Page 10 of Perfectly Right

He grabbed his phone and sank onto a chair, texting her before he could overthink it.

Hope you’ve recovered from Car and Driver 101. I promise there’s no follow-up test.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Elizabeth stretched and pushed up her glasses, trying to ignore the little thrill of anticipation when she saw Darcy had texted. Smiling, she quickly tapped a reply.

I have wine and good cheese. All is well.

Good. I won’t make the whining joke Charlie would.

Thank you

She frowned at the uneaten veggie empanada and half-full glass of wine sitting on her coffee table.

This relationship consultant scheme was your idea. Are you taking it seriously?

Yes, of course. I’m just inept

In the world of dating?

Sure, if you say so.

Elizabeth smiled. Then she called him.

“I love a good pity party, but you are the last man in the world who gets to host one.”

The brief silence before Darcy replied was all she needed to remind herself that she’d spoken nearly exactly the same words to him only a few months ago. ‘You are the last man in the world I’d ever go out with.’

If that had ever been true it certainly wasn’t now. I’ve met John Thorpe and Bill Collins, and a thousand other guys I’d never swipe right on.

“Well, I beg to differ.” His voice took on an exaggerated, whiny quality. “It’s rained all day, I dropped bits of eggshell into my omelet and now I’m out of eggs, and I don’t know how to cook anything else, and the only thing in the house is frozen pizza, so yeah, I’m hosting a much-deserved pity party.”

“Aw, can’t your assistant DoorDash you something?”

“I can order food all by myself, thank you. It’s Sunday night, and evenIallow my assistantsometime off.”

“Such a good boss. And you can cook an omelet!” Elizabeth laid back against a pillow. “Points for the erstwhile Goth. Did you paint your nails black and wear?—”

“No,” came his quick reply. “It was a very brief, highly regrettable rebellion from wearing school ties and jackets all week.”

“Which is all you wear six days a week now, so clearly it didn’t take.”

The image of Darcy in a crisply tailored dark suit, an expensive silk tie loosened at his unbuttoned collar, rose in Elizabeth’s memory. He’d been exhausted, fresh from a fight in his boardroom and trying to fend off an overly attentive Caroline Bingley. Jane said he’d adjourned his meeting so he could support Charlie at the soft opening of his restaurant. He was a good friend, turning up where he was really needed. Charlie hadbeen a nervous wreck—which likely contributed to his breaking up with Jane days later.

Realizing Darcy had yet to reply to her last joke, Elizabeth heard his footsteps, then the rustling of paper, before a heavy sigh. She tried to envision his house in Lincoln Park; Jane had been there once, briefly, and described huge rooms with high ceilings and an eclectic mix of mid-century furniture and antiques.

“Hey, you still there? Don’t keel over from hunger.” She bit her lip and ventured the question that had nagged at her since they’d spoken the previous afternoon. “You never said, exactly... Is it a thumbs up or down on Claire?”

In a voice that sounded wearier than it had a few minutes earlier, Darcy said, “Did you choose her because you think I’m like her? Intelligent with a cutting wit, cool and arrogant...”

“What, no!”

“She implied you thought us a great match.”

“She told you I said that?”

“More or less. After she praised you for being resourceful enough to ‘hook her up with the most impressive man’ of your acquaintance.”

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