Hiring Mr. Darcy - Valerie Bowman Page 0,19

my glasses popped up and down on my nose. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, smiling and revealing his perfectly even white teeth again. Jeremy had obviously had braces too, unless he’d been born with teeth like that, which seemed both highly unlikely and extremely unfair. Regardless, I certainly had never noticed his teeth when we were kids, and it made me uncomfortable that I was noticing them now. Teeth had nothing to do with business. Teeth were personal.

“I didn’t expect you so soon,” I replied, glancing at my phone to see what time it was. Precisely five minutes after six. He’d really meant it when he’d said he’d be five minutes late. Hmm. I’d misjudged him.

“Yeah, sorry about that.” He slid into the opposite side of the booth. “There was a dog in the road, and I had to stop traffic to save her.”

My jaw dropped open. “A dog? In the road?”

“Yep, a scruffy little mutt. Cute little thing.”

I blinked. “Did you save her?”

“Yep. Her owner came running over to thank me. Apparently, the dog’s an escape artist. Dug under the fence in her yard.”

I took a contemplative sip of my Sprite. The man was precisely five minutes late because he’d stopped to save a dog from traffic? Was he some sort of a saint? I felt like a jerk for judging him.

He was wearing jeans and a Mediterranean-blue button-up shirt that was perfectly pressed, though not starched. Loafers completed his look. It was totally business casual, just like my outfit. Oh, and he smelled like some sort of light, highly addictive cologne. What had I expected? That he’d show up wearing dirty overalls with dip in his mouth?

The waitress shimmied up just then and asked Jeremy if she could get him anything. She was totally eyeing him, which made me feel ridic and inexplic-jealous. Apparently, I’d turned into the jealous sort since Lacey Lewis had come into my life. I hated that.

Jeremy ordered a draft beer while I contemplated the fact that I’d never given a second thought to such things as being jealous before. Not to mention in this case it made no sense because Jeremy and I weren’t even a thing.

“What are you thinking about?” Jeremy asked after the waitress trotted off in her Doc Martens to get his beer.

“I’m thinking we should get started,” I replied, pasting a pleasant, business-like smile on my face. Something in his eyes told me he knew I hadn’t told him the truth, but there was plenty of time for him to discover what a headcase I was. I didn’t need to give him a running start.

“You’re not drinking?” he asked, pointing at my soda.

“No. I, uh, I’m not a big drinker.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll only have one beer,” he replied. “Don’t want to get fired my first day on the job.” He grinned at me and I spun off into another daydream of about his foxiness.

Wait. Fired? Oh, right, fired, money, job. This was work, and we needed to get to business. Good reminder. “No worries,” I replied, trying to sound light and breezy, like a good, reasonable boss.

I pulled my day planner out of my black leather Kate Spade bag and flipped to the back where I kept my lists.

“Your handwriting is really neat,” Jeremy said, eyeing my day planner.

“Oh, I...” I blinked. What to say to that? “Thank you…?”

“And your planner matches your purse.”

He noticed? I think I just fell in love with him. “Yeah, well, I’m a little...picky? Luke says I’m OCD.”

“I get it,” Jeremy replied. “I’m really picky about hand planes and straight edges.”

I grinned at him. “Ah, my soulmate.” I snapped my mouth shut. Okay, that was awk. Why did I always say the awkward thing? “So anyway,” I continued, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “I’ve made a list of the things we’ll need to study.”

A short bark of laughter came from Jeremy and I pushed my glasses up my nose and looked at him. “Something funny?”

“Luke said you love to make lists.”

“OCD,” I repeated, raising my hand.

The waitress returned and slid the beer in front of Jeremy. He grinned at her, and I kinda wanted to kick her. She giggled and left.

“No, no. I think it’s great,” he said, turning his attention back to me. “I love organized people. I wish I was more organized.”

My eyes widened and my imagination went into overdrive. He’s not organized? He’s a hoarder. He lives in piles of fast-food containers and