I start to open the door.
“Is that what you want?” he asks.
I stop, halfway out of the truck. “To see you later?”
“No, I mean Malcolm. You want to go out with him?”
I shrug. “He’s rich. Handsome. Cares about what flavor crepe I like. Why not?”
He taps each of his fingers as he lists out his reasons: “He became a millionaire by running a charity. Something seems off about that. He definitely had plastic surgery on his nose. And who even orders crepes for a business meeting?”
“It’s a business breakfast,” I remind him.
“Most people get bagels or doughnuts,” he says. “He’s just trying to show off.”
I frown, thinking about the other reasons he gave. I hop all the way out of the truck. To my surprise, Oliver gets out too and comes around to my side. I close the passenger door and step up next to my car.
“How do you know he got a nose job?” I ask.
He smiles and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He taps his screen, then turns it around to show me a picture of Malcolm. “This is what he looks like now.” He swipes his thumb across the screen. “And this is what he looked like ten years ago.”
My eyes go wide. I can’t believe it. “I never would have guessed.” His nose is about half the size it was ten years ago.
“Noses don’t just shrink,” Oliver says. “That’s a charity-funded nose job right there.”
“We don’t know that. Maybe he used to be a liar and he’s not anymore.”
Oliver smirks. “He’s not Pinocchio.”
I lean against my car. “I’m curious about how you found these pictures. Why were you looking him up?”
He tries to hide his smile, but he can’t. “I was curious about who your big new client was.”
“I didn’t know you were so interested in my career.”
“Maybe I just wanted to know who my girlfriend was out on a date with.”
Even though I know it’s not real, when he calls me his girlfriend, my knees start to buckle. It’s a good thing I’m leaning against my car. “Fake girlfriend,” I remind him. “And it wasn’t a date.”
His mouth twitches. “We’ll see about that.”
He steps closer to me so that he’s angled in front of me, his chest in front of my shoulder. I turn my head and look up at him. His eyes dip down before returning to mine. I want to ask him what he means, but the words seem to freeze before they can get past my lips. He reaches his hand around my side. Every nerve ending in my skin stands at attention, waiting to feel his hand close around my waist and pull me in for a kiss, but he doesn’t move any closer, and he doesn’t touch me. He opens my door instead.
My chest falls. He’s sending me home without a goodbye kiss. It’s not like I should expect one. I don’t even know why I want one.
“Goodnight, Priscilla,” he says. “Enjoy your strawberry crepe tomorrow.”
I frown. “How did you know I chose strawberry?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Because I know you.”
He takes a step back and walks away before I can say anything else. I drop my body into my seat and let out a long breath. Somehow his words feel more intimate than a kiss might have been.
ChapterTwenty
Strictly Business
Ipark my car next to a yellow Corvette that’s in a space reserved for the president of ANY-Time. I raise an eyebrow. I didn’t know that Malcolm drove such a fancy car. I remember what Oliver said about him making millions by running a charity. I wonder if it’s true. I can’t help but think it’s a little tasteless to flaunt a car like this in the parking lot of a non-profit.
