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Her fingers curled into fists, and she gritted her teeth. She’d enjoy the luxurious room on her own. She’d take a bubble bath, order room service, and sleep spread eagle across the bed, with nobody telling her to scoot over. She’d always slept better the nights Sean didn’t stay over, anyway.
Besides, if she returned to her apartment tonight, she’d see her ex’s belongings scattered about and wouldn’t be responsible if each item ended up in the rubbish. Or in the fireplace.
Nope, she was in no position to process all the emotions swirling beneath the righteous anger. She smoothed back her hair and squared her shoulders. She’d go have a cocktail with a handsome stranger and compartmentalize her way through the next few days.
CHAPTER2
Trent Bell was going to murder his three sisters. Slowly, painfully, and with a great deal of pleasure. When they’d hatched their plot and set him up on the latest dating app, he’d laughed and vowed to delete it. Even if he was ready to consider a relationship, meeting women online didn’t appeal.
But when his baby sister Dani batted her innocent brown eyes at him and begged him to go on two or three dates, “just to get out there again,” he’d acquiesced. Anything to get them to stop riding him about his personal life. And here he was, stood up on his first dating effort. Jen––if that was even her name––had agreed on the speakeasy-style bar and had given him her number.
Correction, given him the mysterious Camille’s number. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. If this was the new dating world, staying single didn’t seem too bad. Sure, it had been three years since he’d lost Polly, but who could compare to his college sweetheart, anyway?
Now he’d end up acting as this woman Camille’s therapist tonight––if she showed up––but hey, he’d been doing it for his three younger sisters their whole lives, so why not? He’d chosen one of his favorite bars and if she ditched him too, well, hell, he’d listen to the band playing later and tell his sisters he was one and done.
He savored another sip of whiskey and glanced at the full glass next to him on the white marble-table top. He was probably an idiot for ordering the drink in anticipation of Camille showing up, but he’d drink it if he had to. After all, she’d requested the same Irish whiskey he had ordered.
Trent checked his watch and surveyed the expansive bar with its vintage typewriters, tapestry style drapes, and velvet booths. A striking blonde stepped into the dimly lit room and waved at him. His breath lodged in his throat.
Well hello, Camille.The tall, slender woman strode toward him on long, dangerous legs, her figure showcased in a deep green dress. Shiny straight hair fell past her shoulders, framing an oval face with tip-tilted cat eyes and a wide mouth.
He stood, pulled out the other low-slung chair, and waved her toward the seat. “Your drink is ready.” And that’s the best he had. His throat was uncharacteristically dry, and an unfamiliar frisson of nerves flashed through him.
Camille’s rosy lips curved into a smile, revealing a slight gap between her straight white teeth. “Well, a gentleman who already ordered my drink like I asked. Aren’t you the best?” A hint of warm, floral fragrance floated toward him when she gracefully slid into the chair.
His lips quirked and he raised his glass. “I propose a toast. To wrong numbers and better days.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She tapped her crystal tumbler against his and downed half the whiskey. She closed her eyes for a moment and exhaled a long breath.
When she opened her eyes, they gleamed like jade in the muted lighting. “Thank you, I needed that. So, are you going to tell me your name or are you simply going to be my anonymous guardian angel?”
He chuckled. “Guardian angel?”
She tilted her head, her strawberry blonde hair tumbling over one shoulder. “Well, you texted me a photo holding a drink when I really,reallyneeded some whiskey. You had it waiting for me when I walked in. If that’s not heaven-sent, I don’t know what is.”
“You’ve got a point. I am pretty great, aren’t I?” he joked, feeling more light-hearted than he had in longer than he cared to analyze.
“And modest, too. So come on, name?” She extended her hand across the small table.
“Trent Bell. Pleased to meet you.” He grinned and clasped her cool palm. A jolt of energy sparked through his system. He withdrew his hand, his fingers digging into his thigh. Had she felt it too?
“Seriously, thanks for the whiskey, Trent Bell. I owe you one.” She leaned in closer, her bright gaze sincere.
“You’re welcome. You can buy the next round.”Please let there be a second round. He wanted to get to know Camille.
“You’ve got a deal because I’m going to need more than one to start off this weekend.” She held up an elegant finger. “But I’ve got a few ground rules.”
“Rules? That sounds serious.”
She gave a small smile, which emphasized the narrow cupid’s bow of her upper lip and the fullness of her lower lip. “Not really. But no questions about my ex and no discussion of Christmas plans for next week. Deal?”
His throat tightened. Christmas had lost its luster since Polly died, so Camille’s request worked for him. “Deal.”
Her jaw softened and she picked up her drink. “So, Trent, of all the bars in the city, why did you choose this one for your first date?”
“Hmmm, let me think about it.” He rubbed his jaw. “I love jazz and a great quartet is playing here later tonight. I figured if the date went well, we could stay and listen and if the date was awful, I could stay and listen. Win-win.”
“Efficient.” She gazed around the bustling club and nodded. “I like the vintage vibe in here, it feels like we’ve stepped back in time. And it may be the only place in the city not currently playing Christmas carols.”
