by Elise Faber
Heather considered that for a few seconds. “Okay, fine.” She finally glanced down at her cell and made at face at what she saw on the screen. “I just don’t understand how he transformed from Mr. Nice Guy into Sir Asshole.”
“Either way,” Kay said. “He’s not Mr. Right. So”—and she wanted to make this crystal clear because Heather was a master negotiator and had a penchant for finding workarounds and loopholes—“repeat after me: No more blind dates.”
Her friend nodded. “No more setting you up on blind dates. Got it.”
And with a quick squeeze and a promise of dinner soon, Heather left.
Kay stared after her, trying to figure out why that interaction had come off as weird. Heather’s agreement had been almost too easy, but then again, she had felt bad about the disaster of a date, so maybe that was it.
Huh. Kay shrugged mentally as she pulled out her laptop.
Weirdness aside, Heather was a woman of her word. If she promised no more blind dates, she would follow through with that.
It was only later that Kay would realize that while Heather had promised no more blind dates, what she hadn’t promised was to forgo dates altogether.
Words, man. Sometimes they came back and bit a girl on the—
Chapter Three
Garret
He’d known he’d fucked up from the moment he’d watched the beautiful blonde come his way, pretty chocolate eyes molten and all but shooting sparks.
Garret knew he’d pissed her off, but hadn’t comprehended why.
Had he broken something when he accidentally bumped into her?
He knew he probably should have stopped to help her pick up her things, to make sure she was fine, but he’d already been late and wanting to get the evening over with.
Not to mention the rant. He’d been spouting off to his best friend and former teammate, Kevin, like he’d earned a gold medal in ranting.
But then the woman had approached with fury written across her face, and so Garret had quickly hung up his call, pocketed his cell, and opened his mouth to apologize. But he hadn’t managed to get more than a syllable out before she was assaulting him with a paperback and then telling him to check out the New York Times listings.
And that was the precise moment he realized the degree to which he’d fucked up.
Because the beautiful blonde wasn’t just a stranger he’d bumped into on the street.
Nope. She was his date.
A date he hadn’t wanted, but one that had been his investor’s idea. Heather O’Keith was a legend in the business world, and when she’d found out he was single and potentially looking for that status to change, she’d all but forced one Katherine Hart on him.
What was he going to say? No?
Of course not.
He wanted RoboTech’s investment, and he was counting on Heather’s business acumen.
So he’d agreed to the date.
But inwardly, he’d groaned and moaned and bitched as if his coach had dressed him down in front of the guys. And this inner whine-fest had only grown louder when Heather told him how she’d met Katherine and that her friend was a romance novelist.
First, Garret was a realist. He didn’t have room in his life for someone who spent time fantasizing over fictional eight-packs and happy endings that rarely came to fruition.
Second, he’d pictured a woman who looked like those from the backs of his mother’s books. Bodice rippers still cluttered her nightstand and, well, this was going to make him sound like a Class-A asshole again, but the women whose pictures were on the back of those hadn’t exactly been his type. They appeared a little frumpy, slightly awkward, and old enough to be his . . . well, his mother.
Of course, what he hadn’t expected was tall, lean, and gorgeous with angelic features and lush lips that any man would dream of kissing. Even her glasses had added to her allure.
Katherine—or Kay as she’d told him she went by—definitely had the sexy librarian vibe happening.
And if there was one thing that Garret dug, it was the sexy librarian look.
Contrary to his size as an adult, he’d been little growing up. But now he was six-feet-four, two hundred and fifty pounds, and while he didn’t have that fictional eight-pack, he was in damned good shape considering his professional rugby career had ended five years earlier. Still, he’d been the shortest in his class for years and as skinny as a beanpole. The library had been his happy place, somewhere he could pretend to be strong and tall or a superhero or a Greek god.
And he’d had a crush on Mrs. Phillips, the librarian.
That had all ended, the summer before his junior year which had brought him eight inches and forty pounds. Not his love for literature, but his pathetic crush.
He’d done little over those months except eat, sleep, and groan during the miserable growth spurt. Every bone in his body had hurt, including his toes.
But he’d come out the other side and had picked up rugby.
Which wasn’t typical in the States—except Garret had been born in California to an American mother and an Australian father, so he had love for both countries. His parents had divorced when he was in high school, his dad moving back to Australia and Garret’s summers permanently spent in a foreign country.
Not that Australia wasn’t great. There were parts that were amazing, and he loved the beaches, the people, and rugby. That he’d loved even before his growth spurt. After, he’d gotten good at the sport—so good that he’d managed to play professionally.
The only bad thing about spending summers in Australia had been being away from his friends and missing out on all the high school parties.
His lips curved when he remembered how upset he’d been about missing Beverly Hawkins' swim party. The girls had skinny dipped, and he hadn’t been there to witness it.
God, he’d been such a perv.
Was still a perv.
He was also fucked, he realized the moment that Heather walked into her office. He’d been waiting for the better part of forty-five minutes, her assistant plying him with coffee and snacks, and him assuming that another meeting had run long.
What he hadn’t expected was for Heather to come in, guns blazing, having already spoken with Katherine—Kay.
How did he know that she’d spoken to Kay?
Probably because she strode across the room, lifted her hand as though to slap him—though she didn’t—and glared. “I should slap you,” she muttered. “God knows you deserve it. But Kay has this pesky policy against physical violence, and so I’m going to abide by it, as much as it pains me to say.”
“I do deserve it,” he said.
She indicated he should sit before she crossed behind her desk and sat down herself. “Yes.” Her eyes went flinty, steel entering her expression in a way that made this woman way more terrifying than any of his coaches had ever been. “Next time you lie to me, our deal is off the table. I don’t fuck around, I don’t play games, and I don’t force people I work with to date my friends.”
“I—”
“Frankly, it was hard fucking enough to get Kay to agree to the date in the first place. She hates meeting new people, and going out in general is like a worst-case scenario for her.”
She seemed to be waiting for a response from him, so he told the truth. “Me, too.”
Heather threw up her hands, as if she knew he’d say that. “Yes. Exactly. Which is why I thought you two would hit it off. She’s beautiful and brilliant and a homebody.” Blue eyes narrowed further. “Like you.”
Garret winced. “I—”
“Fucked up.”
He nodded. “I was an ass.”
“A total ass. A slap-deserving ass.” She stood up and started pacing the room. “How dare you call her a cow! Do you know how insulting that is? How fucking dismissive and disgusting?”
“Look”—he pushed to his feet—“Yes, I was an asshole, but I don’t need a dressing down from you. I was a prick, case closed, and I already apologized .
. . or well, I sent an apology to Kay’s apartment this morning.”
Heather stared at him long enough that he struggled not to squirm.
“You apologized?” she eventually said.
A nod. “Yes.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t fair to her or even, women in general. I was showing off for a friend and being a dick. And, not that this matters at all, but I read the book she gave me”—cough, hit him with—“last night. It was damned good.”
Another long moment of staring and subsequent resisting of squirming.
Why would a grown man feel the urge to squirm in front of a woman half his size?
Because Heather was Heather fucking O’Keith.
And there was just something about her that made people fall in line.
“What happened in chapter twenty-eight?”
“You mean where the hero realized he was an ass and then went to grovel for forgiveness?”
Her lips curved slightly. And it was slight, but that barely-there smile was enough to allow Garret to relax.
Marginally.
“I hope you took notes,” she said.
“I did. I sent her a gift card to the local bookstore along with a ridiculously expensive notebook and stationary set I picked out myself.”
“Hmm.”
“And flowers and chocolates and a handwritten note.”
Heather crossed to her chair, plunked down into it. “Good. And you’re going to ask her out again?”
Garret blinked. “Well, I think I fucked that particular option up, don’t you?”
“Hmm.” Heather opened a folder on her desk. “Well, it just so happens that I need another man to round out my table at RoboTech’s fundraiser this Saturday.”
His brows rose, hope bubbled up in his blood. “And will your table include one Kay Hart?”
“Of course, it will.” A sage smile. “Now, about your proposal . . .”
Chapter Four
Kay
For the second time in only a week she was out late, not in bed, and not in her sleep pajamas.
Her heels made a little click click as she walked into the venue that was housing Heather’s fundraising event, and she had to resist the urge to tug at the straps of her bodice. She didn’t often wear dresses, and certainly not ones that were so limited in the fabric department.
But after the disastrous date with Garret, she’d wanted to feel sexy.
So, she’d ditched her glasses, put in contacts, and squeezed into her best pushup bra.
Paired with the long navy chiffon gown and she’d pulled her own teen movie makeup montage. The point was that Kay could be glam when she had to—or in this very rare case, when she wanted to.
Garret Williams could just stick that up his incredibly yummy ass. Which was so not the point, but still a nice thought.
Who was the cow now?
Hmph. He’d even had the nerve to send her flowers and expect her to accept his apology for being a jerk.
And chocolates, her brain reminded her. And a gorgeous journal and pen. And—
“Enough,” she growled.
“Are you all right?”
The college-aged boy running the coat check gave her a concerned look, and Kay realized she’d paused in the middle of taking off her jacket and was talking to herself.
Aloud. In public.
Yup. That was absolutely perfect.
Sighing, she forced the frown lines between her brows to relax and curved her lips up into a smile.
“I’m fine.” She shoved the coat at him, mentally promised that she’d give him a big tip for being weird later then hurried off with a cheery, “Thank you!”
“Get it together, Hart,” she muttered under breath once she was out of earshot. “You’ll go in there, say hello, have a bite to eat, a drink, stick around the requisite amount of time, then GTFO.”
Feeling better after reminding herself of her plan, Kay lifted her chin and walked through the double doors. Inside, the ballroom had been filled with round tables. They were adorned with gleaming white tablecloths, glittering candles, and gorgeous floral displays.
Each table had a different theme, and the accessories—flowers, vases, and other decorations—had been carefully selected to fit in with that theme.
How did Kay know all of that, just by striding through the door?
Well, the proceeds from tonight’s benefit were going to a local literacy charity and because of Kay’s experience in publishing, Heather had sicced her assistant Rachel on her. Together they’d selected a different genre of book for each table before going crazy with theming the items.
Kay hadn’t minded, however.
The one thing she’d never been able to get enough of was books, and getting to arrange an entire party around the love of her life?
She couldn’t lie. It had been the most fun she’d had in ages.
Besides the silent and live auctions, all the centerpieces would be sold. And she had her eye on table ten, which held the historical romance wares. Kay wanted that early edition of Pride and Prejudice, dammit, and she didn’t care who she had to take down in the process of getting it.
Heather walked by her then did a double take, jaw falling open.
“Kay?” She stopped, backed up a few feet. “Holy shit. You look amazing! That dress is incredible.”
“Thanks—”
Clay, Heather’s husband, walked up. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but—Kay?” he exclaimed. “Wow. That’s a beautiful color on you.”
Kay blushed. That was the reaction she’d wanted from getting dressed up, of course, but she wasn’t used to people noticing the way she looked. Still, she was going to take the confidence booster and leave it at that.
Look at her, all mature and shit.
“Go do what you need to do,” she told Heather. “I’m going to grab a drink. Are we still sitting together? Or did you bump me for someone more important?”
Heather grinned. “Would I do that to my favorite author?”
“For more donations?” Kay asked. “I would hope so.”
“And that”—Heather squeezed her arm—“is why you’re a good friend. I’ll see you later. Table ten.”
Kay waved before heading to the bar.
Once there, she ordered her normal Cosmo before leaning back against the bar top to look around the room. Rachel had worked her magic, turning what could have been a bland ballroom into a really beautiful event. And, though she’d only played a small part in it with the tables, Kay had to admit she was proud of her contribution.
“Here you are,” the bartender said.
She turned around, tipped him, and then returned to leaning against the bar, only this time with her Cosmo in hand.
Yeah, she thought as she took a sip, that was so much better.
“This must be up your alley.”
Kay froze, martini glass at her lips, eyes darting to her left.
She knew that voice.
And the last time she’d heard it, he’d been calling her a cow.
Okay, not exactly the last time, but taking a little creative license now and then was kind of her thing.
Garret mirrored her position, leaning against the bar as his eyes trailed down and back up. “You look incredible,” he said, lifting a bottle of beer to his lips.
Kay sucked in a breath and nearly choked on her drink. But, hot damn, there was something about a man who drank straight out of a bottle. No fancy glass or prissy cocktail, but a man’s man who drank and fucked and—
Apparently, she’d gone too long without writing a true alpha.
Because Garret screamed alpha, especially in that form-fitting suit that showed off his broad shoulders and lean hips and, fuck, but his thighs. There weren’t any chicken legs in sight because Garret had great thighs.
Kay’s mind drifted for a minute, imagined those thighs shoving hers apart as he thrust home. Or maybe her straddling him, riding them both to completion. Or maybe—
She coughed agai
n and then almost choked for a second time when hot, calloused fingers brushed the bare skin of her back.
Had she mentioned that her dress was backless?
A fact that Kay was simultaneously thrilled and dismayed about in that moment.
“Are you okay?” Garret asked, the brush turning into a gentle pat as she coughed. He snagged her glass from her hand, set it on top of the bar.
She nodded, slowing her breathing as she attempted to not cough up a lung.
“Fine,” she eventually managed to rasp. “Thank you.”
“Sorry if I startled you.” Chocolate eyes met hers. “And I’m sorry for the other night. I was an asshole.”
Her lips parted as a surprised breath slipped out.
An apology? No qualifications, no excuses? Just sorry?
Fingertips brushed her spine again. “I didn’t want to be there, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Further that, what I said was—”
Except, Kay had stopped listening after I didn’t want to be there.
She’d waited an hour for the man, missed out on her beet salad and chocolate soufflé for a jerk who hadn’t even wanted to come in the first place.
She’d gotten out of her daytime pajamas for the man.
What. The. Fuck?
The callous fingers on her bare skin lost their appeal, the intimate fantasies speeding through her brain faded away.
“—completely inappropriate and wrong and—”
“I’ll have you know—” she started to say before stopping and shaking her head. This man would never get it. “You know what? Never mind. Thanks for the apology. Have a nice life.”
She grabbed her glass, started to turn away.
“Wait.” He snagged her wrist, causing her cocktail to slosh over the rim of the cup, splashing all along her arm. “Shit.” Still holding on to her, he turned for the bar, snagged some napkins from the pile and held them out to her. “Sorry.”
“Lot of that going around,” she muttered, slipping free of his grip and wiping her arm. She’d need to go to the bathroom to wash it, otherwise she’d be walking around with a sticky hand all night.