License to Date (2 page)

Even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, I called Chase. We agreed to meet for a drink on Monday at the Geoffries hotel lounge—my idea since I’d attended New Year’s at the Geoffries and my taste buds still remembered the deliciousness of their signature cocktail.

Five dates in five days. Then I could let my license to date expire and focus on making my home exactly how I wanted it. I’d arranged one date, four to go.

****

Sunday evening, I picked up my stepsister, Melanie, and we drove to Old Sacramento. Since I’d found out she’d been seeing my ex, things had been a little awkward between us. In her defense, she’d had no clue I’d been dating Paul, had been shocked when I’d introduced him as my fiancé, and hadn’t known how to tell me the louse had been cheating on us (with each other). Probably would’ve been better if she hadn’t confessed at my bachelorette party, though.

Just saying.

When Mel and I arrived in Old Sac, we still had a few minutes before meeting our parents (my mom, her dad) for dinner at The Boat House, so we slipped into a nearby boutique to browse the goodies they were selling.

I lifted a seashell-covered tissue-box cover from an antique shelf, trying to decide if I liked it. “Cute or tacky?”

“Either way, it’ll be hard to dust.” Mel pointed at the space between the shells. “Look at all those crevices.”

That was Mel—ever practical. Even now she wore no make-up, had her blonde-hair thrown into a ponytail, and looked effortlessly gorgeous. I, on the other hand, had spent an hour applying makeup and taming my wild, red locks with a flat-iron. Unlike Mel, nothing came easily for me. Sigh.

I set the high-maintenance tissue-holder down, then examined a sea-foam blue vase. “I need a date. Know anyone single I could stand to be with for an hour?”

Mel turned toward me, her blonde hair bouncing over her shoulder. “A whole hour? Gee, that sounds romantic.”

Wrinkling my nose, I said, “I’m not looking for romance. I’m being
forced
to date. Kristen and Ginger have been hounding me for weeks, and yesterday I cracked. I need five dates in five days, then they’ll help me paint the interior of my house.”

“Kristen Moore?” Mel threw her head back and laughed. “Is a family counselor supposed to be pressuring you like that?”

“Right?” Turning the vase over, I checked the price and flinched. “Are you kidding me? It’s made of glass, not gold.”

“I love that.” She gave an approving nod. “It would look great on that dark bookshelf in your living room.”

I shook my head. “I’ve finally brought my savings to a comfortable level. I can’t blow this much money on a vase—even if it was hand-blown in Italy and I’d have it forever . . . agh! Get me out of here before I break out my credit card.”

Mel laughed, led me toward the door, then paused at a shelf filled with colorful candles. “Guess what?” She lifted a candle to her nose. “I have a job interview this week.”

I sniffed the candle she held toward me. “For a teaching position?”

She nodded. “It’s my third interview this summer so wish me luck that this school won’t want someone more experienced, too. I’m existing on beans and rice right now.”
 

Mel’s hours as an aerobics instructor had been cut recently when new management had taken over the gym so I knew her budget was tight. Always looking on the bright side, she decided to finally use her major in early-childhood education to teach. “I’ll be crossing my fingers for you, sweetie.”

“Thanks.” Mel laced her arm through mine, the bell chiming behind us as we strode out the door. “So, you need a date.”

I stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. “A second one, actually. I’ve scheduled the first.”
 

“Really?” Mel checked for cars before we crossed the cobblestone street, her ponytail bouncing over her shoulder. “With who?”

“My realtor.” Fingering the edge of my silky hair, I couldn’t help thinking how much time I’d save each morning if I just put my hair up the way Mel did. But my mother had taught me to always look my best, and casual didn’t cut it in Mom’s book. “I need four more dates for the deal, though. Mom tried to set me up a few weeks ago so I’m going to see if he’s still available. His mother is Alisha Burnside from Mom’s Spritzer Ladies golfing group.”

Mel stopped before the double glass-door entrance of The Boathouse. “You know that ladies group is just their excuse to look respectable while drinking before noon.”

I giggled, agreeing with her one-hundred percent. “Still, Alisha’s son could be decent to hang with for one cocktail.”

She held a finger in the air. “Apparently Janet failed to tell you she already tried to set
me
up with Brian Burnside.”

My brows scrunched together. “Mom did that?”

Mel nodded. “Trust me, no potential there.”

It’s like she wasn’t listening to me. “I don’t need potential, just a second date.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re missing the point of why your friends set up this dating deal. Don’t you want to find someone wonderful? Like Matt?”

Yeah, Mel’s boyfriend was eighty shades of awesome. But guys like Matt were a rare breed. And it’s not like I needed a man in my life to be happy. Besides, my remodel kept calling to me and all I could think about were two words: free labor.

I reached for the door. “What I want is to concentrate on my house, my
sanctuary
. I’m going to power through these dates so they don’t slow me down from my real goal.”

Mel leaned toward me as she breezed through the entryway, whispering, “Brian Burnside is also jobless.”
 

My brows came together. “Really? Mom said he’s an architect.”
 

Not that it mattered.
 

Spotting my mother inside, I strode toward her with only one thing in mind: a date for Tuesday night. After Brian, I’d only have three more dates until I was home-free.

****

On Monday, Ginger spread the word to everyone at work about my date with Chase, and they were all making a
big
deal about it. As the human resources manager at Woodward Systems Corporation, I pulled rank and sent a mass-email reminding everyone that personal topics of conversation should not be discussed during work hours.

Then I ditched out of the office twenty minutes early.

Man, if one more person asked me if I was excited, I might scream . . . and confess that I was
only
dating under duress—not for the joy of it. As if. These dates were a means to an end. Nothing more.
 

Seriously, what was wrong with focusing on myself right now? My dad had moved away from me when I was twelve. My fiancé had cheated on me (with my sister, no less). What sane woman would be eager to go back for more?

Not
moi
.

My heels clicked across the marble lobby as I entered the Geoffries hotel, glancing at the small line at the check-in counter and then over at the concierge desk where the elderly concierge was helping a woman holding a sweater-wearing poodle. Hopefully he was informing this obvious out-of-towner that it was ninety-eight degrees outside so if her dog needed an outfit it should be a bikini for the pool.

I, myself, wore a short-sleeved silk wrap dress that was warm enough for the office air-conditioning, but wouldn’t make me fry (much) when I stepped outdoors into the oven we called Sacramento in August.
 

Turning toward the lounge, I strode past a gold-framed advertisement for the Geoffries’ annual Black & White Ball, and another event called Descending for Diabetes. The Geoffries hosted the finest parties, housed luxurious suites, and served amazing drinks in their bar.

Only the latter interested me right now.

I entered the regal lounge, checking my watch. Over half-an-hour early for my date. Propping myself onto the navy-blue and gold patterned chair at the bar, I pulled out my cell to text Chase. If he was available now then we could start the date early and we could
end
it early.
 
Brilliant idea.

“Would you like something to drink?” a smooth male voice asked.

The bartender appeared in my peripheral vision, but I kept my eyes fixed on my keypad as I ordered, “A Geoffries Martini, please?”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, then stepped away.

If only he could actually grant wishes. Then maybe I’d get free labor, no strings attached. A bartender-genie, that’s what I needed. . . .
 

The bartender shook my drink, ice clinking around the shaker. “Waiting for friends?”

“No, I—” My mouth froze when my gaze connected with deep blue eyes that sent an electric jolt through me. Heat curled my toes and my mind went blank. “Um, what?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Just asked if you’re meeting anyone.”

“Yes, a date.” I cleared my throat, trying not to focus on how the bartender’s tousled dark hair made his sapphire-blue eyes stand out even more. After all, I couldn’t invite him to be date number three now that I’d told him I was
on
a date. Or could I . . . ?
 

His brows came together as he poured pink liquid into a martini glass. “You don’t sound too thrilled about your date. This a set up?”

“I’m looking forward to my date,” I protested.
 

Not a lie. I was looking forward to having it, then having it be over.

“I don’t buy it.” He set the cocktail in front of me, then gave an inquisitive side-glance that turned my insides liquid. “You look more annoyed than excited. Why don’t you tell me what this date is really about?”
 

Wrapping my fingers around my glass, I ignored the flutters in my belly, and the desire to tell him
everything
. “You don’t want to hear about my problems. I’m sure you’re super busy.”
 

He leaned onto the bar, bringing those mesmerizing eyes level with mine. “Not terribly.”

With him so close, I breathed in his musky scent and my heart jumped into my throat. “Are you this attentive to everyone you serve?”

His gaze left my eyes, trailing down to where my long red strands rested over my shoulder. “Only the beautiful redheads.”

A burst of laughter escaped. “You did not just say that.”

“Made you smile, didn’t I?” The corner of his mouth turned up revealing an adorable dimple. “No, really. What’s going on?”

My smile faded and the past four months came crashing back, ending with the deal I’d made. “Like I said, just waiting for my date.”

As if I’d confide in a man I’d known all of two minutes. Especially a guy with major charm and hypnotic blue eyes. Did he think I was that easy?

“Excuse me a moment.” He tapped two fingers against the white granite countertop, then swiveled toward the other end of the bar to serve two women I hadn’t seen sit down.

A sudden wave of disappointment crashed over me, which was ridiculous. I didn’t want to chat with the bartender. I wanted my date to arrive and then leave so I could scratch one date off my check-list. I scanned my phone to see if Chase had gotten my message and could come early.
 

No incoming texts. Sigh.

With nothing else to do, my eyes drifted toward the bartender whose back was to me. No harm in stealing a quick peek as he mixed the ladies’ drinks, right? Also no harm in admiring the way his white shirt stretched over broad shoulders, his black vest tapered down to a trim waist, and rested nicely over his snug-fitted pants.
 

The hot bartender clearly worked out.

Giggling erupted at the end of the bar and my eyes flicked to the two women, who fluttered their fingers at me. My gaze traveled to their faces and my jaw dropped open. “What the . . . ?”

It was Ginger and Kristen.

Chapter Two

My stomach tightened as Kristen and Ginger slipped onto the bar stools next to me. I rolled my eyes. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Reconnaissance.” Kristen set her wine glass down on the counter, then swiveled toward me. “Making sure you don’t renege on our dating deal.”

Her loud voice practically echoed through the room and I glanced up to find the bartender smirking at me.
 

I downed the contents of my glass. “Get your paint brushes ready, ladies. After this stunt, you’ll be working overtime.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Ginger glanced around the lounge. “Where is Chase, anyway?”

“He’ll be here.” Not early, unfortunately.
 

Ginger rolled her long, dark hair around her finger. “We’ll stick around to make sure you don’t ditch out before he arrives. That pained look on your face doesn’t exactly scream commitment, you know.”

I pushed my empty glass away. “I’d be in less pain if you two weren’t spying on me.”

And if the bartender would stop shooting me smug looks. So I fibbed to a stranger about being excited about my date. Big whoop.
 

Kristen turned to Ginger. “We are being kind of overbearing. It’s starting to remind me of my mother. We should give Kaitlin some space.”