Nadine and I had gotten accused of not turning in our reports, even though my e-mail said it sent. I didn’t need any more drama in my life. After yesterday morning’s run-in with Jake, I’d resolved to avoid him at all costs, and walking into his restaurant was pretty much the opposite of that.
Why did my stupid shoe have to get stuck? If I hadn’t lost it, none of this would’ve happened. And why did Mrs. Crabtree have to be so set on the place?
I’d tried to get Nadine to come, too, so I had an extra buffer, but she’d begged off, stating she was swamped between printing off our reports so she could hand a physical copy to Patricia and finishing up one of her smaller jobs.
I took a deep breath and made my way inside.
The entire meal I was on edge, barely nibbling at my food and glancing around every few seconds. Mrs. Crabtree and I finalized plans, and then she gave me updates on her grandchildren.
By some miracle, we’d made it through our meeting without seeing Jake. All we had to do now was slip out and I’d be home free.
“I love the idea about the stripes,” Mrs. Crabtree said as we walked toward the front of the restaurant.
“And that chandelier you picked for the living room is going to look amazing.” I draped my gray peacoat over my arm. It had been a bit breezy today, and I thought it might rain. Colorado was like that. One day you’d think summer had hit, and the next you could see your breath.
Jake rounded the corner, headed my way. I stepped behind Mrs. Crabtree, but even with her puffy, white hair, she was too short to provide good cover. Jake glanced up and our eyes met. I was caught. So I waved, accidentally inviting him over.
“Can’t stay away, I see,” Jake said.
I let out a nervous laugh that made me inwardly cringe. Crap. Why did he mess me up so badly? He was just a guy. A very good-looking guy who’d asked me out. Twice.
I swiped my hair behind my ear. “Hi, Jake. This is Mrs. Crabtree. Mrs. Crabtree, this is Jake. He’s one of the owners of Blue.”
Jake extended his hand to Mrs. Crabtree, flashing that damn charming smile of his. “Nice to meet you.”
Mrs. Crabtree grabbed his hand and shook it enthusiastically. “Oh, I just love this place. You’re doing a great job with it.”
“Thank you so much. As the owner” —Jake shot me an extra-large and extra-smug grin—“that’s so nice to hear.”
I died a little inside, but his teasing also sent a spark of desire through me. As I’d been recently reminded, a guy who didn’t take things too seriously was hard to find, and a good sense of humor was such a turn-on.
But I didn’t do very well with just once, not with guys like Jake. I got sucked in, started thinking this would be the guy who would be different, and ended up missing another piece of my heart.
My defense mechanism clicked in, the same danger warning from yesterday going off in my mind, only stronger. This was a guy who could hurt me. Would if I let him.
He turned back to Mrs. Crabtree. “So, how’d you get Darby to have lunch with you?”
“I’m an interior designer and Mrs. Crabtree’s one of my favorite clients,” I said, kissing up and brushing off in one smooth move.
Jake kept his eyes glued to mine. “You’re saying I need to become a client in order to have dinner with you?”
“I don’t date clients, either.” Another lesson I’d learned the hard way. “And technically, I did help design your place. I assisted on the building we live in.” I tried to tug my coat on, to show him Mrs. Crabtree and I were on our way out. I slid one arm in and reached back to get the other.
Jake turned to Mrs. Crabtree and gave a dramatic sigh. “You see, I keep trying to get Darby to go out with me, and she keeps refusing. Can you believe that?”
Mrs. Crabtree looked from him to me. “I cannot.”
“I come here all the time, and we live in the same building. It would be awkward.” My sleeve was still not cooperating.
Jake grabbed my coat, guiding my arm into the hole I couldn’t seem to find. He leaned down, his breath hitting my neck as he whispered, “More awkward than the obvious chemistry between us?”
Goose bumps traveled across my skin, and I prayed my coat covered them up so he couldn’t see the way he was affecting me. I stepped away, putting some space between us. “Good-bye, Jake. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”
He winked—actually, full-on winked at me! “Count on it.”
…
A couple of blocks from my building, there was a bookstore I frequently killed time in, and I needed something to distract me after a long day at work and the encounter with Jake that I could not. Stop. Thinking about.
I used to read romance novels, but nowadays I went for action-packed and a high body count. I read the back cover of a bright yellow book, decided it wasn’t something I wanted to read, and slipped it back into its place.
When I looked up, I thought I saw Jake.
Trying to get another glimpse, I moved through the aisles. Leaving before he saw me would probably be the smarter option, but I was curious. The types of books he looked at might give me some insight into the guy. Plus, he was nice to look at.
The guy paused in front of a section, and I craned my neck to try to get a better view. He glanced up, toward the top of the shelves, and I was sure it was him. Before he could see me, I ducked behind a stack of books. When I peeked around the shelf, he was coming my way.
Looking for an escape, I hurried down the aisle. Darting out in either direction wasn’t an option—he’d spot me for sure. It looked like he was going to anyway. As he stepped into unobstructed view, I whipped around and snatched a book off the shelf in front of me.
“Darby? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I’m just checking out books.” I glanced at the one I was holding. Somehow, of all the places I could duck into, I’d wound up in the erotica section. In my hands was a book about bondage.
Jake cocked an eyebrow. “Looks interesting.”
My face heated and I shifted my weight to the other foot. “I-it’s for a friend. Not me. I mean, it’s not what you think. My friend’s getting married. Wow, I’m making me really uncomfortable.”
A smile spread across his face. “It’s okay to admit you were stalking me.”
“I’ve gotta go.” I slammed the book back down on the shelf and hurried away.
Right now, I still wasn’t sure which option I truly wanted.
…
Kinky stuff seemed to be the theme of the evening. A politician who’d been caught cheating on his wife was on all the news channels. This particular guy preferred prostitutes. I picked up my TV remote to change the station but found it impossible to look away. Here was this guy holding a giant press conference, and his wife was right there next to him, looking shell-shocked, but still standing by his side.
“I apologize for my actions,” the politician said. “I regret that people’s faith in me has been shaken. I especially regret hurting my family…”
“Oh, admit it,” I said to him, even though he couldn’t hear me. “You just regret getting caught. Otherwise you’d be with a prostitute right now.”
It was disgusting to see him apologize to his wife in a press conference. You know what his wife didn’t want him to do—besides prostitutes, of course? Hold a press conference to apologize. If he were really sorry, he’d apologize to her in a nice private setting where she could slap him across the face and tell him what an ass he
