* * *
Monday found me working against a deadline. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky as I looked at the clock, surprised to find it already after five. I’d worked through lunch, and my stomach rumbled. My office phone rang noisily, interrupting my thoughts of food.
Surprised to see the receptionist’s name flashing on the screen, I answered. “Hey, Carrie.”
“Uh, Ellie. MasonfreakingJackson is in reception asking for you,” she whisper-yelled, her typically calm demeanor near frantic. I was fairly sure he could hear her if he was standing right there.
My stomach dropped and heart raced in response. “I’ll be right there,” I murmured after a beat.
I hung my phone up and stood, running my hands nervously through my long dark hair. I didn’t have a mirror, but I knew my cheeks were pink and my green eyes were probably wide with shock. Never in a million years had I expected him to show up at my office.
I walked to the stairs that led to reception on the floor below, grateful I was at least wearing a cute outfit today. We were pretty casual around the office, and I usually wore jeans. But today I was in a wrap dress that accentuated my curves, and heels that I hoped made my legs look long. That’s what Lily always said, anyway.
Somehow, I made it down the staircase on my wobbly knees without face planting and rounded the corner, my heart pounding in my chest.
There he stood, looking gorgeous in dark Levi’s and short-sleeved black tee that stretched over his muscular chest and bulging biceps. His hands were shoved in his pockets as he looked down at the ground before his piercing eyes settled on me when I rounded the corner.
His eyes lit up when he saw me, and it felt like my heart expanded in my chest.
“Hi,” I said, my voice sounding breathless. “What are you doing here?” I cocked my head to the side as he took a step closer.
He grinned, and I was momentarily struck dumb with how gorgeous he was. I’d spent nearly every moment since I’d pulled out of his driveway Friday night convincing myself he wasn’t that handsome, that our connection wasn’t anything special, but now, in the full light of day, it was as though an electric wire sizzled between us and he was even more gorgeous than I’d remembered.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured by way of greeting.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I replied, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. Despite my misgivings, I was happy to see him. Elated might be a better term.
“Well, if I’m lucky I was hoping to take you to dinner,” he explained, his expression warm as his eyes swept over my frame. His eyes heated slightly, and I blushed as it became clear he liked what he saw, a lot.
“Oh?” I asked, hearing the hesitancy in my tone.
He took my hand, pulling me toward the back wall, out of earshot of reception. Carrie was practically going to fall over the desk from leaning in to eavesdrop. “I know I didn’t start this off on a great foot, Ellie,” he began, his large hands gently gripping my upper arms as he stooped to peer into my eyes. “But I swear I’m a good guy, and I like you a lot. It’s been so long since I had fun just hanging out with a woman, a beautiful woman. Just let me take you to dinner. If you don’t want to see me after that, I swear, you’ll never hear from me again. One dinner,” he pressed when I hesitated.
“Okay,” I heard myself say before I could even think. I wanted to have dinner with him. And the fact that he’d gone out of his way to seek me out spoke volumes.
“Okay?” he asked, the relief evident in his tone.
“Yeah.” I smiled shyly. “Let me go get my stuff.”
Not five minutes later, I was walking with him out of the building toward a classic black Camaro. He opened the door for me, and I slid in, taking a fortifying breath. I hadn’t been on a proper date in a long time, much less with someone I was this attracted to.
“Ready?” He grinned over at me as he fired up the engine. The car roared to life, the engine’s deep rumble reverberating through my body.
“Yep,” I nodded. “’67?” I asked, referring to the year of the car. My dad had never discriminated between my brother and me. We both worked on the cars, and we could both throw a fastball, though I was a little rusty these days.
“You know cars?” he asked in disbelief.
“Some.” I shrugged. “And don’t sound so shocked,” I chided him.
“You might just be my dream girl.” He grinned, shooting off from the curb.
“So, how did you figure out where I work?” I asked curiously.
“I have my ways.” He shot a grin in my direction. “There are only so many ad agencies in Denver,” he added.
There were still enough that it must have taken some real time to track me down.
“This place okay?” he asked after we’d parked in front of Fruition, a trendy Denver restaurant that I’d heard of but never been to.
