“It means that the man doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body. He invited me over for dinner and I thought we were going to get some serious cuddling done. No,” she continued, in an aggrieved tone, “he’d asked me over to review his travel itinerary and see if I could score him better rates.”
“So, not romantic at all.”
“Nope,” she said, sourly, popping the p. “But, fortunately, I ran into a guy at the deli last week who dressed like a million bucks. I think he works at a bank near here. Maybe he owns the bank. Anyway, he asked for my number, so we’ll see if he calls.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t remember. I’ll figure it out if he calls.” She was so blasé about it I had to laugh.
As we returned to my office there was a messenger stepping off the elevator with a padded envelope. “Miss Lambert?” he called. (Hard T. Annoying.)
Turning, I replied, “I am Miss Lambert.” (Get a load of that soft pronunciation. See how much better it sounds?)
He handed me the package and a delivery receipt to sign. I signed and tipped him. He said, “Thanks! Have a great day!” and went back in the elevator.
Curious, I turned the package over as I walked back to my office. Was there a contract that was due? An information packet of some sort, perhaps? I couldn’t think what would need to be sent by courier since so much information exchange was done electronically.
I set the packet on my desk and opened it. The first thing I pulled out was a folded piece of paper. I unfolded it and read “I’m calling in my favor. —Jack.”
Favor? What was he talking about. Oh, the silly bet we’d made back in Scottsdale! He’d remembered and was actually claiming it? Just how much trouble was I in?
I dumped the rest of the packet onto my desk. There was a ticket to the upcoming PRTY concert, a lanyard that held an all-access pass, and, I rolled my eyes so hard I almost sprained them, a pair of white, cotton, Scoobie Doo panties. I guess the favor was that he wanted me to come to the concert. Although it was a weird way to call in a favor by giving someone else a gift.
Was that a favor I was willing to grant? Going to Jack’s concert? Uh, that was a definite yes. I’d never seen PRTY in concert and I could only imagine how great it would be. They had a reputation for putting on a high-energy, party of a concert. Plus, the chance to see Jack in his element, singing, performing my favorite songs…
I was grinning as I clutched the ticket to my chest. And when I looked at the panties, I laughed out loud. Oh, I would go to that concert, and I would definitely throw those panties at Jack. I pulled out my phone and texted one word to him. “Yes.”
He replied with a gif of a small boy fist pumping. I laughed again and got back to work, still smiling. And possibly humming.
A while later Diane stuck her head in my office and asked, “What was in the package? Anything you need help with?”
I tried but failed to suppress my grin. She saw that and lit up like the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Plaza. “Was it from Jack? What was in it? What was it?”
Her enthusiasm was impossible to resist. “Yes, it was from Jack. He sent me a ticket to his concert.”
Diane’s squeal could have pierced through concrete. “Oh, my gosh, Eve, this is massive! He wants you there. He wants to own you in front of everyone!”
“I don’t know about owning me, Diane. I believe slavery has been illegal in the United States since the Civil War.”
“No, no, I don’t mean own you like property. I mean own up to his feelings about you! To claim you as his girlfriend!”
Is that what this meant? I thought uneasily. I’d just reached the conclusion that we were friends without benefits. Possibly dating. But girlfriend? Really?
Diane’s dramatic intonation broke through my thoughts. “So, what are you going to wear?”
“Um, clothes?”
Diane looked very disappointed. “Eve, your clothes always make a statement about you. And, as much as I admire your polished and professional look, attending a concert featuring your man requires something different. You need to show him that you’re not all business and you can party with the big dogs.”
My man? He wasn’t my man. But, maybe, he could be…? That thought shot little nervous shivers down my spine. Could he be mine? Would he be OK with that? WouldIbe OK with that? Maybe the best way to tell would be to jump in with both feet and see where I landed.
I looked at the ticket and realized I had six days to pull together a concert look. And I had no idea where to start. “Diane, do you think you might be able to help me with this?”
She beamed like the Cheshire Cat. “Honey, I was born for this!”
Chapter 15
I glanced uneasily up at the storefront. They had retail locations all over, but I had never before set foot into an Always 17 store. I could tell just by the mannequins in the window that this was not my kind of store.
