my lipstick and compact, but that could have waited until I got home.”
She looks to an empty table in the corner. “Can you sit with me for a few minutes?” She asks, but I know she’ll never take no for an answer.
I look over my shoulder at my fellow barista, “Can you handle everything for a few minutes? I have something I need to take care of.”
Without waiting for an answer, Em pulls me to the table where we sit down. “What went on with you and Damon last night?” Her eyes fill with questions. I recognize the look as one she gets when she’s on a fact-finding mission. Em is like a relentless dog when she’s after a bone.
“I told you everything. You were at the dinner and saw what happened.” My shoulders lifted. “After that, we danced, and then he drove me home.”
Her right brow raises. “It’s a huge deal that he did that and coupled with this”—Em slaps down several hundred dollar bills on the table—“I’m intrigued.” On top of the bills, she places his business card.
I stare at the stack in shock. Picking up the pile, I count the bills one after another.
“You don’t need to count them,” Em says. “There’s a thousand dollars there, and … he gave you his card. You should read what he wrote on the back.”
I turn the card over and see the inscription.
Best night of my life. Please reconsider.
My lips lift into a smile, and a wash of warmth spreads through me. “I wouldn’t accept payment from him. I had such a nice time, and that was payment enough.” I stare at the stack of cash. “He must have snuck it in the purse when I fell asleep on the way home.”
“I told you he is into you. I could see it from the first moment he saw you. Who would have thought Damon Noble has a soft spot for virginal blondes?”
“I’m not a virgin,” I say, a little too loudly.
Every head in the café turns our way, and I die a thousand deaths while my face flushes red. If I could, I’d crawl under the table and hide until everyone left.
“That one time in the back seat with Kurt Bronson doesn’t count,” Em whispers. We’ve been friends since middle school, and she knows everything about me, but just this once, I wish she’d forget about Kurt Bronson.
“Yes, it does, and I did it twice for your information—both times in his back seat, and both times it sucked. I got there with Tommy Mendoza last year, but his mom walked in on us, and he couldn’t rise to the occasion after that.”
She just stared at me in astonishment, then laughed. “You know, you’ve just ruined a client for me. He’ll probably never call me again. I mean, how will I pay my portion of our rent when you take my paying jobs?” I know she’s teasing because of the exaggerated roll of her eyes as she complains. Besides, Em owns the house we live in.
I pick up the stack of money and place it in her hand. “Here’s your severance pay. Let that be a lesson to you. Never use me as a fill-in again.” I stand to leave, but Em grabs my wrist and places the money in my palm before she turns to leave.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” she says. “You have to figure this one out on your own. It’s your money, Chica, you earned it.”
I stuff the wad into my pocket and head back to work.
The last two hours creep by, and by two o’clock, I’m antsy to leave. When the big hand hits the twelve, I clock out and walk the three blocks from work to our bungalow, dreaming of the nap I’ll take when I get to my room.
On the doorstep is a large vase of flowers. Em is always receiving flowers from her admirers, and it’s not unusual for them to be left at front of the door, so I’m not overly surprised to find them.
Grabbing the large vase, I walk into the house, but as I set the bouquet down, I notice my name is written on the envelope. I pull out the card and read:
Thanks for a wonderful night. Please consider a repeat.
Damon
The romantic part of me wants to swoon, but the smart part of me is mad. Damon Noble thinks I can be bought, rented, or sold. I’ll have to educate the stubborn man.
First thing Monday morning, I’ll set him straight.
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