Adventures in Online Dating Page 11

  Alexa whispered something to Claudette, who nodded, and then she grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the storeroom. “Are we okay?”

  There was no hiding it. No pretending he wasn’t in turmoil. Better to throw his cards on the table. “I heard what you said to Peyton earlier. I thought you wanted a relationship. I thought that’s what all your speed dating had been about. And I can’t pretend I didn’t think that was the direction we started heading over the weekend.”

  Her fingers flew to the apron ties and yanked. She wound up knotting the damn thing behind her back. With a frustrated sigh, she started plucking at the ties. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Oh, I heard. You are good with having me behind closed doors, but I’m not what you want for your kids. Too much like them or something.”

  She managed to get a fingernail into the knot and work it loose. Turning her back to him, she hung up the apron and leaned against the peg in the wall, her entire body deflated. “Whatever I might have been looking for, you made it pretty clear you only have time for casual. You are getting exactly what you wanted. And I’m accepting, without question, what life brought while I wasn’t looking—which is also something you wanted me to do. Can’t we both just enjoy that? Can’t we enjoy each other without”—she batted at the apron that had just given her fits—“without strings?”

  “I’m not going to be your dirty little secret. Casual is one thing. What you’re suggesting is something else.”

  She spun and gaped at him like he was insane. “I never suggested you’d be a secret. Hell, I told my best friend already. I’m pretty sure Claudette knows. I have no intention of hiding you. But that doesn’t mean this is forever, either. I think we’re both smart enough to recognize the improbability of that without me having to look up statistics.”

  Stepping toward him, she reached up and ran her hand along his cheek, his stubble rasping against her soft skin. “I like you, Marshall. A lot. I like spending time with you. Can that be enough?”

  He didn’t have a solid answer. Not yet. “Maybe.”

  Nodding, she let her hand fall away. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She popped up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his mouth. She didn’t linger, letting herself fall away as her hand had a moment before. And then she was gone.

  The next hour was spent convincing himself she was right. That he was getting all the things he wanted from her. He wanted sex. She was offering that. He wanted conversation. She gave him that. He wanted help with the damn café. She put that on a silver fucking platter for him.

  What else could he really ask for?

  Then Chastity walked in. Mile-long legs and blond hair that would have made a supermodel jealous. She ordered a skinny chai latte with extra foam, and when she handed him the credit card receipt, it was joined by her business card. She gave him a smile ripe with suggestion and sauntered to a table in the back.

  Marshall put the receipt in the register and turned over the card. Are you ever going to call me?

  At least five cards on his stack were from Chastity. She’d been at the very top of his who-to-call list. But now, looking at her words, all he could think about was the weekend with Alexa. How she made him feel. How that—whether he wanted to admit it or not—had changed everything.

  He tossed Chastity’s card in the trash and glanced down at his cock, knowing he could have sex tonight with a hot, leggy blonde, and also knowing it wasn’t what he really wanted. No matter how okay he was pretending to be with the arrangement, he wanted more. “Sorry, big guy, but I’m hooked. We’re in it to win it with Alexa.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Shit.” The Friday afternoon rush just ended, and Alexa made the mistake of checking her phone when she grabbed her things from the locker.

  All her planning had gone to hell. Six months ago, she’d lined up a platonic date for the Marflow and Rath dinner party. No promises or worries about more than some networking opportunities—the perfect answer to a boring dinner. Until that platonic date had cancelled twenty minutes ago. The party was tomorrow night. How the hell was she supposed to fix this?

  Marshall strode into the storeroom and wrapped his arms around her from behind. As seemed to be his new modus operandi whenever she was upset, he was right there with an offer to help. “What’s wrong?”

  Too bad this wasn’t something she was comfortable asking him to do. “Big dinner party for one of the firms I consult with tomorrow. Attendance is expected, and my plus one just backed out.”

  “You had a date?”

  “I had a friend who was looking to impress the bigwigs and get a new job.” He’d been ecstatic to have the opportunity considering he’d been applying for every position at Marflow and Rath for which he was even remotely qualified. Appendicitis seemed to be the universe’s current way of telling him no.

  “But you need a date?”

  “Yes, I need someone willing to spend four hours schmoozing with people whose idea of a good time is talking about stock options and their most recent medical visits.” Granted, there were people at M & R who were more fun than that, but these dinners always seemed to be about fitting in with the senior-exec crowd, and unfortunately that dictated conversation.

  Marshall shrugged, took the apron from her hands, and hung it up. “I’ll go with you.”

  “What?” Her head snapped up, deserting the mental list of names she’d been scrolling through on the hunt for a potential replacement. It was nice not to have to worry about watching what she said around Marshall now. He took her outbursts in stride and ran with them, but this was going above and beyond.

  “Do you need to impress these people, or do you just need to be there?”

  “My results tend to impress them enough. It’s just an expectation that middle management and above make an appearance.” Which was why it always struck her as odd that she was included in that list. She was a consultant, contracted help, not an official employee—management or otherwise. But she didn’t argue with the people who made certain her mortgage was paid every month.

  “Then I’ll go with you and fill the extra seat. Since I’m not out for a job, you don’t have to worry about getting me to the right people. I’ll just be on hand to entertain you when you can’t handle the bunion and hemorrhoid talks anymore.”

  It wasn’t ideal, but he would be a lot more fun than any of the maybes on her list. “Are you sure? It’s a boring night.”

  “Positive. Especially if we can have sex in the limo on the way home.”

  Laughing, she shook her head. “There’s no limo, so that’d be rather difficult.”

  “Oh…I can get a limo.”

  Of that, she had no doubt. “But can you get a tux by tomorrow night?”

  “Done. What time should I have the limo pick you up?”

  He wasn’t kidding. “We don’t need a limo, and I’ll be at your place at six thirty. We need to be there by seven. Dinner is at eight.”

  “Perfect.” He leaned in close, kissed her tenderly, then whispered in her ear, “One more thing, what color are you going to wear?”

  His lips were practically on her earlobe. Another inch and they’d be fast-forwarding to a preview of the aforementioned limo shenanigans. Her eyelids fluttered at the thought. “Why?”

  “So I know what kind of flowers to have them put in the corsage.” He drew back with a wink and a grin. “Now get home to your kids so they’ll let you stay out late enough tomorrow for me to ravage you.”

  Kids. Right. Kids and responsibilities.

  …

  At six thirty sharp, she pulled up in front of Marshall’s apartment…and parked behind a jet-black limousine.

  Oh boy. The one and only time she’d ever ridden in a limo had been prom night. Even for their wedding, she and Chris had opted to save the money for their honeymoon instead. It wouldn’t be so bad, especially since dinner was at a banquet hall. Surely there would be a wedding going on in one of the other rooms, and the limo wouldn’t seem so terri
bly out of place, but she knew very well that none of the others at the M & R party would be arriving in one. Showing up with a much younger man was likely to raise a few eyebrows as it was. Showing up in a limo with a younger man… She wasn’t even sure how they would read that.

  She couldn’t help looking at it again as she strode up to the security door. Marshall buzzed her in before she even called up and then met her on the landing with flowers in hand. “The woman at the flower shop said a corsage might be overdoing it. So I went with these instead.”

  Roses. Red edges that bled to pale pink. Her favorite. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged like it was no big deal. “Last Mother’s Day, you came in for your coffee wearing one pinned to your jacket. And you had the same one on an old phone case. So, I took a guess that you liked this color.”

  Not red for romance or pink for joy, but both in one. He’d paid attention and guessed it meant something to her.

  The perfect flowers distracted her from him for a brief moment. But as he took the vase and put it back in his apartment so she could grab them later, she took in his tux and decided she really didn’t care what the stiff shirts at Marflow and Rath thought of her date. Marshall looked incredible. The black pants hugged his ass in ways that should be illegal. And he’d opted for a gray vest and skinny black tie over the standard black and bow tie. He tugged on the black jacket, and she found herself actually licking her lips.

  If tonight wasn’t for work, she would call the whole thing off so they could ride around having sex in the limo all night. Instead, she simply said, “You look amazing.”

  “No. I look like the guy who is lucky enough to be going to a fancy party with you. I’m just not afraid to hide it.” He winked. “I like to advertise, remember?”

  She dipped her head as heat rose in her cheeks, and that was when she noticed the most unusual thing about his attire. “No purple shoes?”

  “Nah. I’m smart enough to save my tux and Chucks for when it really matters. Besides, I have you to remind me about living in the moment.” With his hand on the small of her back, he led her down to the limousine.

  “You didn’t have to get a limo, you know.”

  Opening the door, he leaned in and kissed the side of her neck. “I know. I also know a guy who knows a guy. Just cashing in on an old favor to fulfill the fantasy I’ve been having about you since you mentioned this shindig yesterday.”

  Laughing, she ducked into the black leather interior. Two glasses of champagne were waiting for them, but from the moment the driver pulled away from the curb, they didn’t have time to bother drinking or even talking.

  Maybe the corsage wouldn’t have been too much. For a brief moment, it felt like prom all over again.

  …

  Marshall wasn’t sure what he expected from Alexa’s work people, but the sea of tuxes and gowns felt less like a school dance or a wedding and more like an elaborate funeral. Actually, that wasn’t entirely fair. It felt more like those parties they show in movies where the main character or their wacky friend decide to stir things up. Somehow he doubted Alexa would be happy if he found the sound system and pumped in some dance music to liven up the party.

  At least he could proudly say he was with the most beautiful woman in the room. She wore a black dress with a hem that swished around her ankles with every step and a top that hugged all her curves without being revealing. It had been harder than hell only kissing her in the limo on the way here. But this was her work, and he would respect that enough not to have her stepping out of the limo all disheveled.

  So they mingled. She introduced him as a small business owner, which was true enough, but never as her boyfriend. Which he had to admit was also true enough. In a way, the night could prove beneficial. The company, Marflow and Rath, did a lot of things, most of which were of no interest to him at all, but he had a really interesting chat with Anthony from mergers and acquisitions. If the time ever came that he wanted to grow the Bean Counter into a chain, some of the legal know-how of these people might be a handy asset.

  He pocketed Anthony’s card with the promise of free coffee in exchange for a five-minute chat if he ever came in. Maybe it wasn’t the kind of offer these guys normally received, but it was what he had the means to give them.

  For the most part, Alexa flitted from one circle to the next, only stopping her small talk when dinner was announced. They found their seats, and Marshall had a moment to breathe freely. He leaned close and whispered, “It’s really weird how on these people are all the time.”

  She gave a quiet laugh. “They aren’t on. The people at Marflow and Rath live and breathe their business. Even the spouses do. It’s why they’re so successful. It’s also why a dinner party feels like a dressed-up day at the office. I mean, I’ve…” Her eyes closed for a moment, and when she re-opened them, she let out a sigh. “Of course. Why wouldn’t something like this happen?”

  Marshall turned in the direction she was looking to see the waitstaff coming out of the kitchen, laden with trays of food. And wearing tuxes nearly identical to his. “Shit. I look like part of the damn staff.”

  He could already guess what Alexa had to be thinking. Here he was, not part of the world these people moved in, younger than anyone else in the room, and now he looked like “the help.” The truth of the matter was he likely had more in common with the waitstaff than he did any of the people they’d spoken to all night, but it would reflect oddly on Alexa to have the bigwigs recognize the fact. “The way I see it,” he whispered, “there are two options. We ignore it, or I ditch the jacket.”

  “Ditch the…? It’s a black-tie dinner.”

  “And I’ll still be wearing the tie. But it’s either look like I work here or look like a fish out of water, and let’s be honest, they’ve all recognized me as that already.”

  Alexa’s gaze shifted from one person to the next, and she bit the inside of her lip. “Fine. Take off the jacket, but try to be casual about it.”

  That was easy enough. Once he’d undone the buttons, he pulled one arm from the sleeve and shrugged off the other side. With people being served their salad course, no one was paying any attention to him. Then he casually popped the buttons on his shirtsleeves and rolled them up. Slight loosening of his tie and one button undone at the collar, and he knew he looked like a completely different person. A much more comfortable person, but one that didn’t quite fit in here.

  Perfect. At least, he thought it was. Through dinner, though, he noticed that several of the people at their table—mostly women, and one guy he was 90 percent sure was in the closet—stared at him. Not all at once, but one at a time, as if some sort of wave of appraisal was passing through their dinner companions.

  It didn’t matter. He refused to let it matter. He was here with Alexa, and no matter how they would have handled the waiter jacket situation, someone would have noticed. By the time the meal ended, however, he was more than happy to move on to some other faces.

  “That was different,” he said as they stepped toward the bar. He needed a drink like he couldn’t believe.

  “What?” Alexa asked.

  “I felt like a slab of choice beef on display at a meat market during dinner. You didn’t see?”

  “No, I—”

  Her voice fell away as another cut through the air. “If she’s going to show off her arm candy, couldn’t she at least be subtle about it?”

  “She’s just a consultant. You can’t expect her to have the same level of decorum as those who actually work at the company. She simply doesn’t understand.”

  Jaw tight, Alexa turned to the bar. “Scotch. Single malt. Neat. Glenlivet, if you have it, preferably the twenty-five. And make it a double.”

  “Two,” Marshall added. He leaned close and whispered, “Should I put the damn jacket back on?”

  Their drinks showed at that moment, and Alexa threw hers back like she hoped one of the women would notice and say something. She looked ready for a fight. “No. You�
�re fine.”

  But when she waved at the bartender for another, Marshall knew she wasn’t fine. He shoved his own drink toward her. “You want to get out of here?”

  “Only after we drink this entire bottle of four-hundred-dollar scotch.”

  Shit. No matter how mad she was, he knew she’d regret that decision in the long run. So when the bartender dropped off the next glass, he slammed it back. “That’s enough scotch. Let’s go before someone who matters decides to give a damn.”

  “I matter,” she said, swallowing hard.

  “Yes, and I give a damn. So between the two of us, let’s have a clear head and get the fuck out of here.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  How the hell had he managed to screw up what could have been an amazing weekend? Everything had been arranged, and he’d thought that as long as they made it through the dinner, the rest of the night would be theirs. Granted, the sex in the limo after they left had been mind-blowingly perfect in a frantically desperate, we-only-have-twenty-minutes kind of way, but then Alexa had ghosted on him.

  Now it was ten minutes to the Monday rush, and she came into the Bean Counter as if hellhounds were on her tail.

  “Sorry. I’ll be out as soon as I grab an apron.”

  No time to talk. No hello, how are things going? No nice-to-see-you kiss. Nothing.

  It was as if the dinner Saturday night hadn’t happened. Or worse, that he’d pissed her off. But she’d seemed happy about leaving, and leaving with him.

  When she came back to the register, fumbling her apron strings, he said, “Turn around. I’ve got you.”

  As he twisted them into a bow, he leaned close. “Are we okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Sure. That was it. And those few words were pretty much the only ones they exchanged on Monday.

  Tuesday was a repeat, with the added joy of a tower of falling dishes in the kitchen followed by, “I thought you were going to have your dish guy come in twice a day? I can’t be sure since hospitality isn’t really my forte, but if the health inspector comes in… Well, you don’t want to get slapped with a fine.” When she left, he made the call to Bobby and asked if he could come in at nine after the morning rush and then again at night to clean up for morning. Marshall had to pay a premium on his wage for that extra hour, but at least it was done.