“Married?” The word comes out as a shriek, and he winces. “If you’re married, why would you even think about kissing me? You shouldn’t be thinking about kissing anyone!” My voice just keeps getting louder and louder with each word, but I can’t stop it.
Mitchell takes a step forward, reaching out a hand cautiously like he’s trying to soothe a wounded animal, and I scramble away from him. I don’t stop moving until once again I’m up against the wall and can’t go any further.
He doesn’t stop coming until he’s standing directly in front of me, much like the position we were in yesterday in the alley. His hand comes to rest on the exposed brick beside my head and he leans in, eyes never leaving mine.
“Let me explain.”
I scoff. “There’s nothing you could say that would make any of this better. We shouldn’t even be in this room alone together. God knows what the guys out there think we’re in here doing.” Freezing as another awful thought comes into my head, I gasp. “Oh my God. Is this something you do a lot?”
His eyes narrow on me and his lips turn down into a dark scowl. “Do what exactly? What are you accusing me of?”
“Accusing you of? Oh, that’s rich. You know what I’m asking. Do you often corner women in alleys and closed off rooms while your poor wife sits at home thinking you’re this good, faithful husband?”
The snarl that comes out of his mouth has me shrinking back into the wall. He leans even further forward though, not giving me even an inch of space. Our noses are only a centimeter apart and I can feel his breath on my face when he speaks.
“Wow. Quick to judge, aren’t you? You don’t know anything about my so-called ‘poor wife’ but let me clue you in. She’s not my poor anything. In fact, she’s been making my life miserable for the past two years. Hell, much longer than that if I’m being honest.”
I start to ask him what he means, but the anger sparking out of his dark blue eyes keeps me silent. Thankfully, he continues without my having to ask.
“Tabitha’s family owns a very successful bank. Much like this garage, it’s been passed down from generation to generation and she’s lived a very comfortable life. Unfortunately, even though I own this place free and clear, I can’t keep her in the manner she’s become accustomed to, and she never lets me forget it.”
Oh no.
The sympathy on my face must be clear because he looks even more pissed off when he sees it. “Yeah, Hailey. It’s rough not being able to give your wife all the crap she thinks she needs to have. And when I can’t? She runs crying to Daddy who gladly gives it to her. I tried to put up with it, to just deal, but it kept getting worse and worse. A year ago, I finally told her I was done. I was leaving and wanted a divorce. Know what she said? If I left, she’d disappear with my kids. Obviously, I can’t leave Seattle. This company is all I have and people depend on me. Would she really leave? Probably not. But, how do I take that chance? How do I risk losing my kids?”
He sounds so damn sad, so lost and not able to see she’s manipulating him. Or, maybe he does and just doesn’t know how to stop her. In this moment, I hate his wife. I hate this woman I’ve never seen.
“Mitchell, I’m sure she wouldn’t leave. If her family has owned that bank forever, her whole life is here. If she’s so tied to material things, she’s not going to want to leave and have to start all over. Surely you can see that, right? Call her bluff. I know it’s hard, but a judge isn’t going to just let her take your kids and disappear.” My voice is rising again because I’m so angry for him.
He shrugs. “I don’t want to take the chance. I don’t want to break up my family. Isn’t it better to stay until they turn eighteen instead of only seeing them every other fucking weekend?”
I can tell the emotion is getting to him too. “No, it’s not. All you’re doing is showing them that they should stay somewhere toxic. That they should stay somewhere and be miserable.”
His eyes slam shut, but not before I see the pain in them. I’m about to say screw it and kiss him anyway, even though it makes me a homewrecking bitch, but before I can, the door opens to reveal a tall, svelte blonde who looks pissed.
Her eyes focus on me and I’m glad looks can’t kill because I’d be dead.
“What are you doing with my husband?”
Oh shit…
Find out what happens next in Right With Me, coming this summer from Lady Boss Press!
About the Author
Stacey is the New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author of Second Chances, Shadows of the Past (co-authored with H.M. Ward), the Nashville Secrets series, and the Nashville U series.
She’s also the single mom of three amazingly crazy boys and since she’s a transplanted Yankee, considers herself a big city girl living in a small town. Because she can’t live in the cities she loves – Nashville, New York, Chicago – she writes about people who do instead. When she isn’t writing, you can usually find her curled up with a sexy book, or more accurately, scrolling through Tumblr. She also isn’t afraid to admit her favorite addictions: Tumblr GIF’s, social media, Spotify, Dr. Pepper, and of course, dirty books. Hunky heroes with control issues and strong heroines who stand up to them are her weakness. She loves to talk books – not just her own – with anyone, so send her a message!
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Where you can find her:
staceylewis.com
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Date Night
Date Night
By Jodi Linton
Dare Night
Copyright © 2020 Jodi Linton
All rights reserved.
DATE NIGHT is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editor: Bootcamp Edits
Chapter One
I’m excited about tonight.
I texted.
Me too. Looking forward to it.
I’m assuming from your text that
your schedule is free.
Very free. Thanks for the hook-up.
My pleasure. Did you get the
picture I sent?
Yes. You look very handsome.
I wrote back right away.
Are you sure it isn’t too stuffy?
Red tie and suit?
Not my normal look.
Not at all.
You look like a lawyer.
Jeez. That’s exactly what
I want to hear from my dinner date.
: )
What are you wearing tonight?
Casual or dressing up?
You’ll see.
Just look for the red rose headband.
You know how to leave a man wanting.
I’ve had some practice.
I shoot back the text with a winking GIF.
Mia’s Italian Garden. 7:30.
The one on Sheridan Avenue?
Right. Can’t wait to see you.
Ditto. Bye.
I wrote back ending the messaging.
Chapter Two
Jack McQuaid thumbed the text messaging app off the screen and silenced his phone, laying it aside on his desk. Holly’s flirty texts had sent a jolt of heat ripping through him. Sucked, he had an impromptu late afternoon meeting adding more minutes to his time at the office before their get together.
He’d been waiting all day to finally hear his Valentine’s
Day dinner date was a go. Hell. He’d made all the plans, set everything into motion, just hearing the okay from Holly sent a thrill racing through him quicker than the time he found out he’d made partner. God, he couldn’t wait to hang-out with Holly.
A smile tugged at his lips at the thought of searching a room of dinner guests for a red rose headband. He always liked games: board games, video games, schoolyard ones in his youth, just reaching the pinnacle age of forty had put a halt on fun times. Households ran on work, bills, and money. A field he was very well educated on, well…besides law.
Jack stood, slipped his cell phone in his suit jacket and picked up his briefcase. He walked out of his office, the spacious room with floor to ceiling windows that overlooked Main Street and stepped out into the reception area of Banks and McQuaid Law offices. Usually by seven at night he was just opening another case to get ahead for the next day meetings, but tonight was special. It was Valentine’s Day. After four months of working hard at the Simmons case, he needed to play hard too. He’d neglected that side of his life for too long while racking up the billable hours to pay his own bills, but he was learning the hard way that money can’t buy lasting happiness.
But outings like tonight could.
The sturdy wooden doors closed behind him as he approached the receptionist desk. He sat his briefcase on the floor next to his loafers and gave the top of the desk a knuckle tap. “Is opposing council in the meeting room?”
Suzy Grossman looked up at him from the pages of the book she was reading. “Mr. McQuaid! Oh…” she glanced at the paperback again. “Sorry. I—I shouldn’t have been reading.”
Jack laughed. “It’s okay, Suzy. The office is so boring at night, don’t you think?”
“If saying so won’t get me fired, then I’ll agree,” Suzy replied, flipping the book page side down on the desk.
“Banks isn’t here. I think we’re both good when it comes to calling the law office a bore at night,” Jack said. “About the opposing council?”
“Right.” Suzy went straight in her chair. “They’re waiting for you in the meeting room.”
“Thanks.” Jack plucked his briefcase from the floor. “Go ahead and switch the phone lines to night and go home early. It’s Valentine’s. I’ll be leaving soon anyways.”
“Oh, okay.” Suzy immediately pulled open her desk drawer and retrieved a purse, slinging it over her shoulder. She came around the desk and stood in front of him. “Got a big date, Mr. McQuaid?”
He did. A really important one. One he couldn’t afford to be late for or miss. He’d done that too often during the last several months. “Yes.”
Suzy beamed. “I bet someone is really happy about that.”
He just nodded.
“Well, okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Suzy said, then headed toward the elevators.
Jack turned to the meeting room doors. He’d give a brisk rundown of their next proceedings and then be on his way to Mia’s Italian Garden. He approached the doors and pushed them open.
Three men wearing suits in various colors of charcoal sat at the firm’s meeting room table. They looked up from their files and gave Jack a nod of acknowledgment.
He stayed in the doorway. “Gentlemen.”
“Jack,” Berny Anderson greeted, still seated.
“Hope our late call for a meeting didn’t mess up any Valentine’s plans you had,” Pete Williams added.
“Jack’s a bulldog,” Kyle Green exclaimed. “He doesn’t pass out candy hearts.”
Jack had gone to law school with each one of them, thrown more Frat parties with them than he’d wanted to admit to under oath, attended their weddings. They used to work for the same firm, but then Jack needed a change of pace. He needed to climb the ladder faster; made the move to Banks Law Firm and soon became partner.
He shrugged. “Actually, we’re going to need to make this quick.”
They all appeared stunned, but Berny spoke first. “Is your client in agreement with the changes our client would like to make?”
He tugged at his necktie and leaned into the doorway. “Mr. Simmons is in complete agreement. He also wants to add another hundred thousand to the alimony payments. You think that would work for Mrs. Simmons?”
“I think that can be doable,” Kyle said as the other two lawyers jotted down notes.
“Good. My secretary will draw up the new contract by tomorrow afternoon.” Jack straightened. “Good seeing you guys. We need to hit the golf course sometime soon.”
Five minutes later, Jack tossed his tie on the passenger seat inside his truck, popped open the glove compartment box and pulled out his old college ballcap, slipping it on his head. There, he thought. That’s better. I might be dusty on the dating scene, but I can do this. God knows I need a night off.
It’d been three months since he’d last gone out on a date, a concert, downtown to celebrate his fortieth in old school nineties style. He had hoped for an all-nighter. But what he got instead was another early end to a night that should’ve been promising, nixing the idea of romance. Not that concert was bad, the gift was fantastic. He just wished he’d made more nights like tonight happen, a lot sooner.
Spending Valentine’s out on the town with a beautiful woman was exactly what he needed to end his stressful work week.
Chapter Three
Holly chugged her beer as she signaled the waiter for another. The red rose headband on her head felt silly. Hell, her whole outfit was impractical right down to her black stilettos. Especially, those. Her day job required comfort and ease. Translated: sweatpants and sneakers. But she wanted to impress herself. Yeah, yeah, she knew she wasn’t dating herself, but eating dinner at a fancy restaurant on Valentine’s Day gave her a reason to doll up and feel like the paparazzi was taking a million pictures of her on the red carpet.
Tonight she wanted to forget she was a mom of three, cleaning up spit off kitchen tile floors. Or a writer tied to her computer chasing down her next deadline.
She sighed. Cut a glance at the restaurant door once more, slumping in her chair. Figures her date would be late. She shouldn’t have been so eager to leave the house when the sitter arrived, if she hadn’t bolted to her Subaru Outback like she’d just discovered she’d been under a cabin fever spell, then she could’ve been the cool one arriving fashionably late.
Crap.
She was accustomed to waiting. A decade of being in the Mom seat to three kids under ten made habits, sometimes bad ones. Just tonight was supposed to be different. Was it that hard to put work to bed and be someone else, not a businessman for the night? She glanced at the empty beer bottle and regret sunk like an anchor claiming a port of call. Man, she wished she had ordered two drinks the last time her waiter came around, since Mr. Young Hipster Dude had been preoccupied with the redhead bartender for the last half hour. This was going to be an extra-long dinner date.
Another glance at her empty beer. What did it take to get noticed? The early bird got the worm didn’t seem to apply to her. She checked her watch. Thirty minutes. Her chest hurt. Damn, she was tired of being last on the list, waiting for a man, for any man.
Time to end the cycle. There was a six-pack of beer at home in her fridge.
She grabbed her handbag which was slung over the back of her chair, dug inside for a ten-dollar bill, and pushed back in her chair from the table. She was leaving. They could discuss the miss opportunity later.
Just then, a beer bottle was placed in front of her on the table. “You look like you could use a fresh one.”
She recognized that voice. Deep. Commanding. Should come with a warning label: will be fantasizing marriage after two dates, possibly three kids a decade later.
Jack McQuaid.
She looked at her beer offering Prince Charming. Tall. Built tough, with stacked shoulders that blocked a few running backs during their university days. He filled out his charcoal suit nicely, although it didn’t go too well with the tattered college ball-cap on his head. But it gave him
a quirk. Something she’d always been fond of—his ability to march to his own beat. He lowered his soft brown eyes on her, and she had to admit his peppered inky black beard was the sexiest thing she’d seen since her brand-new lingerie she’d ordered for tonight had arrived in the mail.
She rested her elbows on the table, not taking her eyes off the man setting her body ablaze. “Thanks.” He moved to pull the chair out from under the table, but she placed her hand on it, stopping him. “Seat’s not yours until you tell me why you were late.”
“Holly. It wasn’t intentional,” he said his usual reply ringing in her ears.
With her arms crossed at her chest, she ignored his go-to late work response. “I got dolled up tonight. I gave up a night of writing. I’m on deadline.” She was hurt. She wanted him to know it. “Late nights or just skipping family dinners has become your MO since you made partner. Tonight was important to me. I thought it was to you too. Guess I didn’t make the special star on your schedule after all.”
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. Worry lines were etched into his forehead and she hated that she had upset him, but he needed to know how she felt.
Jack lifted the beer dangling from his fingertips to his mouth and took a swig. Their gazes clicked, and she knew he knew she needed a damn good answer to appease her. “You are my number one. Don’t ever doubt it, Holly.”
She swallowed. “I don’t. It’s just—”
“I’m always late because of work,” he said.
“Yes.”
“I know. I plan on fixing that bad habit too,” Jack said. “I was out the door. I swear. But right before our text I received an email for a last- minute meeting on the Simmons divorce case. I’m sorry you waited alone for me.”
A Little Bit Cupid: A Collection of Short Stories Page 23