Mr Spencer (Mr. 2)

Spencer frowns and looks down at our hands, and then he narrows his eyes at me, his fury palpable.

I wither and drain my glass dry.

Spencer turns to Sarah. “Sarah, your uncle has been wanting me to come on this date with you for years. I hit his parked car in the car park last week, and I felt so bad about it, that I finally conceded.” He smiles, and everyone chuckles. “However, had I known you were this beautiful, I would have come on this date a long time ago.”

She giggles into her wineglass nervously, and I find myself glaring at him.

Not funny, Spencer.

But it’s like that, is it?

Game on.

“Richard.” I smile. “Tell me all about you.” I squeeze his hand in mine.

Richard’s eyes light up. “Well, I work in the stock market, I’m t

hirty-two—”

“Thirty-two,” I gush, interrupting him. “That’s the perfect age, isn’t it? Not too old.”

Spencer looks at me, silently seething.

“How old are you, Spencer?” I smile sweetly. “I’m guessing around forty-five?”

He drains his wineglass, unimpressed, and I bite my bottom lip to stifle my smile.

“Spencer is the perfect age,” Sarah coos. “I can see it in your eyes, Spencer, that you are just waiting for the right woman to come along.”

He clenches his jaw. “Or just wanting to strangle one.”

Sarah and Richard laugh on cue, and Spencer and I glare at each other across the table.

He composes himself and falls back into his role. “So you two are new friends?” he asks.

“Just this week.” Sarah smiles. “Lottie came to work with me. I’m training her up.”

“What is it exactly that you two do?” he asks as he acts fascinated.

“We’re in the mailroom,” Sarah replies.

Spencer’s eyes hold mine, and Richard picks up my hand to kiss it. My eyes flicker over to Richard in shock.

What the hell? That’s… unexpected.

I fake a smile and pull my hand out of his grip.

God, this night is a complete disaster.

Spencer’s jaw ticks and he continues to glare at me.

What is he so angry about?

I guess it could be my fake cherry popping, the fact that I’m pretending to be someone else and working in the mailroom, my tight black dress, Wyatt kicking him out of my house two weeks ago, or Richard kissing my hand. There are plenty of options really.

I pour myself another glass of wine. Alcohol is the only remedy here, so I tip my head back and take a big gulp.

“Sarah.” Spencer smiles seductively at her from across the table. “Do you like to dance?”