Faery Godlover

Duada flicked his fingers again on her forehead.

Ouch. She winced.

“All this doom and gloom makes me want a stiff one.”

Jasmine gave him a dirty look.

“A drink, that is. Why, Jasmine, you have a dirty mind.” He laughed.

She wanted to bang her head against the wall. “Just go. Thank you for the ice cream. It’s nice of you to think of me.”

Duada got up to his feet and sketched her a flourish bow. “Does the Hagen-Daz make you feel better?”

She gave a little nod. “It’s nice talking to you, too.” When you’re not being a jerk.

“Don’t stay up too late. You want to look your best when you see him tomorrow.”

“I won’t.”

“Good night, Jasmine.”

And with that, Duada vanished.

She finished her ice cream and put the spoons in the kitchen sink. She brushed her teeth again and went to bed.

This time, sleep came to her easily.

Five

When Jasmine awoke in the morning, she found a note written in curling, elaborate bottle-green script laying on the pillow beside her. When she picked it up to read it, she was stunned to find a crisp stack of hundred dollar bills hidden beneath it.

The note read:

Jasmine—

I assume this will cover your missed earnings for today. Your date, William, will arrive to collect you around ten in the morning. I apologize for having missed the mark so severely before, and hope that this date will prove more fruitful for you.

Yours,

Prince Duada

She rolled her eyes. That cocky fae was starting to get on her nerves. Does he always have to call himself “Prince” every time?

She glanced over to see that the clock already said 9:15.

“Shit,” she grumbled and vaulted out of bed to get dressed. To her mild surprise, there was already a beautiful, expensive-looking white dress stretched out over the little ottoman in her bedroom, a pair of strappy sandals rested on the floor beside it. She dressed quickly, applied just enough makeup to feel like she gave it a good shot, and was ready and waiting by the time her date knocked on the door at exactly ten o’clock.

“Please don’t screw me over again,” she muttered anxiously to herself as she went to answer the door. When she opened it, she was pleasantly stunned.

This man was easily the handsomest one yet, with an affable smile, warm brown eyes, and sandy-brown hair. He looked like a model. Or a surfer. Or a model for a surfboard company.

“Hey, I’m Bill. William Fairley, but everyone calls me Bill. I’m hoping you’re Jasmine,” he said in a kind, deep voice. “Jasmine Duval, right?”

“Yep, you found me,” she replied.

“Wow. You’re even more beautiful than I expected,” he said, “I guess, I’m the lucky one today!”

Jasmine blushed. “Oh, thank you. So… what is the game plan for today?”