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“I hate closing,” the silver-haired codger growled.
“I know, that’s why I try to always close for you.”
A few unsavory words filtered between another couple of grumbles.
Mick chuckled and kept walking. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Skinner.” He waved to Charlie before slipping out the front door and around the side of the building to his parked truck. Home for a shower a change of clothes and then dinner.
Two hourslater he was standing outside the Boiler Room, waiting for Felicity to appear. He’d already checked inside and they’d informed him she hadn’t arrived yet. He fidgeted with his watch and turned toward the parking lot again. It would’ve been nice to have picked her up at her hotel and brought her, but when he’d called and offered, he’d gotten a text back that she would meet him. A text. Not even a call.Not very old fashioned.Not a bad thing, he just liked taking care of people. Of his date.
“Mick?”
He turned toward the female voice and gulped. Felicity was stepping out of a red mustang, wearing a dress that left nothing to the imagination. The bottom barely came to her upper thigh and the neckline dipped low enough he wondered how anyone in the restaurant would be able to concentrate on eating. She was beautiful—movie-star-red-carpet-over-the-top. Her icy blonde hair was slick and straight like it’d been in the photo Laurel had provided.
“Felicity.” He stepped forward and offered his arm after she handed her keys to the valet. “So nice to finally see you—meet you—in person. How was your drive?”
She slipped her arm into his and flashed him a white smile. “Quiet and long. Somewhere is a little smaller than I imagined, but it’s nice. Quaint, I suppose. Baffles me why Laurel would move to this—” she waved her hand at the street behind her.
“There’s nowhere quite like Somewhere,” he answered, a low chuckle rolling from his chest.
“Ha ha. That’s cute.” Her giggle was sweet, but not Laurel’s laugh. “So Laurel tells me you’re a screen writer and a pretty good one if you won a contest. Tickets to the Oscars. I’m so excited.”
This is what you wanted, Mick. Get a grip. Someone who didn’t know you. Who wouldn’t mock you for your dreams.
“Thank you,” he said, guiding her to the hostess table. The hostess motioned for them to follow and led them to a beautifully set table for two near the front window.
“Will this work for you, sir?”
“This is fine,” Felicity answered before he could even open his mouth. Then unceremoniously seated herself before he could move to pull her chair out.
The hostess met Mick’s gaze with a raised eyebrow. “Your waiter tonight will be Cherie. Here’s a wine list. The chef special tonight is the roasted duck with green peppercorn sauce. Absolutely delicious.”
“Thank you,” Mick said, racing to speak before Felicity decided to dismiss the hostess on her own. He took the list from the young man and offered it to hisdate.
“Laurel said you were a writer,” he asked, attempting to start dialogue with her again. This was the weird part of dating a stranger. Everything felt like an interrogation.
“Oh, yes. I write romantic fiction. I have several books with a New York publisher right now, but I’m looking to go out on my own possibly this year.”
“That’s great. Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” she answered, leaning forward.
He swallowed and tried to keep his eyes from wandering to where her cleavage was precariously attempting to burst free from her dress. Not that Felicity didn’t have nice breasts, but it was difficult to concentrate when all he kept imagining was how Laurel’s nipples had perked up under her wet shirt. He was doomed. Completely and utterly doomed. And poor Felicity and her breasts had come here for nothing.
“So have you been to Hollywood before?” His date took a sip of the water and then smiled pleasantly.
He shook his head and straightened in his chair. “No. You?”
“Yes, I dated an actor for a while. I went to several of his premieres. You’ll love it.”
He chuckled. “Probably not. I enjoy the quiet and space I have right here.”
“Well, Hollywood is definitely not quiet or spacious. Unless you have a gazillion dollars.” She met his gaze confidently, her tone significantly more condescending than he would’ve preferred.
It was obvious she was looking for someone with money. A lot more than he’d probably ever have. Even if he had it, he wouldn’t spend it the way she was talking. He’d be one of those closet rich people that when they died it was a shock to their kids that there was any money to pass on at all. Yep, that was him. Happy with his little place in a quiet non-crowded suburb of Somewhere. No traffic. No fuss. No stress. No surprises in his life…not until Laurel had shown up.
She was a surprise he found he couldn’t quit considering.
“Having a gazillion dollars isn’t really on my wish list.”
