LINCOLN
The car is silent on the drive to dinner. Jules seems to be in a weird mood—nerves, maybe. Meanwhile, I’m busy mentally going over my plan for the night.
So much is on the line. If Jules and I don’t go through with this marriage of convenience, I might not have a business in six months. I’ll be back to eating microwavable noodles and peanut butter sandwiches, just like in my early twenties. The only difference is, this time, my poor kid will be right there, struggling alongside me.
This plan has got to fucking work.
But as we enter the fancy restaurant, I’m having a hard time focusing on the burning issues at hand. My eyes are glued to Jules’s tight ass as she struts ahead of me in those daring high heels. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in anything but her big, clunky biker boots. I’m completely distracted by her long, toned legs. When she peels off her leather jacket to hand it over at the coat check booth, my mouth drops open. Her body looks killer in that little red dress and black floral lace pantyhose.
I’mdyinghere.
I brought this on myself. I’m the one who suggested that she wear something sexy tonight. But I didn’t think she’d actually listen to me. Jules has a knack for giving me a hard time. That’s just the game she likes to play. But tonight, she’s given me exactly what I asked for, and now I’m not sure I can handle it.
I’m doing the best I can at keeping my shit together on the outside. Internally, I’m wrestling with my self-control. My mind keeps broadcasting flashbacks of our sexy night in her bedroom.
I try to remind myself that despite the way we’re dressed or the nice venue we’re dining at, this isn’t really a date in the traditional sense. It’s all business.
Business. Business. Business.
I repeat that over and over inside my head as I pull out her chair, try to ignore the soft curve of her bare shoulders, and sit across from her.
Business. Business. Business.
The instant we put in our drink orders, I’m ready to skip the small talk and get straight down to strategizing. Family dinner with Jules’s great-grandmother is coming up fast, and I need to know how to win the old woman over. If we can successfully do that, then it’ll be a breeze to fool the married business men on the other side of my potential business merger.
I reach into my shirt pocket and pull out the folded sheet of paper with all my questions.
“Okay, let's start with the basics,” I say, taking a sip of my ginger ale when the server delivers our drinks. “What's your favorite color?”
Simple. Easy. Unproblematic. A safe place to start.
But in typical Jules fashion, she rolls her eyes at me.“Are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be serious? What’s your favorite color?” I hold my pen, poised to write down her answer.
I’m prepared for her to say ‘black’. Like her heart.
Instead, she wrinkles her nose, obviously not a fan of my methodical approach. “I don’t have a favorite color,” she says, a note of annoyance in her voice.
“How do you not have a favorite color? Is something wrong with you?”
“I just don’t,” she says bluntly.
Great. My plan is already going up in smoke.
This is going to be a long night.
I throw my face up to the ceiling. “Jeez. Why are you so difficult? You remind me of that minor league baseball player I represented last year who turned down his shot at the big leagues because some psychic named Ziggy said the uniform colors were bad luck.”
Jules lets out a grunt. “Can we just get to the important stuff please? And put away the pen and paper. I feel like I’m in a police interrogation.”
It causes me physical pain to do so, but I put them away. “Okay. Fine. Happy?”
Jules finishes her drink in two big gulps. Then she tips the glass back, making sure to get the last drop.
She smirks. “Depends on whether you’re getting us a bottle of wine.”
I hadn’t been planning on it, but I flag down the server anyway.
