The Billionaire's Practice Kiss - Tamie Dearen Page 0,2
Why don’t you send all five to my house? I’ll pay them five hundred dollars each, just for coming.”
“Logan…” Josiah’s voice had been filled with genuine concern. “If you can’t even come up to my office, how are you going to handle going to that wedding? Maybe you should call and cancel.”
“Believe me, it’s tempting. But Mom is determined to go, and I don’t want her to face my stepfather by herself. I have to go.”
“Then just go with your mother. You don’t need a date. It’ll be that much more stressful to have some woman you don’t know tagging along.”
“I can’t show up with Mom. I’d look pathetic. Allegra might think I couldn’t find a date.”
“Which happens to be true.”
“Josiah, you have to help me.”
“I’ll give you some advice. Shave your face.”
“I shave,” Logan had defended. “Every Tuesday.”
“I hope you shower more often.”
“Hey! I shower every day.”
“Good for you. So buy yourself a new razor—one that works every day of the week—and shave tomorrow morning before the wedding. And get a haircut so you don’t look like you’ve been hiding in a cave for a year.”
“I’m not changing my appearance. Not even to impress Allegra.” Logan had smoothed his messy locks.
“You’re no Samson. It won’t hurt you to cut your hair, Logan.”
“Forget that.” Logan had shifted the conversation back to important matters. “Will you send the models over?”
“They’ll probably be willing to drive out there for five hundred bucks. But only if I vouch for you. So try not to be weird.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“Hey! It was your idea for me to take one of your models to the wedding.”
“That was when I thought you’d made progress with your therapist about your fear of crowds or people or whatever your phobia is. Three weeks ago, you told me she’d released you from counseling.”
“She did release me. She had to, because I quit going.”
Though Josiah had groaned in protest, he’d agreed to call the five models and make arrangements for the interviews.
Only four of the promised five had shown up, and none had even been close to what Logan was looking for. Probably because none of them could possibly be as beautiful as Allegra, with her smooth porcelain skin and long spiral locks of silky brown hair.
The ring of the doorbell startled Logan out of his skin. No one could get through the gate unless he opened it. Was the blonde back to insist she be chosen? He tapped the watch on his wrist, pulling up a view from outside his front door. A different woman, holding a garment bag. She must’ve driven through the gate when the last candidate was leaving. Vain hope fluttered in his chest. He had one last opportunity to find a suitable date, though he doubted she would be any better than the others. With her head tucked down, her dark hair covered her face, but maybe it was for the best. This time, he would try not to look at her so he wouldn’t compare her to Allegra, a battle the candidate was bound to lose. Instead, he would attempt to engage her in conversation and judge her on personality alone.
Well, that and the dress. No woman deserves to be subjected to my mother’s harsh judgment.
“You’re late.” He flung the door open wide, motioning her inside, maintaining his downward gaze. Jeans and flipflops shuffled past him, and he almost laughed aloud. She’d certainly dressed casually for her interview. He shut the door behind her, staying in the entryway as he had with the last candidate.
“Where are you from?” he asked, staring at her feet.
“Uhmm…all over, I guess. My dad was in the military, so we moved all the time.” Her toes curled, almost hiding the pink painted nails, adorned with tiny white flowers.
“What did you study in college?” One of his requirements had been that the candidates have an undergraduate degree, hoping for a level of maturity that couldn’t be guaranteed by age alone.
“I’m pre-law.”
“You don’t have a degree yet? How old are you?” At thirty-one, he didn’t want to be with a teenager.
He let his gaze rise high enough to see her arms tighten, crushing the garment bag against her.
“If you must know, I’m twenty-six. I’m working my way through school.” She acted offended, as if he shouldn’t ask personal information. “Is this inquisition really necessary?”
“Are you in a hurry to be gone?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“You have plans tonight?” His jaw tightened. Why had she bothered to