“Her personality or her writing?” I asked.
He laughed. “You’re funny! I never would’ve expected that from a model. Well done you.”
I bit down on my tongue. I had no idea why Jessa had thought this guy would be a good match for me, but I was positive I was going to ask her as soon as I got out of here.
“Who else,” he mused. “Sandra Lansing’s work is a bit of a bore. John Chapman is full of himself. Graham Forrester?—”
I perked up at the name.
“—is not nearly as good as he thinks he is.”
The cheesecake came mercifully quick and I tapped my foot under the table while I waited for him to finish so I could go before he ruined British accents for me forever.
When the check came, he asked if we should split it.
“I’ve got it,” I said.
“Really? I suppose you probably get a discount, or maybe even free meals whenever you go out.”
“Only if I take a picture with the chef.”
“Is that true? Because if that’s the case, I’m dying to try this other place a few blocks down from here. Maybe we could go tomorrow night if you’re free?”
I stared at him.
“No. It’s not true. And I’m not free.”
Jessa was going to get an earful.
“I’m just going to go take care of this,” I said, holding up the bill and getting to my feet.
A few minutes later, the bill settled, I walked outside, not bothering to go back to the table to tell my date our evening was over.
“Hey!” Alex called from behind me. “I didn’t realize you wanted me to meet you out here. Do you live nearby? I was thinking another drink is in order.”
He stepped closer to me, his fingers grazing my arm. I stiffened just as the flash of a camera went off. Fuck. I’d been so distracted by anger, I’d forgotten to go out the back door.
Lowering my head, I turned toward the restaurant.
“I’ll be going home alone tonight,” I said. “I hope you enjoyed your meal.”
“I have another date tomorrow, but if you’re free the night after…”
“No thank you,” I said, and hurried back inside.
Ten minutes later, with a piece of tiramisu in a to-go box, I was in the backseat of a cab headed for home. I pulled out my phone and opened up my text conversation with Jessa.
“I am rescinding your blind date privileges,” I typed.
“Oh no!” she responded immediately. “Tell me.”
We had moved to an actual phone call by the time the cab pulled up to my house, Jessa apologizing profusely for the bad match.
“He always seems so sweet and modest,” she said. “And those looks with that accent…”
“He was sweet and modest. For about one minute. And then he didn’t stop talking about himself, talking badly about other authors, crapping on his readers, and asking if we should split the bill. Oh, and he thought I could afford to eat a dessert or two. This was said after he looked me up and down.”
“What the hell.”
