up, we had a very nice Springer Spaniel. Her name was Molly.”
Then he falls silent.
“Tell me about Molly,” I prod.
He cocks his head, looking puzzled. “Like…what about her?”
“What kind of tricks could she do?”
“She, uh…she could sit.” Silence descends. He sits there, looking pained and a little embarrassed. Then he brightens. “Oh, I know! What’s your favorite food?”
Yep. He has definitely memorized a list of date questions.
And I know now that Blake was wrong about him. Marshall isn’t a Casanova type at all. He’s rich as hell, so of course beautiful socialites flock to him, but I’d bet a pretty penny that he’s not the one who chooses to end things.
Our wine arrives, and he does that tasting thing – which I’ve never really understood – and approves the wine. Then we fall silent again.
“I’m curious,” I say to him. “How did you decide to get into the toy software business?”
As he talks, I make a mental list of all the great things about him.
His dark hair is thick and wavy. His face is perfectly symmetrical, and just long enough that he’s good looking but not ridiculously handsome. He has a dimple in his chin. He hasn’t made a single sarcastic comment.
This isn't working. If it was working, I wouldn't be trying to psych myself into liking him.
I just can’t get Blake’s face out of my head. What is wrong with me? Do I only like jerks?
Marshall’s still talking, but it’s blurred into a kind of background noise. My gaze strays across the room and lights on a familiar silhouette.
Blake.
He’s leaning up against the bar, achingly gorgeous in a dark blue linen suit. Henry is sitting on a bar stool, absorbed by something on his phone. And Blake has also brought a date, who’s standing way too close to him. She's brunette, and she's over-the-top beautiful. She’s obnoxiously pretty. Her red sheath dress pours over her slim body like paint. She runs her tongue over her shiny scarlet lips and waves imperiously at the bartender to get his attention.
He brought a freaking date.
I suck in a sharp breath. I really did not know Blake at all. Because this is an absolute dick move. And I can’t even let myself get that mad, because I’m on a date.
"Are you okay?" Marshall asks, his brows drawing together. My attention snaps back to him. My date. "You look, I don't know, funny."
"Funny how? Funny like a clown?" I force myself to smile.
He laughs. "I love that movie. I like movie quotes."
“Me too!” My voice is loud, bright and chirpy, sending desperate “we’re having so much fun!” signals. I shove my chair back abruptly and leap to my feet. "If you'll excuse me, I'm sorry, I need to go to the restroom."
I’m being so weird tonight. I'm apologizing for needing to go to the bathroom? It's a thing people do. They have digestive systems, and when you pour stuff into one end, it has to come out the other end.
I cross the room in aggressive, angry strides. As I do, my treacherous feet lead me in the direction of Blake and his date. The restrooms are in the general direction of the bar, though; it’s not my fault.
Blake swivels around and meets my gaze challengingly. The bartender has just handed the brunette a margarita. I shoulder check her as I pass by, and her drink splatters both her and Blake. Score! Two for the price of one!
"What the hell?" She turns furiously to the blandly handsome blond man who’s just put his credit card on the bar. Paying for her drink. He’s her date. Blake did not bring a date with him. "Roy! Did you see what she just did to me?"
I shrink back, cringingly inwardly. “Sorry,” I mutter, my cheeks burning.
Blake arches an eyebrow. He glances at the lady, then gives me a triumphant smirk.
"My lovely assistant is so sorry. She was raised deep in the jungle by orangutans during her formative years, before she was rescued by missionaries. She is still new to our ways." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card and hands it to her. "You can pick another dress to replace it. It’s on Hudson’s.”
"Really?” Her eyes widen. “Any dress from Hudson’s?”
He nods, flashing her his most charming smile, and the green monster of jealousy rears up inside me again. I reflexively clench my fists to keep from clawing him. Or her. Or anyone within scratching distance.
"Any dress."
She looks at him speculatively. "So you're here alone?"