Text Me On Tuesday: All is Fair in Love and Texting ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 1)

by Whitney Dineen

  The waitress appears to take our orders, shooting me an “are you all right?” look and I give her a slight eye-roll that shows I’m okay but not happy.

  Walter orders for me. “I thought we’d just have appies—I know how much you ladies love to share food.” He bites the air at me as if he thinks he’s a sexy lion. Turning back to the waitress, he orders the three-appetizer special—fries, dry ribs, and edamame beans. Classy guy.

  The waitress looks at me and says, “I’ll have these out in record time.”

  My completely oblivious date replies, “Noice.”

  When she leaves, I get right back to asking about the project. “So you really are considering Noe … I mean, Fitzwilliam & Associates?” I hope he didn’t catch my slip of almost saying Noel’s name.

  “The job is theirs as long as they don’t mess it up like Lassiter did.” Walter runs his sticky fingers across my mouth in a way I’m pretty sure he thinks is seductive.

  I shift a little in my seat and start asking about a topic I know will distract him—him. I stall for time, pretending I’m incredibly interested in yacht racing and his boa constrictor (real, not metaphorical, but most likely an attempt at compensating for something).

  The food arrives and Walter picks up a fry, dipping it in the sauce that’s meant for the ribs, and attempts to feed me. I snatch it out of his hand and pop it in my mouth myself, then ask him about how he decided to enter into his family business.

  “Let’s not talk about the past. I’m much more interested in the future—like what I want to do to you after we get out of here.”

  It’s all I can do not to puke on his hand. Does this crap work with other women? My eyes scan around the room, frantically hoping to see Noel. Like the sun breaking through a stormy sky, I spot him at the bar. Hallelujah!

  Leaning into Walter, I say, “I’m not planning on going home with you. I don’t do anything like that on a first date.”

  “Let’s pretend that lunch you catered for my office was our first date then. You know the lunch I paid you a pretty penny for?”

  I actually gag at his words before picking up my sparkling water and slamming it back like I’m playing a drinking game in college. “You mean the lunch I catered at market rate? The one you didn’t tip on?”

  “I’ve got your tip right here, baby,” he says before sticking out his tongue and licking my ear. If that wasn’t gross enough, the smell of his breath is enough to knock me over.

  I peek up and see Noel sitting at the bar, staring straight at us. It’s now or never. I either have to look like I’m fending off an attack, or make it appear like I’m enjoying Walter’s advance. I decide to go for the honest approach.

  Pushing Walter away, I say. “I would rather have my arm chewed off by an alligator than be on this date for one more minute.”

  “You like it rough, do you?” This man is oblivious to how revolting he is.

  “Yeah, Walter. I like it rough. Rough like tying you up before setting you on fire.”

  “Oh, baby, I’m on fire all right.” Before I know it, he’s practically on top of me. I’m about to scream for real when I look up and see Noel standing in front of us.

  Chapter Thirty

  Noel

  Forty minutes earlier …

  I am not proud of what I’m doing. Repeat—not proud.

  Sitting at a corner stool in the very busy Bull Market, sipping a coffee whilst waiting for my to-go order, reeks of stalker-type behavior. It goes so far beyond any reasonable action of any reasonable person that I can’t even see the line I crossed. But come on, Walter Freaking Junior? I don’t think so.

  Aimée can do so much better, even if she doesn’t believe it. She just needs a few more weeks of Byron-style ego boosting and she’ll be off and running to find a man that will be exactly right for her. Why does that thought feel like a sucker-punch to the gut?

  “Are you done with that?” the beefy bartender asks, gesturing to the menu I’ve been pretending to peruse while I keep an eye on the two of them in a red leather booth on the far side of the bar.

  “What?” I ask, feeling my face heat up.

  “The menu,” he says slowly. “You already ordered so I was wondering if you’re done with it. We have other customers, you know.”

  “Not quite yet …” I glance down at his name tag. Arnold. Fitting because he looks like Conan the Barbarian, only in a golf shirt and jeans. “I may order dessert.”

  He shakes his head and walks away, leaving me to my stalking.

  The longer I sit here, the worse I feel. Because Aimée actually looks like she’s having a nice time. She certainly is laughing a lot anyway. Gross. Walter just slid closer to her in the booth, and now he’s dipping a chip into some sort of sauce and trying to feed it to her.

  Good for her for not letting him. “Ha! I knew she couldn’t like that tosser.”

  “Sorry?” Arnold asks, leaning down in a way that’s slightly menacing. “Did you just call me a tosser?”

  “No,” I say. “I would never do that. I was considering having a tossed salad. Back in England we call them tossers. I’ll have a tosser, thank you,” I say putting on an extra-English accent for some reason.

  “I think maybe you should leave.”

  Bollocks. “I was serious. I would like a tossed salad with a balsamic vinaigrette dressing. Please. And some dessert.” I make a clicking sound. “I’ll need a few minutes to decide on which one though. So many tempting options.”

  Lucky for me, a couple of women seat themselves a few stools over and start waving to get Arnie’s attention. That should keep him busy for a while. Back to Aimée’s date. Yuck. Walter is tracing her collar bone with one finger and … sniffing her neck? Who does he think that crap works on?

  My girl is clearly not having it because she just reaches out with the arm closest to him and picks up her wine glass, subtly shrugging him off. You show him, Aimée!

  Just don’t overdo it on the wine, love. My phone buzzes in my suit jacket pocket and I slide it out while still keeping watch. I glance at it quickly. It’s Byron. When I answer, he says, “How’s their date going?”

  “How would I know?”

  “Because you’re sitting at the bar watching them.”

  “Am not. I’m in the office.” How dare he?

  “Then why does your office sound exactly like a trendy restaurant?”

  Dammit. “I’ve got the telly on.”

  “I’m your twin, you idiot. I know you better than I know myself. You lasted about two minutes after my text, then you told yourself you were just going to order take away and have a quick peek to make sure everything’s fine. Now you’re likely hiding behind a pillar like Inspector Clouseau hot on a case.”

  “I’m hiding behind a menu,” I say, knowing when I’m beaten. “They don’t have pillars in here.”

  “So back to my first question. How’s the date going?”

  “Disgusting. He’s sniffing her like Biden sniffs babies. Also, I’m a little worried she’s drinking too much wine—which in her case is a terrible idea. Text her and tell her to stick to one glass, okay?”

  “I’ll do no such thing. She’s a grown woman. She can drink as much as she likes.”

  “Well, you haven’t seen her after three glasses of wine. She’s like ‘Me So Horny’ by 2 Live Crew. Why exactly did you call, Byron?”

  “To help you.”

  “Why do you think I need your help?” I ask, watching as the waitress brings her another glass of wine. Son of a …

  “Because you’re doing something rather risky at the moment, and you’re not particularly skilled at risky endeavors.”

  “Please, I’m a veritable 007 when faced with peril.”

  “Uh-huh. Remember the time you tried to toilet paper your maths teacher’s house? You nearly got it done before you panicked and started taking it all down.”

  “I felt bad. He had arthritis.”

 
“Yes, well, it was the clean-up that got you caught. If you had just run away, you never would have been hauled down to the police station.”

  “I was eleven,” I hiss. “I assure you I’ve gotten a bit better at handling high-pressure situations over the last twenty-five years.”

  “Are you saying you’ve already come up with a plan should you get caught spying on your caterer and your most important client?”

  “I’m carefully hidden.”

  “What if Walter Junior turns out to be the rapey type?”

  I’m guessing that’s a pretty accurate assessment, given what I’m seeing. “I can easily make up some sort of catering emergency to get her out of here, should the need arise.”

  “Just make sure you don’t overreact and inject yourself in a situation where you’re not wanted,” he says.

  “If you were so worried I’d do that, why the bloody hell did you set me up like this?” I ask, raising my voice to a level that earns me a warning look from Arnold.

  “Because I’m a romantic,” he says. “And I want to see you happy. Aimée would make you happy. But, when I got home, I realized what’s at stake for the company and I got a little worried.”

  “Well, don’t. I’ve got it covered. And I’m not here so I can have her for myself. I’m here so she won’t make a mistake with a guy who’s not fit to clean the dirt off her shoes.”

  “I’m going to hang up now, but I want you to think hard about what you just said, mmkay?”

  I growl and put my phone on silent so I can stalk in peace.

  “Here you go,” Arnold says, handing me a thick brown paper bag with my order. “That’ll be thirty-six ninety.”

  I look up at him. “Oh, I think I will get the um …” I look at the desserts for the first time. Oh, they have a chocolate lava cake that takes twenty minutes to bake. “Lava cake, please.”

  He gives me a deadpan expression, then reaches over and yanks the menu from my hands. “Dude, are you serious?” He walks away in a huff like he’s offended by my love of lava cake.

  Crouching behind my to-go bag, I briefly wonder if I should cut eye holes in it.

  Probably not.

  Before my dessert even arrives, Arnold hands me a check. “Forty-eight ninety-five. You can pay this now.”

  “Righto,” I say, reaching in my pocket for my wallet whilst watching Walter drape his arm over Aimée’s shoulder and proceed to lick her ear. I throw my credit card at Arnold without even looking.

  “This is a Hilton points card, man. Come on, it’s a busy night. I don’t have time for this.”

  I hand my entire wallet over to him. “Just pick one.”

  Aimée looks like she’s trying to act nonchalant, but she’s definitely scooting her bottom away from Walter. He pulls her back with one hand as his other disappears under the table.

  “All right, that’s it!” I shout, standing up suddenly.

  I can feel the eyes of people around me, but I don’t care. I stride over to their booth at a furious pace, weaving through tables and dodging servers with absolutely no clue as to what I’m going to say when I get over there.

  When I do arrive, I clear my throat loudly, then just stare, waiting for my brain to catch up with the moment.

  “Noel,” they both say at that same time. Walter looks annoyed, but Aimée’s eyes reflect pure relief.

  “Yes, it’s me,” I say with a firm nod. “I’m glad I caught you, Aimée. I was upstairs working on …” Turning to Walter, I say, “One Rosenthal, obviously. Coming along beautifully, I might add.” Then, looking back at Aimée, I announce, “Your roommate called looking for you. She was hoping you were still at the office. Her um … gran died. Toppled off a cliff at Niagara Falls, if you can believe it.”

  “Oh, my god,” Aimée says, putting on a concerned expression. “Poor Teisha.”

  “Tragic really. Apparently she’d waited her whole life just to see the falls, only to …” I make a motion of falling off a cliff with one hand. “Fall off it.”

  “Are you serious?” Walter grumbles. I can tell he is not buying it.

  “Teisha, that dear lamb, is quite upset,” I say, shaking my head gravely. “Sobbing uncontrollably. Took the poor girl nearly ten minutes to tell me what happened.”

  Aimée looks at Walter. “I’m so sorry, but I should go to her.”

  Walter clenches his jaw, then throws up his hands.

  Just as Aimée starts to scoot out of the booth and I begin to think I’m in the clear, Arnold taps me on the shoulder. “Here’s your wallet, meal, and dessert.”

  Walter raises one eyebrow at me, and I turn to Arnold. “You must have me confused with someone else. I didn’t order food. I wouldn’t have had time because I just came in to give my colleague here some bad news.”

  “Really?” Arnold asks, glaring at me from under his thick eyebrows. “So you’re not the same guy who was sitting at the bar hiding behind the menu for the last forty minutes? Because you’re a dead ringer for him.”

  “I have one of those faces, I’m afraid,” I say with a nervous chuckle.

  “Right. Okay, well I’ll just go throw out this food and put your wallet in lost and found.”

  Nuts. “Oh, that is my wallet,” I say, plucking it out of his enormous hand. Then to Aimée, I say, “Must have dropped that in my hurry to find you.”

  She’s trying valiantly not to laugh.

  “I told Teisha I’d get you home straight away, so we should …” I gesture to the entrance with my head.

  “Yeah, we better go,” Aimée says. “Bye, Walter. Thanks for dinner.”

  Crap. One look at Walter’s face has me wondering if I should call a halt to our attempt at winning the bid on One Rosenthal.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Aimée

  “Are you all right?” Noel asks as soon as we step into the lobby of the building.

  “I could use a shower to get the Walter off me, but otherwise, I’m fine,” I say, turning to him. “Thank you, by the way.”

  “Think nothing of it.” He takes my hand and moves us in the direction of the elevators instead of the exit.

  My hand fits perfectly in his—like it was meant to be held by this man and no other. I want to kiss him. So. Badly. It. Hurts. But then I remember he’s not available and never will be and I start to feel irritation bubbling up in my empty stomach. “Why did you really come down here?” I ask.

  “I was hungry, and Bull Market was handy.”

  “Yet you walked out of there without your food,” I tell him.

  The elevator doors open. He lets go of my hand and presses his fingertips on the small of my back to usher me inside. The heat warms my entire body, starting at my core and spreading through to my toes and up to my cheeks.

  We stand beside each other, shoulders touching as we start our ascent. Noel glances down at me, then looks straight ahead. “Look, I know it was wildly inappropriate and utterly unacceptable for me to be … watching you on a date, but the thing is, I know Walter’s type. Total vermin as far as women are concerned. And from what I saw, I wasn’t wrong to worry.”

  I bite my bottom lip as the evening’s events play out in my mind. “I should have seen it coming. I don’t know what I was thinking,” I say. “What a waste of a new dress.”

  “That dress …” he says in a low tone.

  Oh, that voice. That accent. That’s it. I’m done waiting for him to make the first honest move between us. I know he wants me as much as I want him and someone has got to get the ball rolling. I turn toward him, essentially pinning him between me and the wall. “I can’t figure you out. You say you’re not interested, and yet everything you do says the opposite. If I’m nothing to you, why would you go to all that trouble—especially when you should be working.”

  He glances down at my lips. “I felt responsible for introducing you to Walter in the first place.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I say in a breathy tone
. “I think there’s some other reason, but you’re not willing to admit it.”

  He lowers his head toward mine and murmurs, “It’s because you deserve so much better.”

  He leans down a little more and grazes my neck with his lips. Unlike when Walter was digging his face into my neck and sniffing me like I was a dog’s behind, I’m totally on board with this. I don’t say anything though. I don’t want to break the mood. “Oh God, you smell so good,” Noel groans.

  He continues to hold me against him—hello, he’s not as indifferent to me as he’d like me to believe—until the elevator opens up again. Suddenly, it’s like the spell we were under is lifted and reality floods in with the bright lights from his office. Noel sighs, closing his eyes and taking his hands off me. “You deserve someone who will be there for you, not someone who stays late at the office every night.” I take a step back, leaving an empty space between us, then turn and walk toward his office. “Right. I forgot you’re the only person on the planet who runs his own business. I guess I should get my things and go home.”

  I hurry past him to the bathroom to collect my change of clothes. When I walk out, he’s rubbing the back of his neck with a tortured look on his face. Good. He should feel conflicted. He’s been conflicting the hell out of me for weeks.

  “Wait. Please stay,” he says, then quickly adds, “You didn’t really get a chance to eat, and to go home now would be a total waste of that dress.” He gives me a very sexy smile, but I don’t return it. “Maybe we could order in like we did the other night, only with less wine?”

  He looks so desperate to keep me here I don’t have the heart to yell at him for toying with me, even though I’m sorely tempted to. I stare at him for a long moment, wanting nothing more than to stay, but then I shake my head. “Unless you’ve suddenly changed your mind about things, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I tell him honestly. “If I sit here with you and pretend you mean nothing to me, I’ll only be hurting myself.”