“Oh, are we? What if I don’t like it?”
“Then I’ll order you something else. Tonight is all about spontaneity, so we’ll let him decide what we eat. Any allergies I should inform them about? Strong dislikes?”
She pursed her lips, then shrugged. “No.”
“Okay, then. I hope dinner is amazing.” I lifted my glass in a toast. “Just like meeting you.”
She lifted her glass, touching it to mine. “You’re very direct.”
“I am.”
“You say things—things I’m not sure how to take.”
I relaxed back against the leather banquette and studied her in the dim light. There was something so intriguing about her. I wanted to know her—all about her. And for the first time in a long while, I wanted a woman to know me.
“You’ll get used to it. I speak my mind, especially when I’m pleased.”
She hesitated, then spoke. “And I please you?”
“Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea.”
She shook her head, but the smile on her lips said it all.
Chapter Two
Mandy
He was confident, direct, and blunt. High-handed and bossy. He was also the most courteous date I’d ever had. He made certain I liked everything the waiter brought us, ensured my water and wine glasses were always topped up, listened carefully when I spoke, and he asked so many questions, it was obvious he was listening to every word I said. We talked about a variety of subjects, but never touched on anything too personal. He was well read and intelligent, and we discovered a mutual like of museums and weekend flea markets. We also had the common bond of loving historical architecture. He told me he was a consultant and had started a new long-term project that week. I worried the inside of my cheek when he told me that information. He smiled knowingly.
“I’m here for at least a year, Mandy. Maybe more. I’m not a hit and run kind of guy.”
“All right,” I replied, slightly mollified. A year suddenly felt like a short span of time.
“What do you do?”
“I’m a PA in a busy architectural firm for now.”
His eyebrows rose slightly. “Architectural firm?”
“Yes. Parson Planners.”
He took a sip of his drink and frowned. “I see.”
“I’m looking for another job, though.”
“Why?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t like your current job? Are the people you work for unkind?”
“My direct boss isn’t exactly my number
one fan. We don’t get along. She can be, ah, difficult.”
“Have you ever told her off?”
I laughed, because I’d done so in my head many times. “No, I need my paycheck. I do give in and sneak a piece of toffee when she berates me—which is daily.”
He looked confused.
“We aren’t allowed to keep snacks at our desk. I hide the toffee under my Post-it notes. I get sick enjoyment eating it knowing it would piss her off.”