In a matter of five seconds, I managed to consider all the horrendous outcomes of telling Scott that I was nothing more than the party planner dressed above her means. And when he noticed me, I was merely trying to avoid disaster by clearing an accidental raspberry from Elaine’s dessert plate. He would most certainly laugh. And not in a good way. He’d probably run and tell his friend-for-life Donovan Hayes—who for some reason, was an extremely important client to Dean and Starr; and would no doubt fill them in on this ‘hilarious misunderstanding’.
And I would not only lose my job, but would become the laughing stock of the office. And if there was anything that I couldn’t bear more than anything, it was the wrong kind of attention.
I breathed out a shaky breath, which made Char pull herself off the sofa and take my wine.
“Whoa. Hey. It’s not that big a deal. Listen, if you can’t do it—you can’t do it. No need to break a sweat here, hun. Just… be careful.”
I sank into the couch. “Char. I think I just realized what a mess this could be. Event planning is my life. I don’t know anything else and my reputation would be toast. And not the kind you put butter on and eat; the kind you throw out because you left it in the toaster too long and it's burnt to a crisp.”
Char shrugged. “Some people like burnt toast. Some people might use it as breadcrumbs on salmon. Breaded salmon is a big step up from toast with butter.”
“What?”
“I’m saying when you’re no longer cut out for what you think you’re made for, there’s something bigger and better out there for you.”
I grimaced. “So, can I still go on my date tomorrow?”
“By all means. Just be careful.”
12
SCOTT
Saturday night,I waited for Isabel insideCooks Place. The small, secluded restaurant was a best kept secret on the lower east side. Somehow, I thought Isabel would appreciate a more private yet equally high-end atmosphere.
I tended to read people well, and one thing I picked up on my mystery woman was that she preferred to keep a low profile.
She hadn’t given me a phone number or taken mine for reasons that she merely spoke around that Tuesday at the Tavern. But thankfully, she accepted my dinner invitation.
“When can I see you again?” I had asked after our lunch.
Isabel had appeared to be considering. I wasn’t used to that;anticipatinga response from a woman. But I couldn’t just let her disappear. And something told me she would. I let her get away that first night and was miraculously given another chance the morning after.So I had to think of something.
“Okay, I propose this. Either you give me your phone number, or meet me Saturday night at eight o’clock at Cook’s Place downtown. Should I sweep you off your feet for a fourth time, you give me your phone number.”
“Is there a third option?” she had asked, pursing those luscious lips I couldn’t wait to taste.
“Something tells me you’ve already made up your mind about Saturday night. So, I’m nixing option three. And thank God because I really didn’t like option three.” I flashed her my cocky all-knowing grin.
And she took the bait. Even though it completely felt likeIwas the one on the hook.
She’d blushed, stood and simply said, “Cook’s Place... eight o’clock.”
I smiled and nodded once at her before she walked out of the restaurant and raced off again to wherever the hell that woman fell out of.
And then my vision of her faded. Replaced suddenly by a burn in my chest at the thought that she wouldn’t show. Isabel wasn’t terribly late, but this feeling, thisdisappointmentbothered me, and that fact in itself was enough for me to consider leaving before she had a chance to break me.
I pulled myself off from the padded bench just as the host, an elderly man in a tuxedo, approached, pulling out a chair across the table.
“Mr. Weston, your party has arrived.” He moved aside and there she stood. Her expression blank, yet there was the faintest sign of a question in her brows.
Her flowy black dress came down just above her knees. An orange scarf draped over her shoulders.
“Isabel.” I considered standing but refrained. I didn’t typically do that with anyone else. For some reason, the chivalrous move felt natural when it came to her.
Her...whose last name, job and phone number would remain a mystery for God knew how long.
“Were you leaving?” she asked.
