Page 2 of How Dare You
“I was not happy with how he treated you, but you seemed like someone who wanted to handle it herself.” His hand grazes my low back again, a barely-there touch to get me moving since I was too distracted to notice the light signaling us to walk. “You don’t need me to tell you how beautiful you are. That was what had me at first, but seeing you put him in his place was even better.”
It was kind of fun, but I’m not about to admit it.
“You want to know what had me the most curious?” he asks.
“Sure,” I respond with as much casualness as I can manage, even though I’m deeply interested in his answer.
“Who carries a physical planner these days?” He points to my hand where I hold my bone-colored leather day-planner. It was sitting on the bar next to my drink the whole time Looking-Down-His-Nose-at-the-Bartender was talking at me. Interesting that Rhett noticed.
“What about it?” I ask, squeezing the item in question against my hip.
“It’s old school.”
That’s not a question. I arch a brow.
“I mean that as a compliment, by the way. Everyone I know who’s attached to a schedule uses their phone to keep track.” His thick brows lift. “Why don’t you?”
Physically writing things out helps me remember them in a way saving them in my phone doesn’t. This planner has everything I need, organized exactly how I like. It took me years to find one with this layout, and it’s admittedly a bit of a security blanket. I give him a shortened version of the truth. “Works better for me.”
“I bet you send hand-written thank you notes and birthday cards too.” His head cants a little as he smiles widely at me, sending a little flutter into my stomach. “Don’t you?”
I nod, rolling my lips together to hide yet another smile. “I do.”
He shakes his head. “I’ll get that smile out of you eventually.”
“Eventually? How much time do you think we’ll be spending together?” He said he’s on vacation, didn’t he? He can’t be here more than a week—maybe two.
“We agreed this was a date. Remember, Devon?” Dammit, my name sounds nice in his low register.
“You know we did not agree on that.” I find myself tapping him playfully with my elbow. His eyes light up at the contact.
He comes to a stop, stepping around so we’re facing each other. “Maybe not, but you haven’t taken your eyes off me since we met.”
Can’t argue against that.
“And you just walked to a different bar with me.” Gesturing to the closed shops and offices around us, he asks, “Or is there something else you were planning to do over here?” My eyes bounce around the side street we’ve walked down. There is nothing else but a parking structure and the bar, Lemon + Sway. My stomach drops when I read the sign. “Come on,” he continues. “Your night just opened up. Let me buy you a drink.” His gaze is intense as he holds my stare again, adding, “Please.”
In the half hour of that awful date, I planned out enough work to fill the rest of my evening. Friday West Interiors, the interior design firm I started a little over a year ago is on the verge of either winning a few big projects or being in serious financial trouble.
Originally, I had a solid plan and enough capital to last me for multiple years, but I quickly ran into an unexpected and detrimental complication that’s required me spending all my free time working on marketing strategies, networking, prep, presentations, and anything I can do to gain new clients.
I need the projects I should be at home prepping for, yet this handsome stranger is so distracting I followed him two blocks in the opposite direction of my car, unwilling to relinquish his company.
“I have time for one drink,” I concede.
“I’ll make it count,” he says, holding Lemon + Sway’s door open for me.
The bar has been around for a few months now, but this is the first time I’ve been inside. I’m still sore after losing out on designing it to Trina Boatswain. They had originally hired me, and after several months of working together, called me one day to say my design didn’t align with their investor’s vision anymore. It didn’t take long to determine they’d gone with Trina instead.
I worked for her before starting Friday West, and Lemon + Sway was one of the first major projects I landed on my own. It was a major strike to my business and my ego when she ended up with it, and I’m filled with more than a little morbid curiosity at how it turned out.
It’s definitely not different enough from what I designed to constitute a different vision for the investors. But unfortunately, it does look good in here. Even if I’ve seen the same three art pieces that are behind the host stand at two other projects she designed.
There is a wait for a table, but Rhett is quick enough to grab the last two seats at the brass-topped bar. On closer inspection, it’s obvious the place only looks good on the surface. Obvious corners were cut either due to budget or time constraints. The bar is basically new, and already the wood finish on the stools is chipping. I recognize them as a brand Trina’s able to charge a high mark-up on, selling lower quality products at custom prices. Rhett seems to notice it too, his brow furrowing when a chip of the finish sticks to his sleeve.
He orders a whiskey cocktail off the menu, and I opt for a dirty martini.
“That’s what you had earlier too, isn’t it?” Rhett asks, as I take my first sip. His handsome smile is enough to pull me out of my contemplations about Trina’s design, and I nod in acknowledgment. “So, you’re not big on trying new things,” he concludes.