“Don’t make plans for tonight,” Dax said as they mounted the steps to her office. “I’ll bring dinner to your house and we’ll stay in.”
That worked, and she refused to worry about lingering questions such as whether he intended to seduce her after dinner or if it would be a hands-off night. Maybe she’d seduce him before dinner instead.
She grinned, unable to keep the bubble of sheer bliss inside. This was her turn, her opportunity to get the guy.
“A date that’s really a date because we’re dating now?” she asked.
Insisting she still had to find him a different match had been an excuse, one contrived to avoid wanting him for herself—and to deny that the whole idea scared her. It still did. But it was her turn to be happy and hopefully make Dax happy at the same time. What could it hurt to try?
He scowled without any real heat. “Dating sounds like a label.”
“I’m biting my tongue as we speak.”
Unfortunately, she suspected she’d be doing a lot of that in the coming weeks. Somehow Dax had made it seem possible to forgo not only labels, but also guarantees about the future. But that didn’t mean her personality had changed. She still wanted a happily ever after. She still wanted Dax to find true love.
The park-bench confessional had revealed more than either of them intended, of that she was sure. It was the only thing she was sure of. But she desperately wanted to believe that the raw revelations had opened them both up to trying something new in a relationship. Sticking around for Dax and day-by-day for her.
It required an extreme level of trust she wasn’t sure she had in her. Day-by-day might be a blessing in disguise—it gave her time to figure out if she could trust Dax without wholly committing her fragile heart.
Dax opened the door to EA International and uttered an extremely profane word. She followed his gaze to see four women crowded around Angie’s reception desk, all of whom turned in unison at the sound of the door. He dropped her hand without comment.
The park-bench kiss euphoria drained when she recognized Candy. The other three women, a brunette, a blonde and a redhead, weren’t familiar but they all had a similar look about them as if they shared a hair stylist. And, like Candy, they all could have stepped from the pages of a magazine.
New clients referred by Candy? That seemed unlikely considering things hadn’t worked out with Dax. And Elise had yet to find Candy’s soul mate. Guiltily, she made a mental note to go through Candy’s profile again to see if she could fix that.
“Is this an ambush?” Dax asked and she did a double take at his granite expression.
“An ambush?” Elise repeated with a half laugh.
That was no way to speak to potential customers. She skirted him and approached the women with a smile. “I’m Elise Arundel. Can I help you?”
“We’re here to protest.” The redhead stepped to the front and gestured to the other ladies to show she spoke for the group. Not only did these women have similar styles, they also wore identical glowers.
Elise took a tiny step backward in her boots and wished she’d bought the Gucci ones with the higher heel.
“Protest?” Automatically, she shook her head because the word had no context. “I don’t understand.”
Angie shot to her feet, straightening her wool skirt several times with nervous fingers. “I’m sorry, Elise. I was about to ask them to leave.”
Dax took Elise’s elbow, his fingers firm against the sleeve of his jacket, and nodded to the redhead. “Elise, this is Jenna Crisp, a former girlfriend. You know Candy. Angelica Moreau is the one on the left and Sherilyn McCarthy is on the right. Also former girlfriends.”
These were some of Dax’s ex-girlfriends. She couldn’t help but study the women with a more critical eye. It seemed Dax had been totally honest when he claimed to have no preference when it came to a woman’s physical attributes. The women, though all beautiful and poised and polished, were as different as night and day.
Hard evidence of how truthfully Dax had answered at least one of the profile questions led her to wonder if he’d been forthright on all of them from the very beginning.
Which meant he really did think love was pure fiction.
A funny little flutter beat through Elise’s stomach. Dax’s hand on her arm was meant to comfort her—or hold her back—and she honestly didn’t know which one she needed. “What exactly are you here to protest?”
Had Dax texted them with the news that he was interested in Elise or posted it to his Facebook timeline? He’d have to be very slick to have done so without Elise noticing and besides, why would he? None of this made any sense. It might be upsetting for a former girlfriend to find out Dax had moved on, but surely not surprising—the man was still underwear-model worthy, even fifteen years later, and could give Casanova and Don Juan kissing lessons.