Page 19 of Loaded

Elizabeth glared. “You wish.”

“Fine,” I said. “A two to four pack. But if I cut two sodas a day, I could have a six pack.”

“The point is, if she’s Quality, and I’m guessing she is, then you want her to seriously consider you. To get her to do that, you’ll have to convince her you really do like her. That you’re not just another rich playboy who thinks he can have whatever he wants.”

I thought about it all day long, and then I came up with a plan. I’ve never made a plan in my life that didn’t have at least one contingency, and I’m not about to start. So my grand gesture was buying a date—which I understand could be perceived as a little creepy, but at least she gets a night off and some extra capital with her boss—and if that bombs, well, I’ll have weeks and weeks of work lunches with the board to try and figure out how to smooth things over.

On the other hand, if tonight goes well, the board meetings will be bonus opportunities to see her.

Or maybe she’ll come sit in on lunch with me. . . Her boss did say she usually does the dinner shift. My hopes and dreams for my grand gesture all pause when Bea shows up.

Her shirt is crisp and bright white.

Her pants have a line down the front—freshly pressed.

In my entire life, I’ve never looked at any girl in a boring uniform and thought she looked amazing. Until now. But with her shining hair—albeit pulled back—and her petite figure?

Wowza.

And if I’d said that out loud, I’d sound like a seventy-year-old man. Someone who would wear suspenders unironically, for heaven’s sake. I havegotto remember not to use ‘wowza.’

“Bea.” I stand.

She’s glaring. “Easton.” Her head shake is slight, but clear.

I sit.

She hands me a menu.

“I’m not sure I should really be waiting on you again today.” She eyes the empty chair. “I ran off your last date, and even with your millions, they couldn’t match you with a better one?”

“Your boss didn’t tell you?” I did tell him not to, but I’ve learned no one ever listens. “I told him I’d pay all the revenue you usually make for all the tables you usually wait on. Then you can eat with me.” I hop up and pull out the other chair. “This one’s yours.”

All the blood drains from her face.

I’m so used to seeing her duck whenever she gets nervous that this isnotwhat I expected, but I’m smart enough to know it’s not good. When her eyes meet mine, she looks utterly horrified. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“You’ll still—” I was going to say ‘get paid,’ but suddenly, that feels a little tooPretty Womanfor comfort. I should have run my grand gesture idea past Elizabeth, obviously. “You’ll still get to pick whatever you want to eat. And you don’t have to choose my meals for me.”

Oh my word. Next, I’ll be telling her I can cut my own steak.

“Look.” I step away from the chair and circle back around to my seat. “I really like you. I’m not sure whether you dislike me, or whether I’ve just startledyou.” I try to show her I’m sincere with my eyes, but I worry I just look constipated.

“Easton.” She shakes her head, her enormous eyes welling with tears.

That’s when I realize how badly I misjudged this.

Epic mistake level.

I need to backpedal fast, or I’ll be dead in the water.

The line between grand gesture and stalker is razor thin, and apparently I’m on the wrong side of it.

“I’m kidding,” I say. “I’ll have the oysters and the scallops.” I hand her my menu.

She stares at me for a second, and then she inhales sharply and nods. The second she walks off, I text her boss. THAT DID NOT GO WELL. I TOLD HER IT WAS A JOKE. IF YOU MAKE SURE NO ONE ELSE KNOWS ABOUT IT, I’LL STILL PAY THE SAME.

Two seconds later, I text my friend Matt. COME TO THE RED HORSE AT THE OPUS WESTCHESTER FOR DINNER. WE “HAD PLANS.” 911.

---