Page 26 of Definitely (Maybe) Dating
She didn’t want his sympathy, and she didn’t want a handout. She didn’t particularly want his help either. He knew this. Yet there she was, sitting across from him, studying him as if he were about to tell her all the reasons why he couldn’t help.
“Don’t think of this as a favor; think of it as me doing my job as a civil servant.”
She seemed to like this answer because she held up a form. “They told me to fill this out. But the lady didn’t look hopeful.”
She squirmed in her seat, looking uncomfortable and a little crazed. She also looked at his door, as if coming up with a backup exit strategy for when he said no. But she was here, asking for his help. He never knew he had a thing for crazy cuties with permit problems.
His day had suddenly turned around.
“I know you probably get requests for favors all the time, so I understand if you can’t do it. Oh . . .” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a check sized piece of paper. “Since I understand your time is valuable, here.”
He looked at the check, shocked that she thought he’d take her money, then he saw it was an IOU. For pictures.
“I don’t know if you want new headshots for your campaign posters or maybe bus benches.”
“Do I look like a bus bench kind of guy?”
She bit back a smile. “I don’t know, Loafers. Lawyers and bus bench ads seem to go hand in hand.”
“They’re dress shoes,” he clarified even though he knew she was teasing. “And I’m not an ambulance chaser, so bus benches are a hard pass, Trouble.”
He wasn’t sure what he said, but her walls slammed shut and her smile vanished. “Trouble?”
He got the distinct feeling that she’d been called that before, but not in the playful way he’d intended. “I was playing off the Loafer dig.”
She nodded, but he could tell she didn’t believe herhim “Good to know,” she said quietly. “Anyway, if you want, I can take them maybe this weekend or whenever our schedules match up. You know, a favor for a favor.”
He couldn’t tell if she was averse to the concept of favors or the idea that she owed someone something. That’s not how favors worked in his world. When he did someone a favor, it was given with zero expectations attached. But the embarrassment in her pretty eyes told him that her world played by different rules.
“I have head shots.”
“I know.”
“You don’t like them?”
She flashed him an amused grin. “They look like an ad for some kind of laxative commercial.”
“You’re saying I look constipated.”
She shrugged.
He took the gift card and form. “Deal. But I’m going to have to pull some serious strings to get this emergency permit through.” Serious strings that would include bringing Annette from City Hall a box of pastries from her favorite bakery. “Why don’t we talk about it over lunch?”
“Now? I can’t. I promised I’d come and take Kylie’s cheer team’s photos.”
And he couldn’t because he had back-to-back meetings, a call with his campaign strategist, and zero time to take a woman on a date. Especially a woman who was a living, breathing distraction personified. Still, he found himself saying, “Maybe another time.”
“Maybe.” She looked at her watch and groaned. “I’m going to be late.”
He noticed that she didn’t stand or even look at the door this time. Her gaze was locked on his, and there went that crackle. Her eyes widened with surprise.
Right back at ya.
“I wouldn’t want to be the reason you’re late.”
“I’m the one who came here.” She bit into that soft curve of her lower lip. “And you’re the one doing me a favor. Which, I will, of course, pay back with a favor of my own. Headshots,” she clarified as if she still wasn’t sure what kind of man he was. Which made him wonder what kind of assholes she’d been exposed to.
Raging assholes, he remembered, and something new unfurled in his gut as the pieces began to click together. She was tough as nails but startled easily. Fiercely independent but prepared for disappointment, and hands down, she didn’t trust anything with the wrong appendages.
