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Chapter Three
Summer
I don’t knowwhy he’s so insistent I have dinner with him.
Then, I remember the way he looked at me, and a little voice in the back of my mind says, Don’t you?
I’m not experienced with men by any means. I’ve never even had a real kiss, but I’ve seen movies, and I know enough to know that Dane wants me.
Either that or he’s just toying with me like a cat toys with a mouse before it goes in for the kill. Surely he doesn’t just get some sick pleasure out of stringing me along, making me think that he might consider our petition when he knows he won’t.
Even though I’m alone in our apartment since Mom is still at work, my cheeks flush with the memory of how his eyes had raked over me, taking in every detail of me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Although I’d been wearing more this time than I had the first time I’d seen him at the beach, I’d somehow felt even more exposed, like he could see right through my clothing.
I shake my head and try to push all those thoughts aside. I need to be thinking of my “proposal,” as he’d put it. He wants me to tell him my ideas of what he should do with the building instead.
I have no idea. Maybe I should suggest that he fix up the building he currently has. Maybe expand on it to create even more apartments so he can get more tenants. Maybe that would work? Is that the kind of proposal he wants to hear?
I have no idea, and my head is starting to hurt just thinking about it. I feel so young and out of my league. I’m not a confident businesswoman who knows how to do proposals or pitches.
I’m just silly little Summer, a teenager who still plays in the sand and swims in the ocean as much as she can.
I get up and walk over to my meager closet, despairing over what I’m going to wear to dinner with Mr. Rushing tonight. God, the man owns half of the boardwalk, and I’m a penniless nobody. The sad truth of the matter is the yellow dress I’d worn to his office today was the fanciest thing I owned. I had no idea where he planned on taking me for dinner, but something told me a man who wore the types of suits he did wouldn’t be taking me to the local diner where you could get fish and chips for five bucks a plate.
My eyes flick over my cut-off jean shorts, tube tops, and tanks. Those or bikinis with a pair of flip flops are all I ever really wear.
Just as I’m getting ready to say to hell with it and wear my yellow sundress again, there’s a knock at the door.
I open the door and frown when I see a man holding a white box tied with a black bow.
Before I can ask what in the world he’s doing here of all places, he speaks.
“I have a delivery for a Ms. Summer Hatley.”
I gape at him. Mom and I never get deliveries. I mean, never. We can hardly afford stuff at the store, much less stuff that you have to pay for shipping to get.
The man is still standing there, waiting for an answer. I finally manage to respond, “That’s me.”
He holds the package out to me. I take it with numb fingers and vaguely hear him wish me a good day before he spins around and takes off promptly down the hall.
I stand indecisively in the hall for a minute, eyeing the package in my hands like it’s a snake about to bite me.
I walk back into the apartment and open the package, gasping when I move aside the tissue paper and see the garment laying in it.
I lift it gingerly from the box, eyeing the expensive-looking red fabric. It has to be the most beautiful red dress I’ve ever seen. It’s sleeveless with a fitted, corseted waist and a skirt that flares out prettily in contrast. There’s a pair of matching red kitten heels in the box, and I already know who sent it before I read the note.
Wear this tonight. - D
I’m totally unsurprised to see that he issued another command instead of asking me—just like he did with this dinner. He didn’t ask me to go to dinner with him. He commanded it. Like it was inconceivable anyone would disobey him. He simply decreed something, and that was the way it was going to be.
That stubborn, free-spirited part of myself wants to not wear the dress on principle alone, but then I think of how embarrassing it would be to show up in my ratty shorts and a tank top. Plus, I’m hoping to persuade him to not boot all of us out on our asses. Provoking him probably isn’t the way to do that.
My eyes go back to the dress. Plus, it really is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.
I go into the bathroom to take a shower and put on some light makeup before I slip on the dress.
It’s a perfect fit. I don’t know how he managed to get my size so perfectly, but then I think of how closely his eyes had studied me and suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.
I sweep my hair up into what I hope looks like a sophisticated updo. I’ve never been good at styling my hair. I usually just brush it out and wear it long and loose since I’m usually getting it wet in the ocean anyway. When I do pull it up, it’s usually just in a simple ponytail to keep it out of my face when I’m working.
