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Who knows? He may be very different from what you thought he was. The media never paints a pretty picture of anyone in the spotlight. Surely, those rumors are just that. Unless he’s openly admitted to them.
Sit down, have a meal with him, make sure he knows it’s not a date, and learn who the man is instead of the face you see on magazines, or whatever platform this handsome face graces on the daily.
And let us know how the dinner goes.
She’s right. She always is.
Picking up my phone, I notice a message has come through. I glance at the time it was received, and I realize it was almost an hour ago. How did I miss it?
Opening the app, I tap the message and smile when I see his response.
Colton: My mother taught me well. And at times, I even listened to her. They will arrive every day for the next week, so I hope you have space.
What?
No way.
He could not have bought me a week’s worth of roses. I know he’s trying to win me over, but that’s going overboard. Sighing, I type out my response. Seconds after I hit send, my phone rings.
“Hi.”
“Hello,” he says, his tone light and carefree, and I picture him smiling. There are small creases in the corners of his eyes when he does, and I recall all the times he looked at me with those piercing, teal eyes.
“I can’t believe you did that,” I tell him.
He chuckles a low, throaty sound. “Of course, I did. I told you, Violet.” He pauses, and I can’t help but bask in the way he says my name. “You’re going to see that I’m not just some playboy looking for a good time. I would like one. I mean, when you’re ready.”
“And what makes you think I’m going to be ready?” I test him, but I can’t stop the smile from creeping on my face.
“Darling,” he says in his posh British accent. “You’ll be begging me to take you all the way to heaven and back.”
That makes me laugh out loud, and I glance behind me to make sure Clarissa isn’t standing at the door to her office glaring at me for being on my personal cell phone during work hours.
“Listen, I have to go,” I tell him in a hushed whisper.
“Dinner. Tomorrow. Seven o’clock.” His insistence doesn’t bother me this time. It actually makes me smile, and I’m considering my answer when he continues. “I’ll pick you up with one of those expensive car services, and I’ll have you chauffeured around the city.”
“I’ll let you know after work.” I rush my answer before I say goodbye and hang up. If I don’t, he’ll keep going until he wears me down. But I have a feeling nothing is going to stop Colton King from getting me to go on a date with him.
Dinner.
That’s all it is.
I don’t have to get naked, and he doesn’t either.
Easy enough.
Only, I know nothing’s ever as easy as I think it is.
The moment I walk into my apartment, I kick off my shoes and sigh, feeling the cool laminate flooring under my bare feet. It’s been a long day. After my call with Colton, all hell broke loose with Clarissa and her marketing team.
She called me into the meeting to take minutes. Even though I’m getting a promotion soon, I did it. Writing shorthand is not my forte, and I pray to god I can read what I wrote tomorrow when she asks me for the notes.
I really should’ve taken my iPad into the meeting, then I could’ve just recorded it. But my mind wasn’t in the office; it was far away, on the other side of town, thinking about the shoot Colton was on.
I make a beeline for the kitchen, opening the fridge grabbing a bottle of wine that has been in there since last week. I uncork it, pouring myself a generous glass before heading into the living room.
On my couch, I think back to Ida’s advice. She’s been around since I can remember, and even though I’ve followed her advice to other people most of my life, I haven’t really thought about just how much I need her message.
Perhaps I should consider the offer Colton set on the table and lay down my own boundaries for our dinner. It’s not a date, just like Ida said. I set my glass on the coffee table and pick up my phone to let Colton know I’ll be joining him for dinner tomorrow.
I also make sure he knows—it’s not a date, just dinner.
Now all I need to figure out is what the hell I’m going to wear. I push to my feet and grab my laptop from my bag before sitting cross-legged on my couch and tapping out a response to Ida.
