He smiled coolly.
She took a bite, chewing slowly, as if taking time to taste the food before swallowing.
He'd never met a woman who commanded his attention to this degree. She was just eating pasta, yet he was transfixed by her expressive features, quick movements, and the way her dark lashes emphasized her light eyes.
She swirled more fettucine around her fork. “I go for guys who are self-confident and adventurous. Charming. Spontaneous. Guys who love squeezing the enjoyment out of life. Are you any of those things?”
“I'm confident. I like to think I have at least a little of those other qualities in me.”
She angled her head doubtfully. “Are you going to pretend to be my type of guy for this operation?”
“That would only be of value if Cedric knows the type of guy you usually date.”
“He does. He met several of my high school and college boyfriends. Since my dad went to prison, I've only introduced him to one boyfriend—at a family reunion. But my type hasn't changed.”
He refolded the napkin in his lap. “I'll come across as more believable to him if I stick close to my own personality, but I can tweak a few outward things.”
She leaned against her chair's back. “Am I the type of person you'd date?”
“No.”
“Are you in a relationship right now?”
“No.”
“What kind of woman appeals to you?”
He had a bad habit of going for damsels in distress. “Sweet, calm types.”
“What are we going to do about this? We're clearly not right for one another.”
“I'm not worried about it. I think Cedric will see between us what he expects to see.”
For the rest of the meal, she gave him a crash course on her prior relationships. Then stated, “Here's a list of outward things you can tweak. Clothes that will help you dress looser.”
He didn't hate the sound of “a faded jean shirt over a T-shirt” or “a ring” or “statement sneakers.” But he did hate the thought of “a turtleneck,” “a beanie,” and “a long necklace.”A long necklace?
By the time they'd finished the meal and she announced that she was tired and ready for a bubble bath and a book, they hadn't covered a single detail regarding his alias.
Gemma Clare had a mind of her own. She was feisty. Funny. Stubborn. She wasn't easily swayed off her ideas and didn't seem interested in sitting back and following his lead.
He refused to call this strange meeting a failure because he loathed failing. He was going to call this progress because at least he'd learned information about her that might be useful to the operation.
They cleared their plates.
“I'll text you to let you know when I'm free to meet again,” she said.
“Within the next couple of days?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He was reluctant to go and not just because they had far more to discuss.
“Jude?”
“Yeah?” He gathered his coat.
She angled her chin toward his place setting on the table. It took him a fraction of a second, but then he understood what she wanted him to see. Unknowingly, he'd put his water glass back in the correct spot and straightened his knife.
