Tailored for Trouble (Happy Pants #1) - Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Page 0,78

she said softly.

He stared but didn’t speak.

Dammit, Bennett! She wanted so badly to kiss him and touch him and tell him how she felt about him, but it would be a fool’s errand. He didn’t want to open up.

“Then I’m sorry for you, Bennett. I truly am. Because there’s no one in the world who wants to understand you more than I do.” She pulled out of his grasp and headed for the dining room. The moment Chip spotted her, he stood and pulled out her chair. “Honey bear, I missed you.”

Taylor held out her hand. “I’m afraid I won’t be joining you for dinner this evening. I’m very sorry, but I suddenly don’t feel well.”

“Ms. Reed,” Mary said. “That is a shame. I was looking forward to hearing more about your company.”

“You’re very kind Mary, but it’s really not worth talking about,” Taylor said. “In fact,” she looked straight at Bennett who’d just shown up and taken his seat, “you should throw the material away. It needs a complete overhaul. I mean it, Bennett, don’t do yourself a disservice and go any further with it.” Taylor glanced at Brigitte who was also back at the table. “It’s a waste of your time. Good night everyone. Have a lovely meal.” She turned and walked out of the restaurant. She held up her hand and a taxi pulled to the side. She reached for the door and looked over her shoulder. For a moment, she hesitated. Her heart didn’t want to let go of Bennett, but she needed to accept reality. Bennett was the sort of man who did what he wanted. He didn’t want a real relationship, he didn’t want to trust, he didn’t want to change….

And he doesn’t want you.

Taylor got into the car and directed the driver to the airport.

CHAPTER 15

“No. What do you mean my reservation isn’t in your system? I have the confirmation number right here.” Taylor dug out her notebook but couldn’t find the napkin she’d used to jot down the code she’d been given. Dammit. She’d probably used it to wipe her tears and blow her nose on the cab ride here. She’d tossed it.

The tall man in the uniform behind the ticket counter shook his head. “I’m sorry, but there is no record. Except for the flight you were booked on earlier, which you checked in for and didn’t board. So that ticket fare is lost, I’m afraid.”

“How can that be?”

“Yes, ma’am. Those were the rules of the fare. I’ve put in a request for a review to see if they’ll allow a credit; however, that will take up to a week.”

“A week?” What the hell? Well, Bennett had purchased the ticket, so hopefully they’d give him a credit, but where did that leave her?

“Can I buy a new ticket?”

“I’m sorry. There’s no room on this flight.”

This can’t be happening. “When’s the next one?”

He typed away on his keyboard. “Tomorrow at two P.M.”

Taylor looked toward the industrial-style ceiling, and then the long line of impatient travelers waiting behind her.

“But,” he added, “the fare will be three thousand five hundred dollars. There’s only business and first class left.”

Taylor rubbed her face. She couldn’t afford it. Jack had only put a few thousand into her account, and there was no way in hell she’d go back to ask for more. Also, she fully intended to repay Bennett his fifty thousand. So every dime she spent dug her deeper into a hole.

“When’s the next coach flight available?” she asked.

The customer service rep clicked away on his computer. “I’m afraid not until tomorrow night. But feel free to try one of the other airlines.”

Taylor groaned. “Thanks. I’ll see what I can find online.” Shoulders sagging in her stupid dress that was so tight she wanted to scream, she slogged past the long line of ogling travelers.

Yeah, yeah. Haven’t you ever seen a nearly naked woman before?

Her personal phone rang, and she slipped it from her purse. She didn’t recognize the number, but answered it anyway.

“You turned off your other phone again,” said a deep, sensual voice.

It was Bennett.

Her heart did a little dance even while her stomach churned with tension.

“Yeah, well,” she said, “it ran out of juice and my charger is sitting in my suitcase—wherever the hell that is. Besides, I don’t work for you anymore, so you’re free to let go of your thing.”

“Don’t you mean ‘I don’t work with you’?” he asked. “And I can’t let go of my thing. It’s my thing. Things