I made a quick stop home on my lunch hour.
Sometime during the day, a cleaning crew had stopped by and the house smelled of furniture polish and lemon-scented cleaner. It was just like Beau to send in a crew to take care of things. A small part of me was disappointed that the Russell clan was no longer staked out here, but maybe I didn't matter anymore.
I didn't have time to dwell on my hurt, though. I grabbed a change of "date" clothes and returned to work, dreading my date with Jason that evening. Giselle had scheduled it at a fancy French bistro.
The afternoon dragged by. The only thing to break it up was a quick meeting with Giselle; apparently Garth the naga wanted to see me again, despite the fact that I'd ditched him.
Giselle was thrilled and scheduled it for the next night. "Leave all your nights free," she crowed. "Business is going to be better than ever."
I managed to keep a polite smile on my face.
My dark mood blackened further when I went into the bathroom to change clothes and noticed the scent of strawberries mixed with roses, which immediately made me think of Beau. On a hunch, I opened the wastebasket and peered inside. Sure enough, a bouquet of beautiful red roses and a pretty container of chocolate-covered strawberries had been thrown in the trash. I picked the card out of the garbage and saw my name on it.
Damn Giselle. I'd have liked to have seen my present before she'd thrown it away.
I changed into a light gray sweater dress with opaque tights for my date with Jason. I'd found one of Beau's love bites on my calf, and the sight of it had made me blush (and get hot at the same time), but my skirt hadn't been quite long enough to hide it, so I'd had to change clothes before my date. The new ensemble itched, but it covered me from ear to toe, and that was important.
Giselle had seen the love bite, as well. She'd not been amused.
Jason was all boyish charm that evening, and I could tell he was out to impress me. He bought expensive wine, he told funny anecdotes about banking, and he encouraged me to talk. He was one of those touchy-feely types, too. He'd reach across the table and touch my hand, and I imagine any other woman would have been dazzled at the display of affection.
It annoyed the hell out of me. I pulled my hand away every time he reached out to touch it. For once the blushing virgin act did me a favor.
"Shall we go dancing?" he suggested as he handed the waiter his credit card and I toyed with my cherries jubilee. "There's a great salsa club downtown that I can get us into."
Salsa dancing? Shoot me now. "I have two left feet," I admitted.
His white smile flashed again. "So modest. I thought all women liked dancing," he teased.
The thought of dancing with Jason made my stomach lurch. Maybe it was because I'd be so close to him that his cologne would smother me. "Perhaps we'd better end the evening. I'm not feeling so well." It wasn't a lie; His heavy, musky cologne had become choking after ten minutes.
He looked crestfallen. "Is it me, Bathsheba? Have I done something to offend you?"
Great, now I felt like a monster. "It's not you," I said, forcing myself to reach across the table and grasp his hand to reassure him, because I knew he'd appreciate the gesture. "I'm just ... not in a great place tonight."
Or tomorrow. Or ever again.
He gave me an understanding look, and his hand squeezed mine. "I totally understand." He accepted the bill from the waiter and signed his name without looking at the tab, then added several large bills-more than I'd spent at the grocery store in the past month-as a tip. "I recognize when my date's too distracted to concentrate on dinner."
