressed in black exited the cab. Under the lot’s lights, one of the men handed the startled Wayman a sheet of paper.
“Court order,” the stranger explained to Jasmine.
“For?”
“Repossession of the Bentley. He’s months behind on his payments.”
She covered her mouth to smother her burst of laughter.
“He a friend?” the stranger asked.
“No. Blind date from hell.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Then again, maybe not.”
Jasmine’s startled eyes flew to his. Was he flirting with her? Had to be her imagination, but she was so aware of him standing a few nonthreatening paces away, steady breathing was difficult.
The remaining couples from inside the restaurant stepped out into the night. While they headed for their cars, she refocused on Wayman, now cursing, yelling threats, and angrily jumping up and down like Yosemite Sam in the old cartoons her mother loved. One of the truck’s occupants used a clicker on the Bentley’s door. When he placed his hand on the handle to open it, Wayman punched him low in the back.
The stranger sighed. “Bad move.”
It was indeed. The other two men snatched Wayman up and took him down to the pavement. Hard. Jasmine guessed she should’ve felt some sympathy, but nope.
While Wayman staggered to his feet, and the other diners stopped to stare, the Bentley was steered up the truck’s ramp and secured. The angry Childs could only watch helplessly as his prized possession was driven away. She saw him pull out his phone and place it against his ear. She guessed he’d have to find his own way home too.
“Can I drop you somewhere?” the stranger asked Jasmine, reclaiming her attention.
His voice made her want to say yes, just so she could hear the soothing, sexy tones until sunrise. “No. I’ll call my sister.”
“You sure? My mother raised me to be a gentleman. I’d get you there safely.”
For reasons she couldn’t name, she believed him. However, as fine and gorgeous as he was, he could still be a serial killer. “No, thank you.”
“Understood. Make your call. I’ll wait with you.”
“That isn’t necessary. I can sit inside.” As she said that, the restaurant’s interior went dark. She pulled out her phone. Ten o’clock. The place was closed.
“Call your sister,” he urged softly.
A large black SUV pulled up and stopped beside where they were standing. “My driver,” he explained. “I’ll be here until your sister arrives. Have a nice rest of the evening.”
“Thank you.”
As if not wanting to scare her or make her feel uncomfortable, he walked over to his ride and stood. She called her sister Paris.
It took her twenty minutes to arrive, and until she did, the mystery man stood beside the SUV with his arms folded casually—true to his word. As an overwhelmed Jasmine opened the door of her sister’s Honda, she glanced his way. He gave her an almost imperceptible farewell nod, and she did the same.
When her sister pulled off, Jasmine turned around in her seat and saw him watching their departure before he got into the SUV and it drove away.
Paris asked, “Don’t tell me that fine man was the date from hell?”
She’d given her sister a thumbnail version of her date with Childs during their phone call. “No, but I think I just had a meet-cute.” Jasmine and her three sisters were big romance readers.
Paris laughed. “It’s about damn time. Okay. Start from the beginning.”
Later, Jas slid into bed and thought back on the evening. She never wanted to see or hear from Wayman Childs again. When she and Paris had driven off, he’d still been in the parking lot, phone to his ear. She hoped he’d wound up walking home. It was a good thing the matchmaking Terri, with her Grammy Award–winning self, was in Asia touring, otherwise Jasmine would be pounding on her condo’s door right now so she could cut up their Friends card. Instead, she sent her a text promising an ass kicking once Terri returned to Detroit for putting Wayman the Jerk into Jas’s life. She and Terri had been joined at the hip since middle school, so Jas should’ve known better than to agree to the blind date. Terri had been married and divorced three times. She had terrible instincts when it came to men.