“How’d you get home?” he asks.
“I puked and was embarrassed, so I snuck out,” I lie with ease. It’s a learned skill when your parents work in politics. “I didn’t want you seeing me like that. I flagged down a taxi, but forgot my bag. Luckily, I had enough cash inside the house to pay the driver, or that would have been awkward.”
“Or the start of a really good porno.”
Gross.
But I fake laugh at Connor’s terrible joke.
“Thanks for dropping it off. I appreciate it.”
“We never finished our talk yesterday. You know, about that golf outing with your dad?”
Ah, the real reason he’s here. Connor couldn’t care less about my purse. He would’ve left it in the restaurant’s lost-and-found box if he didn’t have an ulterior motive.
“Right, golfing. Well, I’m not my dad’s secretary. But if you give me your assistant’s phone number, his assistant can arrange?—”
Knock!
Knock!
“Jesus Christ, again?”
Connor’s eyes widen in surprise at my annoyance.
I shake my head at him. “Sorry, it’s been a long morning. Hold on.”
Yanking the door open, a stranger waits on my doorstep, holding a bouquet of roses. “Daphne Fox?”
“That’s me.”
“Delivery for you.” He thrusts the flowers into my arms and dashes back towards his delivery van.
“Secret admirer?” Connor’s curiosity piques as I pluck the small card from the middle of the bouquet.
“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”
His curious stare lingers on the card beforeflicking up to my face, then squinting like he’s trying to decipher who on Earth could possibly like me enough to go through the effort of being a secret admirer.
“Aw, come on, Daph. We’re friends now. And after you stood me up on our date? Tell me who it is.”
“That wasn’t a date. It was a business meeting.”
“So, our drinks are a tax write-off?”
“I’m not an accountant, Connor. I’m sure your dad pays yours enough to know what’s a write-off.”
“Speaking of dads…”
Yeah, real subtle there, buddy.
“Give me your assistant’s information,” I say. “I’ll send it to Dad’s personal secretary today. She’ll be in touch sometime this week.”
Connor beams as he emails me with his secretary’s information to pass along. Seriously, how would D.C. run without assistants and NDAs?
“Thanks, Daph.” Connor makes a small movement towards the door. He got what he wanted, and as much as I’m eager to see him leave, something’s bothering me.
Something Guy said.
