Today's Reading
"Great." I raise my hand for the check. I'll be home earlier than I thought, giving me more time to prep for my meeting tomorrow. It's essential that we bag this client if we really want to take things to the next level at Andrews & Associates. And by we, I really mean I, as I am the one who has orchestrated this whole deal, and I will be the one to take full credit when it's solidified, basically guaranteeing the firm will go to me should my grandmother ever decide to retire.
"Leaving so soon?" Mimi gestures to the plates of half-uneaten food. "You haven't even finished your dinners."
"Sometimes it's best just to cut your losses, I suppose." Ben holds out his hand to accept the check.
Something about his statement feels like a rejection and it sort of stings. Which is ridiculous because clearly I didn't want to be here in the first place.
Ben studies the check, one of those old-fashionedlooking ones where the server has to write each item in by hand.
I snatch it from his grasp. "Please. Let me." I pull my wallet from my purse, credit card at the ready, when I realize there's no total at the bottom of the bill.
Instead, there's a note.
Tonight, your meal is on me, with the hopes that during the next one you share together, you'll choose to be present and accept the love that surrounds you. XO, Mimi
I snort-laugh, looking around the restaurant for Mimi so I can tell her I would rather just pay for my meal than endure her passive aggression. But the little gray-haired lady is nowhere to be found, and to be frank, I don't care enough to waste any more of my time.
I toss the piece of paper back on the table, throw down a fifty-dollar bill, and give a half wave. "I'd say nice to meet you, but I don't think you'd want to return the sentiment."
Ben looks at me, his eyes boring into mine like they see way too much. He takes the bill from the table, folds it in half, and slips it into the inner pocket of his blazer. There's an enamel pin in the shape of a giraffe on the lapel and I wonder if he just came from work too, if—despite his protests—the line between work and home blurs for him as much as it does for me.
But none of that matters because this is the first and only time I will be in the presence of Dr. Ben Loving. I should have known this date was doomed from the moment Grandmother told me his ridiculously on-the-nose name.
Pushing back his chair, Ben stands and gestures for me to exit the restaurant in front of him. His hand finds the small of my back as we make our way through the tables, and I should really hate how my body instinctively leans into the warmth of it.
The moment we step outside, I put as much space as possible between us. "Well, this has been an experience. See you around, I suppose."
"Take care, Cam."
I feel his eyes on my back as I walk away, feel the heat of his gaze until the moment I turn the corner, hailing a cab and escaping into the safety of the back seat.
I hardly get any work done for my big meeting that night. I'm distracted by the whole blind date of it all, running the lackluster conversation through my mind on repeat for no discernible reason other than I can't seem to get Ben out of my head. I fall asleep way earlier than I normally would. The last thing I see in my mind before I drift off is a pair of warm brown eyes and that stupid giraffe pin.
CHAPTER TWO
I know from the moment my eyes pop open that something must be seriously, terribly, god-awfully wrong.
First, I'm tucked in a bed while streams of sunlight pour in through a window. My alarm is supposed to ring long before the sun rises—I squeeze in my prework workout when it's still dark outside. Even on the rare day I allow myself to sleep past six, my blackout curtains keep out all hints of light. But I'm in a bed dressed with a butter yellow comforter, and that blasted sunlight is streaming through curtains made of a delicate white lace. I'm tucked in bed and everything feels warm and...cozy.
It's gross.
"Where the fuck am I?" I mutter as I toss aside the offensively cheery blanket. "What the fuck?"
Ridding myself of the confines of the not so unpleasant warmth has exposed something even worse. I'm wearing pajamas. Pink polka-dotted pajamas. The old-fashioned kind, with buttons down the front and an adorable little collar. Well, it would be adorable if I were five. Or lived in the '50s. Where is my black silk slip nightgown? Today is the biggest meeting of my already stellar career—I don't have time for whatever the hell this is.
The hair on the back of my neck begins to rise.
...
