Protecting Dallas

My best friend in all of Manhattan swept a stray blonde lock over one ear. “Tell me again how he asked you.”

I relayed the story one more time. The story about how Lincoln Wallace, my first and oldest personal shopping client, had asked to meet up with me on Sunday.

“Shopping and lunch?” Jocelyn repeated thoughtfully. “Well has he ever asked you to lunch before?”

“He’s never even asked to go shopping before,” I said. “Come to think of it, he barely makes suggestions. He’s always just handed me his credit card and left everything to me.”

That part was true, and it was also what I loved most about my little side business. Being a personal shopper was like getting paid to have fun. You went shopping with someone else’s money, and you got to buy things you wouldn’t normally buy yourself.

“How’d you meet him again, anyway?”

“I took the business over from a woman I worked with,” I said, “back when I first came to town. She was moving away and left me about a dozen clients. Lincoln Wallace was the best of them.”

“You mean he pays the best,” Jocelyn added shrewdly.

I sipped off the last of my foam. “Oh yeah. He’s the CEO of his own advertising firm. And he’s got four sisters and plenty of nieces and nephews. Not to mention two adorable parents back in Maine… all of whom he showers with gifts.”

Jocelyn sighed wistfully. “Rich. Successful. Loves his family…” She squinted back at me. “And you said he was handsome, too?”

God, is he ever.

“Tall, dark and gorgeous,” I nodded.

Jocelyn stared back at me enviously. “Well shit, Holly! If he’s not trying to take you out, mind if I have a crack at him?”

I laughed, but my laughter came out nervous. Suddenly there was a little knot in my stomach.

Jealousy? The little voice in my head taunted. Really, Holly?

A huge part of me did want him to be asking me out. If for no other reason than to feel wanted again — to feel desired in ways I hadn’t felt in almost two years. The fact that it was someone like Lincoln Wallace only made it ten times better.

But if he wasn’t asking me out…

“Holly? Earth to Holly?”

I snapped back, just in time to avoid spilling my coffee all over my own leg. It sloshed dangerously close to the lip of the mug, causing me to overcompensate and almost drop it entirely.

“Easy,” Jocelyn chuckled, laying her hands over mine. “He’s all yours, honey. I was only kidding.”

She handed me a napkin, which I accepted gratefully. At the rate things were going, I might need a towel.

“And to answer your question, yes,” she added, “I do think he’s asking you out. Just look at yourself. You’re beautiful and amazing, and now you’re single to boot. He’d be a fool not to take a crack at you.”

I blushed, even though it was just the two of us. “Thanks.”

When it came to friends, Jocelyn was one of the better ones. Cute, funny, level-headed… and tough. New York tough. The kind of tough I learned all about when I moved out here two years ago, from my sheltered little town in Southern Texas.

“Treat it like a date,” Jocelyn advised. “You haven’t had one in a really long time. A good one, anyway.”

“You don’t think that would be unprofessional?”

“Do you really care?” Jocelyn smirked.

I thought about it for a second. “I care about losing him as a client.”

She waved me away dismissively with one hand. “Shop with him. Flirt with him. Enjoy yourself for a change. If he flirts back, you know the drill. And if not?” She shrugged. “He’s gay.”

I laughed so hard I almost spit my coffee. “He’s not gay!”