Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
She passes me my phone. “Just fucking do it.”
“I’m way overthinking this, aren’t I?”
“You are.”
I dial his number and quickly hang up.
Shit.
“Okay, what do I say again?”
“Oh my god, you’re killing me,” she gasps.
For the tenth time, I run through the conversation in my head: casual . . . concise, and make the date. Don’t be nervous. Who cares if it doesn’t work out—he’s probably a dick anyway.
Right!
I dial his number and hold my breath as it rings.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice answers.
My eyes widen. Who the hell is this? “Aah . . .” I hesitate. Is this his girlfriend or something?
“This is Henley James’s phone,” she says, all professional-like. “I’m his assistant, Jenny.”
“Oh.” Relief fills me. “Can I speak to Henley, please?”
“He’s not available right now. May I ask who is calling?”
My eyes widen. Is this a trap? Maybe he has a girlfriend, and this is her pretending to be his assistant to catch him out and plot my murder. “Um.” I hesitate as I try to think on my feet. My eyes flick to Chloe’s. “It’s Juliet.”
“Juliet Drinkwater?” she asks.
“Yes.” I frown. How does she know my name? “I am.”
“Juliet, Henley has had to take an unexpected trip overseas for a site inspection, but he left me with instructions if you were to call.”
What?
“Oh,” I reply, surprised.
“Yes, unfortunately he won’t be back until Friday, but he wanted for me to arrange a time on Friday night for dinner.”
What?
This is weird.
“Um . . . sure.” I shrug.
“Is seven thirty okay?”
“Yes.”
“May I have your address so that Henley can pick you up?”
This is weird. I am not giving some random woman my address. She could be his bunny-boiling serial-killer wife. “I’ll meet him there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay, I’ve booked Monsieur on Riley for seven thirty.”
“You’ve already booked it?”
“I knew you’d call,” she replies, a twang of sarcasm in her voice.
I roll my eyes at my predictability. Of course you did. “Okay, thank you.”
“Goodbye, Juliet.”
“Goodbye.”
I hang up the phone and stare at Chloe in shock. “Friday night, seven thirty.”
“Fucking boom.” Chloe laughs. “And that’s how you do it.”
At 7:10 p.m. on Friday night, I get out of the Uber with a spring in my step.
I’m early, I know, but I want to get there before him so I get to watch him walk in and not the other way around. I’m nervous enough already.
I’m wearing a sexy black date dress that’s strapless and fitted, along with new high heels; I even had a blowout today at the salon.
I’ve got a good feeling about this . . . he was handsome and so nice; I mean, he even told his assistant about me when he had to travel overseas. It sounds like he’s as eager as I am.
I walk up the street and see the swanky gold sign:
MONSIEUR
Wow, what a place to have a first date.
I’ve wanted to come here for forever. This place is legendary. I’ve tried to get a table here before, but it has always been booked out for months in advance.
I push open the heavy doors and walk in. The waiter at the front desk smiles. “Hello. How may I help you?”
“Hi, I have a booking for seven thirty tonight?” I smile nervously as I look around. Wow, this place is something else. French furnishings. Big, beautiful murals are painted on the walls. Lamps with warm glow bulbs are everywhere.
“What was the name?” he asks.
“Um.” I shrug, unsure of the answer. “Henley James?”
“Yes.” He smiles. “Your table is right this way.” He leads me through a hallway and out to another area, then down some stairs, and we arrive at a quaint garden courtyard. It’s a different feel out here, more playful and intimate.
Music is playing, and the sound of jovial chatter floats through the air. Beautiful murals are painted on the brickwork. There are huge plants in terra-cotta pots, and fairy lights are strung up above, creating a canopy.
Wow, touchdown on the location.
He knows his stuff; this date is a ten already.
And then I see him . . . and my stomach flips. He’s sitting at a table for two in the corner as he waits.
He’s early too.
I had a sneaking suspicion that this was all an elaborate hoax. He glances up. Our eyes meet, and he instantly rises out of his chair to greet me.
He’s wearing a sport coat and pants, a black shirt with the top button down. I can see a peek of his chest.
“Hello.” He smiles as he kisses me on the cheek. “You look lovely.”
Oh, he smells good.
“Hi.” I swoon.
He pulls my chair out, and I slip into it. “Thank you.” I can feel that my face is a nervous shade of red.
Okay, scratch that: this date is a twenty.
I roll my lips and rearrange my cutlery on the table as my heart races. I’m so nervous it’s ridiculous.