Aubrey
It took forever to get back from the print shop where Allen had been a gentleman on the whole. For the most part, he was just pleased with his single barrel bourbon gift set. He’d also been happy to print the calendar for us without a rush fee, and he hadn’t even ogled my cleavage too much.
That was the good news.
The bad news was that I’d gotten another flat tire, which meant a trip to a garage. Even worse? My two remaining tires were bald, so I had to get a set of four. Then Isaac had bitched me out for not coming straight back. He didn’t care if I ruined my rims.
The Not So Nice List had struck again.
There was no sign of the woman I’d left behind, and I wasn’t about to start asking questions. Best to keep my head down and work on double-checking our shipment information. We’d be having a busy next few weeks since Christmas led straight into New Year’s. Dryuary would give me a little break, even though it usually put Isaac in a foul mood. He wanted people to keep drinking all year long.
No one’s liver could handle that.
My cell phone started playing “Shake it Off,” which was the song I’d assigned to Cole, mainly to remind me to shake it off when he lectured me about leaving the milk on the counter or forgetting to pay the water bill or whatever.
Usually, I’d ignore him at least once, but I caught myself smiling. “Mr. Frost.”
“Ms. Longfellow.”
He had a nice phone voice, as smooth as the bourbon I’d given away earlier. How had I not noticed that before? And his pause was cute. He was going to ask me for something. He always paused before asking for a favor because he hated to ask for favors.
“I, uh…”
“Spit it out, Cole. What can I do you for?”
I winced. No need to take my foul mood out on him.
“Well, uh, my company is having a Christmas party, and I was wondering if you could come as my plus one.”
He started carrying on about Ezekiel Angelo and something about how the man didn’t trust bachelors, but I zoned out a little because, of all the things I thought he might ask me, being his plus one for a swanky Christmas party had never crossed my mind.
“I mean, I know it’s short notice. Really short notice. I mean, I’m sure you have plans. I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll just—”
“Wait a minute. Ezekiel Angelo is going to be there?”
He was my favorite basketball player ever.
“Yes, and—”
“I’ll go,” I said quickly before he could hang up. A party? Free food? A chance to see Ezekiel Angelo? Why not?
“Really?”
“Yes, really. What’s the dress code?”
“Uh, something nice?”
Lord, give me strength.
I had yet to meet a man who understood the intricacies of a woman’s wardrobe. “Formal? Semi-Formal? Cocktail? Casual?”
I could almost envision him pushing up his glasses just enough to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation even if such a thing was impossible. “I think I remember seeing something about Semi-Formal?”
“I’ve got that. I can meet you there or are you picking me up at the house?”
“Uh, could you possibly get a Lyft to the Hotel Madison and be there at six-thirty? Then, obviously, I’ll drive you home.”
The Madison? The fancy hotel out by the new baseball stadium? Okay. “I can do that.”
