Page 46 of A Dark Fall
Robyn makes a disappointed noise, and I decide to go on.
“And there’s still the complications at work, Rob. I honestly don’t think Douglas would approve of two of the potential partners sleeping together. It’s kind of unprofessional,” I say, hoping my tone gives nothing else away.
Vaguely, I wonder if sexual subterfuge is even a thing, and if so, what tone of voice it has.
“Hmm, yeah, I guess,” she says, but she still sounds disappointed. “Maybe it’s not the ideal time to start something with him when one of you is going to be taking over the partnership spot. Well, at least you put yourself out there. Maybe you can come back to it later.”
“Maybe. We get on really well as friends. I think it’s best to keep things platonic when the spark isn’t setting you on fire, you know?”
“Yeah, you’re right. But I want you to get back out there, Al, meet someone new. Someone who deserves you. Someone passionate and special and right for you.” She sounds almost sad.
I ignore the image of Jake projected on the inside of my mind—passionate and special and right for me. Two out of three isn’t bad, I suppose.
“Rob, I’m really, honestly fine being single. Try not to worry about me so much, will you?”
“I know, I know you are. Oh, but on that note, Mark asked about you today. He was there at Julia’s too and casually dropped your name into conversation.THEN he asked if you were seeing anyone yet!” Her voice is lighter, tinged with excitement, I think.
I’ve always found Mark, Dan’s older brother, handsome in a standoffish, arrogant kind of way. In a Ben-type way. He makes me nervous for some reason. Though, I’ve always thought that was because of his job. Police officers have always made me a little nervous, honestly.
“The divorced brother of your fiancé? Yeah, babe, because that’s far less complicated than the colleague/rival I went out with last night.”
“Oh, but imagine if it worked out with you two. We’d be sisters!” she squeals.
“You’re already like a sister. I don’t need to marry Sherlock to solidify it.”
Robyn makes an exaggerated noise of disappointment.
“So, when is the dress reveal then?” I ask, desperate to change the subject. Rob bought her dress in New York, and it’s being shipped over to a boutique in London in the next week or so.
“It arrives next Friday! So, we’ll go on Saturday. You’re still free, right? 11:00 a.m.?”
“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Oh, Al, what if I don’t like it when I see it again? What if I made a hasty decision?”
“Then Dan will buy you a new one.” We both laugh because it’s true. Dan adores her and would buy her ten dresses if it meant getting her up the aisle to become his wife. “It will be gorgeous though, sweetie. The pictures looked divine.” I absently twirl my hair, inspecting the ends. I really need a trim. Then I wonder if I’ll ever go wedding dress shopping.
“I wish you’d been there. You’re my style guru. I’m scared it’s out of style now—you know, dated?”
She’s worried about this for nothing. It will be stunning. I know the shop in Manhattan where she bought it, and it’s couture. Plus, Robyn would look stunning in a potato sack.
“Rob, it will be gorgeous. I can’t wait to see you in it.”
We finish up with me saying I’ll call through the week to confirm. I’ll have the situation with Jake sorted out much clearer in my head by then too and will be in a much better position to discuss it with her. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.
Later that night, I’m wondering why he hasn’t called to arrange our date yet when I realize only a crazy, desperate person would wonder that. He’s been out of my house precisely eight hours, and I’m wondering why he hasn’t called yet. Seriously?
Then I realize I’m counting the hours since he left my house. I am a crazy, desperate person.
When I get back to the office at 3:30 p.m. after my Monday house calls, he still hasn’t called. That’s when I begin to think maybe I’m not going to hear from him at all. Maybe the “see you soon” comment was just his way of being polite. The date thing too. Maybe that’s what one-night standees say to each other as they leave you post-orgasm in the kitchen. Sort of like when you say, “Let’s keep in touch,” to an old school friend you have no intention of keeping in touch with.
But then I remember the look in his eye when he said this wasn’t a one-night stand. He meant it. So, what the hell is he playing at? Typical bloody male, staying away and playing mind games, making me doubt, question, and overanalyze everything. Except I do that anyway.
Christ, I really hate this. I forgot how much I hate this. Being single looking for love is not the barrel of laughs romantic comedies would have you believe.
As I pass reception, Anna gives me a knowing look, which I can only assume is to do with Sam and our date. He must have told her. He and Anna are friendly, but I didn’t think to the point of swapping date gossip.
Great. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid: knowing looks and tilted heads and the “aw, poor Sam” comments between the girls on the desk when it doesn’t work out. Sam inspires a certain kind of protectiveness in other females, I’ve noticed. I’ll be the scarlet woman come Friday, I’m sure.