AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Where do you usually like to eat?”
She dismissed most of her usual restaurants. Most of them were sports bars, and those were out. Then there were her standby fast-food joints, which also wouldn’t work. Didn’t she eat anywhere classy?
“Carmen’s,” she blurted, relief washing over her. Carmen’s wouldn’t offend his delicate sensibilities. Not only was it dimly lit, they only played piped-in string music, nothing raucous or jarring. Sam could grieve properly there, and she could spend much of the meal hiding behind the extensive wine menu if she had to. Win-win all around.
“You like Carmen’s?”
“It’s my favorite place. Great food.” She should get him off the phone before she said something wrong. Plus she needed to plow through that morning’s work so she could take an extra-long lunch, one that would give her enough time to head home to change her sweater.
She glanced down at herself. Her skirt wasn’t much of an improvement. It barely reached midthigh. Maybe a pantsuit would be better? Her boss certainly wouldn’t complain. Her Aunt Pam had asked her repeatedly to dress a little more professionally, but she hadn’t listened. Since she hid behind a desk most of the day, she’d gotten away with most of her clothing transgressions.
But it was odd, wasn’t it, that the only person who’d convinced her to adjust her wardrobe was one who hadn’t asked? Who had never even laid eyes on her?
“Okay.” He didn’t sound convinced, but he didn’t argue. “What time?”
Rory looked at the clock on her computer. “Two?”
“All right. How will I know it’s you?”
“I’m average height, spiky dark hair. Big earrings.” She felt around for the gigantic silver triangles at her ears. The earrings would stay.
“What color clothes are you wearing?”
“Black. All black.” The tickle in the back of her throat made her gulp more putrid coffee. “What about you?”
“I’ve got on jeans and a shirt. Blue.”
Jeez, buddy, could ya be a little more descriptive? Light blue? Navy? And what did he look like? Long hair? Short? What color? Did he wear glasses or have facial hair?
Before she could ask any of her burning questions, he muttered something that might have been goodbye—or go to hell, for all she knew. She frowned at the buzz of the dial tone.
Charming.
“Hey, Ror, you going to get through that correspondence today?”
Rory glanced up at her Aunt Pam, who’d camped out in her doorway with her usual scowl. “Of course I will.” As always, she counteracted her aunt’s irritation with sunshine. “I’ll have it done before I have lunch with one of our clients.”
Pamela’s pencil-thin brows rose. “Which client would that be?”
“Sam Miller. He does the romantic billboards every quarter.”
“By the highway.” The closest thing to a dreamy expression Rory had ever seen from her boss flitted over Pam’s face. “Such a beautiful love story.”
“His wife died.”
“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“Me too.” Rory fumbled for her sand dollar necklace and tried to channel the sun and fun of Ibiza. Anything to avoid the tightness in her throat.
“So you invited him to lunch?” Suspicion crept into Pamela’s tone.
“Actually, he invited me. I think maybe he wants to get out of the house.”
She didn’t have a clue why he’d invited her, truthfully, but that reason made as much sense as any other. Surely he couldn’t just want to get her into bed, didn’t assume because she liked to flirt that she was easy. He’d never seen the way she dressed but if he had, he wouldn’t know that she’d lost a ton of weight a few years ago and loved to show off all the sexy clothes she hadn’t felt comfortable wearing before. He also didn’t get that she watched sports and hung out with guys because she genuinely enjoyed them and liked male company.
“Do you really think that’s what he wants from you, Rory?” Her boss shook her head as if Rory was as dumb as the painted rock adorning one corner of her desk.
Aunt Pam didn’t give her time to respond before stalking back to her own cubicle. That was probably a good thing. She really didn’t need to get fired before lunchtime, and if Pamela had stayed, there would’ve been no guarantees.
