“That sounds wonderful,” I have to admit, and it does. It sounds too good to be true actually. Dinner with Blake Marlin. Talk about the sort of situation a girl only dreams about.
“Great. I’ll give you a call,” he promises as we pull up in front of my building.
Darn it, that was a quick ride. I could easily spend another hour sitting here, talking with him. Longer than that if given the opportunity.
But I do need to get upstairs and ice my knees, and he needs to get to his mom’s. How adorable is he?
“I insist,” he says as he helps me up the stairs.
I don’t even have it in me to argue. Not only is he my knight in shining armor, but without his help, I also would’ve had to crawl up on my butt like a baby learning how to walk.
When he leaves me standing by my door, whistling as he jogs down the stairs, I wonder if I’ll have it in me to date anybody else after Blake Marlin. Because I could see myself falling for him.
And to think, I didn’t have to toss my hair once.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Whew!”
I didn’t even hear Matt enter the hallway behind me, probably because my heart’s pounding out of my chest and I’m trying really hard to keep myself from sweating the makeup off my face.
It’s not hot in the hallway.
It’s that I’m on my way out to meet up with Blake. I’m surprised I’ve slept at all in the last three days, obsessing over every last detail. How to do my hair and makeup, whether to get my nails done, what to wear. Especially what to wear.
I settled on a classic Audrey Hepburn effect, a little black dress and heels—my knees are in much better shape after three days of rest, so I can wear the Pradas I save for special occasions. My grandmother’s pearls are at my throat and ears, and my long, loose waves are swept over one eye and down one shoulder.
What I don’t need right now is a commentary on how I look, but something tells me that’s what I’m going to get.
“Don’t you look special?” He grins when I turn away from locking my door. “What’s the occasion?”
“I’m going out to dinner.” I shrug. “No big deal.”
“No big deal. You’re serious?” He looks me up and down in a very obvious way, and I find myself liking him less than I did last week. Probably because I don’t enjoy being teased the way Matt’s teasing me now.
“What about it? Just because I’m not drunk on Patrón and stripping my puke-stained clothes, you don’t know what to think?” See? I can laugh at myself. “I’m not always such a mess.”
“I wasn’t trying to say you were.” He laughs. “Boy, you’re touchy tonight. Yet another reason I know this is a special event. You’re nervous. Tense.”
“Wasn’t it you who said I should be a detective rather than a writer?” I smile, though my teeth are clenched. “Because you’re showing some skills yourself.”
“Cute.” He snickers. “Anyway, I just wanted to say you look nice. That’s it. Because you do.”
“Thank you,” I sigh.
I shouldn’t be so snappy. He does live across the hall and everything, and he was awfully sweet to me when he could’ve been anything but.
“I’d better get going. I don’t want to be late.”
“For your date,” he calls out behind me as I start down the stairs.
“Not a date!” I lie over my shoulder.
“Yeah, okay.” His laughter follows me all the way down.
Why do I feel the need to lie about what this is all about? I have no idea. Because it’s certainly a date. Just because I’m doing it in hopes of writing a book the publisher will actually want to buy has nothing to do with it.
If anything, I reason as I walk out to the curb, I can laugh about this in the future. How I ended up meeting Blake after a professional disappointment. It’s written in the stars, our finding each other. If it hadn’t been for the market being the way it was, we would never have had a reason to cross paths.
Well, the market and whoever knocked me over at the hotel.
“Oh, there you are.”
I turn in surprise at the sound of a deep voice and find Blake walking toward me with a bouquet of red roses in one hand. My favorite. He couldn’t have known that, of course, but the fact that he was thoughtful enough to bring flowers just about melts me into a puddle.
And boy, howdy, is he looking good. He’s wearing a dark blue suit with a starched white shirt underneath, unbuttoned at the top. I can smell that cologne of his, even at a distance, thanks to the breeze blowing my way from behind him. Gosh, he’s overwhelming.
“Hi! I’m sorry. I thought we were meeting at the restaurant.”
“I should’ve been clearer. I want to take you there for dinner, but of course, I planned to pick you up. I’m not the best at communication,” he admits with a boyish grin. “Ironic, I guess, considering what I do.”
“It’s okay. And these are beautiful,” I add, indicating the roses.
“Oh, these? They’re not for you.”
“Oh,” I whisper.
He bursts out laughing and hands them to me. “Of course they’re for you.”
“You probably think I’m slow on the uptake, huh?”
Maybe if I bury my face in these flowers, he won’t notice how embarrassed I am. I need to remind myself that he’s a normal person. Just a guy. I don’t have to be so self-conscious around him.
Should my heroine be self-conscious too? Yes, if she’s a normal girl, and he’s her billionaire boss …
Now’s not the time, Kitty. Right. I can think about the writing later.
Now, I’m standing in front of what is essentially a unicorn. He’s utter perfection. I can’t allow myself to get lost in the future and lose what I have in front of me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, breathing deep.
The flowers are lush, the biggest I’ve ever seen, and almost unbelievably red.
In other words, I don’t think he got them from around the block or at a gas station. This wasn’t a last-minute purchase.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, leading me to the car. It’s not a limousine this time, just a regular old town car, but there’s still a driver involved.
“I wasn’t able to eat a bite all day,” I confess as I slide into the car.
“Oh, that busy?” he asks.
“Sure was.” Lies and more lies. I was too busy freaking out about what tonight would be like. My stomach could barely handle water. But I’ll let him think I was busy working my fingers to the bone.
He joins me, climbing in on the other side, and nods like he understands too well. “The price of being successful. It’s been a long time since I’ve met a woman who knows the feeling. There’s this misconception out there that when a person has enough … wealth, they can sit around and twiddle their thumbs all day. How do they think that wealth was earned, you know?”
“But you earned it,” I point out with a gentle smile. “You didn’t inherit it. Maybe that’s the problem. They assume you didn’t work for it.”
“Now, how do you know I didn’t inherit my money?” he asks with a smirk. “I don’t exactly go around, bragging about my life. I can’t stand braggarts, honestly.”