Damn it, the woman was right. I was refusing Dalton because I worried I wasn’t good enough for him. But I was the only one of me, an original, and that was way more than just good enough.
I tilted my chin, showing my sexy, vulnerable neck to Dalton. Rubbing my index finger along my lower lip, I said, “Dottie would tell me to act like I’m really busy, but offer to rearrange some things at great sacrifice so I can see you for dinner tonight. But you may not pick me up from work. I need to change into something more charming.”
“I like the sound of that,” he said, backing away. “Seven o’clock? I remember where you live, in that cute little house.”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect,” the other woman repeated after me.
Dalton backed up to the door and opened it without taking his eyes off me.
“Wear something casual,” he said. “Jeans or whatever.”
“Casual. Okay.”
He slipped out, waved through the glass door, then walked away.
I started breathing again. How long had I been holding my breath?
“Dottie would be proud,” the woman said.
I didn’t know whether to hug her or kick her out of the store, so I just nodded and dumped the pens and pencils out of the tin to give them a good sorting.
Eyes wide open, I told myself, though it was probably too late.
CHAPTER 7
Here’s how nervous I was about my date with Mr. Sexytrousers Dalton Deangelo: I sat in a pile of clothes, inside my walk-in closet, and bawled.
Shayla got home from an early shift at the restaurant and came running up the stairs to my room, asking, “Is somebody torturing a small mammal in here?”
“Small? No, not small.” I picked up a pair of sky-blue jeans and tossed them at her. I’d sent her enough text messages that she was well-aware of my imminent date and emotional disaster. I wailed, “Why did you let me buy these? One wash and they’re shrunk to hell. And the worst part is, they weren’t even on sale.” (More sobs, plus additional sniveling.) “Just take my credit card and freeze it in a block of ice, then grab the slipcover off the sofa and cut a neck hole in it, because that’s what I’m wearing tonight.”
She crossed her arms, no pity in her golden-brown eyes at all. “Poor Peaches. She has a date with a hot actor.” She frowned at the bright blue jeans and picked them up. “Of course these don’t fit you. They’re mine. I was wondering where these were.”
“Don’t mess with my head! You’re the one who threw out the scale, and now I’ve gained twenty pounds, haven’t I?”
She grinned. “Wearing your fancy underwear, I see. Planning to show him your peaches up close?”
I pulled a dress off a hanger and clutched it to my chest. The pricey lingerie set had been a splurge on my last birthday, and I’d never actually worn the silky cream-colored bra and panties with the contrasting black lace. They looked and smelled lovely in my underwear drawer, but I’d finally cut off the tags that afternoon.
“A woman’s fancy underwear is just for her,” I said.
Shayla crouched down next to me in the jumbled closet and rubbed her palms up and down my bare shins. “This isn’t this morning’s shave. You’re going to sleep with him tonight.”
I pushed her away from me, laughing. “I’m not the fun one.”
She raised one immaculately-groomed dark eyebrow as if to say, we’ll see about that.
Shayla started looking through the clothes on the floor around me. “You know, I’ll have to re-name my vibrator,” she said. “Since you’re dating the real Drake Cheshire, I can’t be riding his choo-choo train to O-town.”
“Does your sex toy really need a name?”
“What would you suggest?”
I got to my feet and dried my eyes. “How about a title? Like… The Assassin. Because he gets in and does the job.”
She swatted my butt playfully. “Damn, girl. They should hire you to do their marketing.”
“I’m awesome at everything but my own life.”
“Let’s get you dressed before the second act of your pity party.”
She started rooting through my closet, setting aside things to try on.
We managed to find my bright blue jeans, which were a similar shade to my roommate’s, but a few sizes larger. Fastening the button, I wondered if I hadn’t lost a pound or two. What a good feeling it is to pull on slightly loose pants! Relaxed clothes are a gift that keeps on giving all day.*
*Sweatpants don’t count.
The doorbell rang right on time, and I was surprised to find a middle-aged man with a brown mustache standing at my front door. It wasn’t until I spotted the ponytail that I recognized him from two nights before.
“Vern,” he said, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Dalton’s driver and butler.”
“Butler!” I turned and looked at Shayla, who just shrugged.
I hadn’t realized butlers actually existed, outside of period dramas on BBC, but here was one in the flesh.
“Mr. Deangelo was running late with dinner preparations,” Vern said. “He sent me to fetch you.”
“Fetch me?” I turned and looked at Shayla, who managed another shrug.
Vern turned around and started walking back down to the car. He wore black pants and a white shirt, and from behind he looked a lot like a woman, with broad hips. Vern’s body shape had absolutely nothing to do with my situation, but my mind latched onto it as relief from feeling nervous about the date. I followed him out to the car, got into the back seat, folded my hands on my lap, and thought about Vern the Butler.
Was there a Mrs. Vern who loved him exactly how he was, wide h*ps and all? Why did I notice other people’s body shapes in a critical manner when I had such a chip on my shoulder about everyone noticing mine? Was there a school for training butlers, or some standard examination they had to pass to call themselves a butler? Could women become butlers?
Vern guided the long, black car away from the heart of town, away from the two best restaurants in town.
I looked around for the button that would lower the panel between me and Vern, but the toggle that seemed like the logical controller simply adjusted the angle of my plush leather seat.
Mystery ride, it was.
The scenery outside changed from town to fields and farmhouses, then just fields.
I sent a text message to Shayla: If you don’t hear from me in one hour, Vern the Butler has abducted me for his own nefarious purposes. We’re heading north on Springer Road, so start looking for my body parts in that direction.