No More Horrible Dates

by Kate O'Keeffe

She places one on my desk. “I’ve been standing here calling your name,” she replies.

  “Sorry. I was deep in thought about, err, what to do with the Crichton account.”

  She lifts his eyebrows as her smile spreads across his face. “Crichton? The hardware chain?”

  “Yes. That’s the one.”

  “Really,” she replies, clearly not convinced. “I thought you might have been thinking about a certain Hawks player.”

  My cheeks warm up at the mention of Nick’s name. I raise my hands in surrender. “You got me.”

  “I knew it!” She puts her own mug down next to mine and wheels her chair over. With her elbows on her knees, she says in a low voice, “So, is it love?”

  I give a surprised laugh. “You sound like Harriet. She was asking whether we’re getting married. We’ve only been dating for a little while, you know.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t mean a thing. It’s a whirlwind romance, that’s what it is. I remember when I met my Paul like it was only yesterday.” She lets out a soft sigh. “The moment we laid eyes on one another across the chicken carcasses, I just knew.”

  I pull a face. “Chicken carcasses?”

  “He’s a butcher.”

  “Ah.”

  “Of course, I played coy for a while as I inspected his sausages. He does a very good sausage, my Paul.”

  “That’s…good to know. I’ll bear that in mind when I’m in the market for, ah, sausages.”

  “Choose the pork and fennel. You can’t go wrong with pork and fennel.”

  “Well, thanks for the advice.” I look at my screen meaningfully. “I’d better get back to work, though.”

  “Or you could go back to daydreaming about Nick Zachary, which is what you were doing anyway,” Margie says with a wink.

  “That too.” I give her a what-are-you-gonna-do smile and add, “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “No problem-o.” Margie wheels herself back to her desk, and I turn my attention to my actual job, the one that currently pays my bills, and the one I really should be focusing on while I’m in the office. But my concentration soon lags, and before long, I’m back staring at all the lovely messages people have posted to my webpage, grinning to myself and fantasizing about my brilliant new career in fashion.

  I hear Margie call my name once more. “Erin?”

  Guiltily, I turn around. Only, this time it’s not Margie. This time it’s Permanently Off My Christmas Card List Miranda, and by the look on her face, she’s seen what was on my screen.

  Rookie mistake, Erin. Rookie mistake.

  “Hello, Erin,” she says in a slow, measured, and completely threatening way. She would make a perfect movie villain.

  “Miranda. How nice. Did you need to see me about something?”

  She presses her lips together, her blue eyes drifting from my face to what she can see of my screen. “Busy?” she asks.

  “Yes, very.” I shift myself in the hopes of better obscuring my screen.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  She shoots me a knowing look. “We need you in the board room. It’s almost eleven o’clock.”

  “Of course,” I reply with a firm business-like nod. “Project update meeting. I’ll finish up what I’m doing here and be right in.”

  “Okay,” she replies. She doesn’t move. She simply stands in the same spot, watching me with a curious look on her face.

  If I move now, chances are she’ll get a very clear view of my website. Miranda may be a horrible human being and an unashamed flirt when it comes to Nick, but she’s as sharp as a tack. She’ll work out why I agreed to the whole thing, and my days at the Hawks will most certainly be numbered.

  I dart her the most relaxed and breezy smile I can muster while my livelihood hangs in the balance. “Don’t wait for me, Miranda. I’ve got something to deal with quickly first.”

  Her icy blue eyes are trained on me. “Do you now?”

  “Yes, I do. It’s a problem I’m dealing with, actually. A big problem, with, err, far-reaching consequences.”

  “That sounds serious,” she replies. “Which account is it?”

  “It’s the Crichton account,” Margie the expert eavesdropper says from her desk. “Erin’s been working on it all morning. Haven’t you, Erin?”

  I shoot Margie a grateful look. “That’s right. All morning. Phew! I’m worn out from it, I’ve got to say.”

  “You’ve done a great job, Erin,” Margie says.

  “Thank you, Margie.”

  Miranda knits her perfectly shaped brows together and asks, “What’s gone so wrong with the Crichton account?”

  Crap! What has gone wrong with the Crichton account? I know the answer is nothing, but I can’t say that. In a complete flap, I search my brain. Hardware store…stuff guys like…boring outdoor thing…tools… That’s it! Tools. “Oh, ah, one of the players is having trouble with his…his chainsaw,” I say.

  “His chainsaw?” she questions skeptically.

  “Yes. He bought it from Crichton Hardware, and it’s not working properly.”

  “Oooh, that sounds dangerous,” Margie says, clearly forgetting that this problem with the Crichton account is entirely made up.

  “Oh, it has the potential to be dangerous,” I reply. “He could do some serious damage with a malfunctioning chainsaw, couldn’t he? I mean, he could chop off a limb.”

  “He’s chopped off a limb?” Miranda asks in alarm.

  “Well, no. But he could if his chainsaw was faulty. Which it is. It’s a faulty chainsaw. A faulty chainsaw from Crichton Hardware.”

  She crosses her arms and narrows her eyes. “Riiiight.”

  I bet she’s trying to work out whether I’m covering something up or I’ve completely lost all grip on reality. And right now, I’m not sure which is preferable.

  When I don’t move, she repeats, “Erin, the boardroom?” And then she snaps her fingers at me. Seriously, she snaps them, and not in a fun way, as if she’s Dad doing his terrible dad-dance to a Duran Duran song. Oh, no. She snaps them in a snap-to-attention-you-lowly-one-celled-amoeba kind of way.

  “The boardroom. Got it,” I reply.

  I know I need to move. I spring into action, zipping out of my chair and turning my back to her as quickly as I can. I close my browser and say a little prayer that she didn’t see my site in all its Erin Andrews Designs glory. I plaster a confident and business-like smile on my face. “Let’s go to the boardroom for that meeting, shall we?”

  “And I’ll make sure that player doesn’t go sawing off anything he shouldn’t be sawing off,” Margie says.

  I dart her a grateful look and mouth “thank you,” and she gives me a little wink.

  I follow Miranda into the boardroom, where I’m surprised to see Nick sitting with Ed, their heads down, deep in conversation.

  “Gentlemen,” Miranda says as I close the door behind us.

  As my eyes meet Nick’s, my belly does its usual flip-flop, only this time I feel a stab of worry. He looks worn out, and he’s got dark circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept for a week.

  I take a seat near him and quietly ask, “Are you okay?”

  “Just tired, that’s all,” he replies with a quick (totally unconvincing) smile.

  “You look awful.”

  He chortles. It sounds hollow, unnatural. “Thanks a lot, Ernie.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m fine. Seriously. Missed some sleep last night, that’s all. I’ve got…stuff going on.”

  “Okay.” I get the distinct feeling he’s not giving me the full story, but he can’t tell me what’s really going right now, not in a room with Miranda and Ed. I change the topic. “I didn’t know you were coming in today,” I say.

  “Me neither. I got back from training camp last night and got the call this morning.”

  “I called him in,” Ed says from the other side of the table, “and for very good reason. We wanted to thank you both for doing such
a great job of Project Weka so far.”

  “We do,” Miranda says as she taps on her laptop and an image of Nick and I at High Tea that very first date, flashes up on the screen. “You two have successfully convinced everyone that you’re a happy couple, and you’re being talked about in cafés and bars and on rugby fields the country over. This is where it all began.” She nods at the screen. “It’s hard to believe that was only two weeks ago.”

  I blink at the screen. Two weeks? That’s all it’s been? So much has happened in that time.

  “You do look particularly good in this photo, Nick,” Miranda simpers. “The light’s catching your square jaw and highlighting your eyes.” She lets out a girly giggle and adds, “If you don’t mind me saying so.”

  I blink at her in disbelief. She’s seriously flirting with him again?

  He gives her a closed mouth smile. “Thanks, but I think it’s Erin who really shines in that photo, not me.”

  I remain calm, but on the inside I’m punching the air.

  “Yes, well, I suppose Erin does look better than usual in this one,” she replies, totally nonplussed.

  “Thank you for the compliment, Miranda,” I reply with a wry grin.

  “You’re welcome,” she replies uncertainly.

  “Actually, I’ve seen a lot of these photos online already, and really, Erin looks great in all of them. Don’t you think, Miranda?” Nick continues.

  “Err…yes, yes she does.”

  I bite back a smile. I bet she’s wondering what the heck’s going on here. She’s the type of girl who’s used to getting the cute guys, with her confidence and long legs. Not the “ordinary” girl at the table.

  She taps a key on her laptop, and the screen flicks to an image of Nick and me with his dog the day of the badass girl T-shirt experience. We’re laughing as Bruno chases a ball, and we’re looking every inch the young couple in love.

  As I recall that day, something moves in my chest. That was the day we called a truce, the day I started to see the real Nick. The day I began to fall for him.

  I glance at Nick, and he shoots me a quick smile.

  “Your media presence has been prominent enough to deliver exactly the message we wanted you to deliver: that Nick Zachary is a changed man. Changed for the better,” Miranda continues.

  “Which is precisely why Project Weka was set up in the first place,” Ed adds. “Bennett Motors is extremely happy with the way this is working out.”

  “I think Erin looks super cute in that photo, too. Don’t you?” Nick says to Miranda.

  She visibly bristles. “Yes,” is all she says.

  He might look like he’s missing some sleep, but he’s successfully irking Miranda, and I, for one, am really enjoying it. Bad, bad Erin.

  “I’ve got to say, those photos of you on the red carpet on Friday night were sensational,” Ed adds. “Do you have any of those, Miranda?”

  “These ones,” Miranda says as the screen flicks to an image of Nick and me all dressed up, posing for the cameras.

  “That’s them,” Ed continues. “You looked like a real couple, out for the evening. Even I was convinced when I saw them over my coffee on Saturday morning, and I’m in on the project.”

  “Yes, they’re very good at acting the part, Ed,” Miranda says. “The coverage of ‘Nerick’ has been better than we would have hoped. You seem to have captured the country’s attention, so well done,” she says as she flicks to the next image.

  As Ed and Miranda continue to sing our praises—Ed a lot more genuinely than his counterpart—I glance at Nick. He still looks exhausted, and I can’t wait to get him alone to ask what’s really going on with him. It looks to me like it’s a whole lot more than just some missed sleep.

  Miranda’s voice pierces my thoughts. “Erin, tell me about this fashion design business of yours.”

  With a jolt I snap my attention to Miranda. “Sorry, what?”

  “Your fashion design business. I’d love to know all about it.” She tries out a smile, but it doesn’t suit her. Instead, it makes her usually beautiful features morph into an evil cartoon character.

  “Oh, Erin’s really talented at sewing, aren’t you, Erin?” Ed says, sounding just like a proud dad. “I bet you she made that dress she’s wearing today.”

  “Did you?” Miranda’s eyes glide over me in obvious disapproval.

  “Yes, I did,” I reply, as though discussing my dream job with people I work with in my current job isn’t as awkward as all get-out.

  “Erin made that dress she wore to the party on Friday night,” Nick says.

  “Oh, we know that,” Miranda replies with a smirk. “Erin Andrews Designs. Isn’t that right? I’ve seen the website, the one you were trying to hide when I came to your desk earlier.”

  The tension in my head begins to bloom, and I twist my hands in my lap. I need to tread carefully with this one. Really, really carefully. “Oh, that. Yes, I have a little side thing, I do. Nothing big. It’s more of a hobby than a business, I guess.”

  Miranda’s not letting this thing go. “So, when Nick told one of my media plants on the red carpet that you were an up and coming fashion designer, what he meant to say is you sew in your spare time, as a hobby?” She’s got a mock innocent look on her face as the edges of her mouth twitch in triumphant amusement. “Really, Erin, that’s a lot less glamorous, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, I…” Help! What do I say? “I like to sew,” I repeat weakly.

  Is that all I’ve got?

  “Yes, you said that. Funny that something you call a ‘hobby,’” she says using air quotes, “should have its very own website. Don’t you think?”

  “What’s this all about, Erin?” Ed asks as he peers at me in confusion. “Are you an up and coming fashion designer?”

  I look from Ed’s confused face to Miranda’s smug version. They’re both watching me closely, awaiting my reply.

  “You should just tell them,” Nick says to me.

  I turn and gawk at him. “What do you mean?” I say through gritted teeth. Tell them my plan was to use this public opportunity with Nick to launch my new fashion career so I can leave the world of rugby sponsorship behind?

  Nick leans his elbows on the table, and my nerves leap into overdrive. Is he going to sell me out? No, he’d never do that, not after everything. “Look, I boasted about Erin a little too much on the night. I was playing the game, telling everyone how amazing my new girlfriend is. That’s all.”

  “But the website I saw—” Miranda protests, only to be cut off by Nick.

  “—is nothing,” he says firmly. “Really, Miranda, I think your imagination has run riot, don’t you?”

  “Oh, maybe a little,” she simpers, and I marvel as her face changes from determined and angry to sweet and girly in less than two seconds flat. It’s like Nick has used a Jedi mind trick on her, and clearly I am not the droid Miranda is looking for today.

  “Well, I’m glad we got that cleared up,” Ed says, looking considerably less confused. “What’s up next for these two, Miranda?”

  “Oh, ah,” she mumbles. I guess she’s still in that Nick-Jedi-induced haze. “We thought you could be seen out to dinner somewhere chic. Remind the public that you are an everyday couple, but you’re also very glamorous, too.”

  “Aspirational, right?” I say with a wry smile.

  “Well, yes,” she replies, nonplussed. She snaps her laptop shut. “It’s good to see we’re on the same page with this. We’ll need to keep things going for another few weeks, then we’ll do a review.”

  “Of course,” I reply smoothly as I stand. “Are we done here?”

  “I think so. Keep up the good work, you two,” Ed says as he gets up to leave.

  “Nick and I should stay here to talk about our dinner plans,” I say. “Thanks for a good meeting.”

  Miranda’s eyes slide from mine to Nick’s. “That’s a good idea.”

  I close the door behind them, and it’s just me and Nick in the
room, alone.

  Chapter 17

  “Let’s go to that fancy place, Chez Paul,” he says.

  I gesture at the chairs. “Shall we sit back down again?”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like you’re about to tell me off?”

  I let out a light laugh as I sit. “I’m not going to tell you off. I just want to know if you’re okay.”

  He plunks down in his own seat and replies, “I’m fine.” It’s totally unconvincing.

  “Really? You don’t seem like your usual self today.”

  He lets out a heavy sigh. “I guess I’m worn out. The training camp was intense. They always are. You know our first game of the season is this weekend. If I want to keep my spot in the opening lineup, I’ve got to bring my A-game.”

  “I know, but please don’t go killing yourself, okay?”

  He shakes his head. “Okay, Mom.”

  “I’m not being your mom.”

  “Just a concerned girlfriend?” he asks with a smile.

  “Just a concerned girlfriend,” I echo.

  He shifts himself closer to me, so our knees are touching. “I like the sound of that.”

  I find his hand with mine. “Me, too.”

  “I know we’re at your work and all, but do you think we could do this?” He reaches out and cups my face in his hands, leans toward me, and kisses me on the lips. It’s tender and soft, and I close my eyes as my lips tingle, his Nick scent filling my nose.

  “I missed you.”

  “Ditto.”

  “Thanks for saying that before, you know, about my design business. I appreciate what you did for me. Miranda was not letting that one go.”

  He chortles. “She wasn’t. But don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

  It feels good to hear him say it. “I learned something new about you today.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “You know Jedi mind tricks.”

  He scrunches up his face in confusion. “Jedi mind tricks? Ernie, I don’t have a light saber, and I sure don’t go around dressed in long robes.”

  “I bet you’d totally rock it, though, if you did,” I reply with a grin, imagining him as a brave Jedi knight. It’s a good image. “The way you told Miranda that seeing my website didn’t mean anything and she simply accepted it. That was a Jedi mind trick.”