My Own Mr. Darcy (8 page)

“Um, yes. I do. I have an
hour.”

“What time is your lunch
hour?”

“I go from 12:30 to 1:30.”

“I’m planning to order
sandwiches for lunch today and wondered if you’d come to the bookstore and join
me.”

I gaped at him. Was he
teasing me? “Sandwiches? Today? At the bookstore?” Had I really just repeated
everything he’d said? He was going to think I was a moron. I was starting to
think the same thing.

“Yes, I’m inviting you to
lunch. Today. At the bookstore.”

“Okay, sure. That would be
nice.” I finally finished counting the money and placed it in the bank bag.

“I’ll see you at 12:30,”
he said. Before I could even process what had just happened, Mr. Dawson was
gone. There were no customers in line so I stood there, staring at the door
he’d just walked through. Courtney finished her transaction and called my
extension.

“You should probably close
your mouth. It’s been hanging open since he left.” I clamped my jaws shut. “Congratulations.
He picked your window today.”

“Courtney, he just invited
me to the bookstore for lunch.”

“Is there a restaurant in
the bookstore?”

“No, he’s ordering
sandwiches.”

“Ooh, you must have made quite
an impression on him.”

“Right. I’m just not sure
if it was a good one.”

“Of course it’s a good
one. You look adorable.”

“Thanks, but that’s not
what I mean. I went to a book signing last night and insulted the author. I may
have insulted Mr. Dawson, too.” Dread snaked its tentacles around my stomach. “Do
you think he’d invite me to lunch to tell me off?”

“Whoa. That’s kinda scary.
I guess you’ll find out in a couple of hours.”

“I feel sick.”

“Don’t worry about it. If he
chews you out, you’ll know not to waste any more of your attention on him.”

Courtney’s logic made
sense but she didn’t understand. Years of hopes and dreams hung in the balance.
I needed him to adore me, not berate me. Dread kept its firm grip all morning.

I needed The Pink Salamander to be further away than two
short blocks. I needed more time to convince myself it didn’t matter what he
thought about last night. But it did. I didn’t want him to be angry with me. I’d
been waiting for six years to meet him and I was tired of waiting. I wanted to
find someone to love, someone who would love me back. I didn’t want to blow
this, especially before he even had a chance to fall in love with me.

I put on a confident face
even though I felt scared and fearful inside. Elizabeth Bennet never cowered
and neither would I.

“Can I help you find
something?” Miss Exquisite behind the counter asked. Why couldn’t Mr. Dawson’s
employee be plain and shabbily dressed? I felt dowdy just looking at her.
Today’s ensemble was a gray tweed skirt and an ecru blouse trimmed with
crocheted lace. Her skin was flawless and her hair was sleek and smooth, a look
only the prettiest face can pull off.

“Mr. Dawson is expecting
me,” I said.

A look of surprise crossed
Miss Exquisite’s face but she quickly recovered. “His office is down the hall
on the left.”

The door to Mr. Dawson’s
office was directly across the hall from the parlor, the scene of last night’s brouhaha.
The rows of black chairs were gone and in their place was an arrangement of
comfortable couches and chairs.

“In here, Elizabeth.” Mr.
Dawson’s office was bright and modern. His chrome and glass desk and credenza
were at odds with the Victorian styling everywhere else in The Pink Salamander.
Mr. Dawson stood as I walked into the room. His chair looked like it belonged
on the deck of a spaceship—all mesh and metal. Two red Eames chairs sat
opposite the desk.

“Hi,” I said from the
doorway.

“Come in. Please. Sit
down.” He came around the desk and we each took one of the Eames chairs. “I
ordered sandwiches from Eighth Natural Wonder.”

“I’ve never eaten there,”
I said. Mr. Dawson handed me a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper and a small
baggie of carrot sticks.

“Thank you for coming. I
wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I was surprised you asked
me. I thought you might be angry with me.”

Mr. Dawson raised an
eyebrow. “Have you been to many book signings, Elizabeth?” I couldn’t read his
expression. Maybe he was angry after all.

“Actually, no. Last night
was my first.”

“I suspected so.” Mr.
Dawson took a bite of his sandwich. I waited, nervous and uncomfortable, for
him to say more. When he took another bite, I began eating my sandwich.

The sandwich was awful. It
took all my willpower not to gag. I looked between the pieces of flatbread,
trying to be discreet. There was a layer of romaine, a thick spread that looked
suspiciously like dog food mixed with sunflower seeds, and a layer of sprouts.
I forced myself to chew until I could swallow the thick sludge in my mouth.

“Is there somewhere I
could get a drink of water?” I asked.

Mr. Dawson reached across
the desk and picked up his phone. “Meg, would you please bring us two bottled
waters?” A minute later, Meg, who turned out to be Miss Exquisite, walked in
with two bottles of Evian and a withering expression.

“I gather you weren’t very
impressed with Ms. Eggleston’s presentation last night,” he said when Meg had
left.

“No, I wasn’t. I had the
misfortune of overhearing your conversation before she gave her presentation.
I’m afraid it tainted the rest of the evening for me.”

“I see.” He took another
bite of sandwich. Did he have the same kind of sandwich? How was he not
choking?

I took a deep breath. “I’m
sorry if I offended you, but I’m not sorry for what I said to her. She treated
us all as inferiors and then she nearly made that girl cry.”

“Which probably proved her
point that the girl was ill-equipped to deal with the literary world.”

Was he defending her
behavior? “I’m sorry, Mr. Dawson. But she wasn’t trying to help that girl. She
was bullying her to make herself look more important.” I took another bite of
my sandwich—not because I wanted it or because it tasted good. It didn’t. But I
needed to occupy my mouth so I wouldn’t have to speak for a minute, even if it
meant risking death by gagging.

I watched Mr. Dawson’s
face. His jaw looked strong and manly as he chewed. His hair was just the right
length and his eyes were so blue. It was like I was looking at Mr. Darcy. I
wanted to touch his face to prove I wasn’t dreaming. But of course I didn’t.

Mr. Dawson swallowed hard,
my first clue that maybe his sandwich was strangling him after all. “I guess
I’ll have to be more careful what events I invite you to,” he said.

So it had been an
invitation! I stifled a smile. Did this mean he intended to invite me to more? “I
guess you will, Mr. Dawson.”

The beginning of a wry
smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. I watched his lips and hoped the
smile would grow but it didn’t. Mr. Dawson looked at me and I knew he’d caught
me staring at his mouth. I quickly looked out the window behind his desk.

“Why do you call me Mr.
Dawson?” he asked.

Because Elizabeth
called Mr. Darcy Mr. Darcy
. But of
course I couldn’t say that. “I suppose it’s because of our business
relationship.”

“Is that what this is? A
business relationship?”

I blushed all the way to
my toes. “You know what I mean. The bank.”

“Why don’t you call me
Matt? Mr. Dawson sounds so old.”

“How old are you?” I
asked.

“Twenty-eight. And you?”

“I’m twenty-two.”

“We’re much too close in age
for you to be so formal.”

“All right. Matt. Thank you
for lunch.”

“Would you like to join me
again tomorrow?”

“As long as Ms. Eggleston
won’t be here.” I smiled at my little joke. Matt raised his eyebrow but didn’t
say anything. “That would be nice,” I said, cursing my lame attempt at humor. I
wrapped up the last few bites of my sandwich and stood to leave.

Matt reached out and took
my wrist. “I still think she was right about that girl, but what you did was
kind.”

It was hard to put words
together with his warm, strong hand on my wrist. I held perfectly still,
wishing his hand would never move. “I’m not sure Ms. Eggleston knew that girl
well enough to be the one to give her harsh advice. And sometimes it’s better
to be kind than right.”

“Point taken.” Matt let go
of my wrist and walked with me to the front door. Meg kept her eyes averted as
we walked by. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Matt said.

My wrist still felt warm
as I walked. Just for fun, I flexed my hand like I’d watched Mr. Darcy do about
a hundred times.

“HEY, GOOD NEWS,”
Janessa
said, tossing her keys in the bowl. She looked at the television and stopped.
“What are you doing, Lizzie?”

“Don’t look at me like
that. I’m not watching the whole thing. Besides, I thought you were going out
to dinner with Ben tonight.”

“So when you think I’m not
going to be home, you watch the movie?”

I smiled. “Only
sometimes.”

“This is so sad,” Janessa
said, shaking her head.

“I have a reason for
watching. I needed to know what Mr. Darcy calls Elizabeth.”

“And this matters why?”

“Because Mr. Darcy—Matt
Dawson—asked me to lunch today and he wondered if he should call me Elizabeth
or Lizzie.”

“First, congratulations on
the lunch date. Second, Mr. Darcy should not factor into this at all. You
should have him call you whatever you want him to call you. Who cares what Mr.
Darcy called Elizabeth?”

“Calm down. It’s not a big
deal.”

“Exactly, Lizzie. And Mr.
Darcy called her Miss Elizabeth. You know that.”

“I do now. But my mind
went totally blank when he asked me. I was so worried he was going to be angry
with me and then, suddenly, he was asking me to lunch.”

“Was he angry?”

“He didn’t seem angry but
he thought Ms. Eggleston was right. He must not have been too upset because he asked
me to lunch again tomorrow.”

“Lucky you. Lunch with a
sullen, proud man who thinks it’s okay to bully customers.”

“Can you at least pretend
to be happy for me?”

“If this is what you want,
Lizzie, sure. I’m happy for you. What did you tell him to call you?”

“Elizabeth.”

“I guess tomorrow you can
tell him to make it
Miss
Elizabeth. You might as well live the dream.”

“Very funny. What was your
good news? And why aren’t you with Ben?”

“Ben had to work late. The
good news is I picked up some pear and bleu cheese ice cream at Salt and Straw.
Want some, Miss Elizabeth?”

“You know I do.”

We were halfway through a
quart of ice cream and dinner at Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s when my phone
chirped. It was a text from Chad.