Date Shark
Authors: Delsheree Gladden
Tags: #Romance, #Contemporary, #New Adult & College, #Sports, #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary Fiction
Date Shark
By DelSheree Gladden
Date Shark
Copyright © 2014 by DelSheree Gladden. All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: May 2014
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1499105698
ISBN-10: 149910569X
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For the inspiration from one shark to create another.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Surviving
Nerves tightened every muscle in Leila’s body when she spotted Eli approaching the restaurant, even though she knew this wasn’t a real date. Even if she harbored any fantasy of him actually liking her—which she didn’t—seeing his stylish suit and old movie-style good looks were the first indication that he was way out of her league. Eli Walsh walked up to her, brisk but welcoming. His hand extended and Leila took it quickly. In her eagerness to get started, she gripped his hand firmly with both hands and shook it like her hand was having a seizure. Immediately she realized she was behaving like a desperate nut and dropped his hand. Her blush burned the inside of her cheeks so fiercely she was afraid it would seep to the surface and catch her skin on fire.
Eli chuckled at her antics. “Nervous?”
She wanted to say no, make up for her erratic greeting by sounding confident, but Eli told her to be as honest and natural as possible. “Yeah, a little.”
“Leila, relax. There’s no pressure on you tonight. Just be yourself. If you don’t, I won’t be able to get the information I need.” He said it so calmly. But why shouldn’t he? He had done this dozens of times. It was his job, after all. Leila was paying him to be here. She was paying him a lot.
Eli smiled at her. For one tiny moment, she let herself notice how sweet the curve of his lips looked, the genuine warmth they held. Leila shook herself back to reality quickly.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Then let’s go to dinner.” He held his arm out for Leila to slip her arm through. She felt like Scarlett O’Hara as she took his arm, one hand on top of the other. They started toward the restaurant. Leila was so enamored by the short red carpet leading to the door of the upscale
Dolcini
restaurant that she failed to notice the incline. The front of her shoe snagged on the ground and pitched her forward. Eli kept her from landing on her face and continued walking. He was a million times smoother than she was, as she had just demonstrated.
A very complimentary maître d’ named Pierce greeted them when they stepped into the foyer. He greeted Eli by name like they were old friends and announced that their table was ready and waiting. Leila wondered briefly if this guy knew what Eli did for a living. Did he have any clue that the women his favorite guest brought here were desperate, confused, and out of all other options? If he did, he didn’t let on.
Eli pulled out Leila’s chair when they reached the table. It was such an unexpected treat that Leila was immediately flustered. “Oh, Eli, please, you don’t need to do that. I can get my own chair, really.”
“It’s my pleasure, Leila.” He waited, but now she felt even more awkward than before.
“Really, I’m fine. Sit down. You don’t have to be so polite, especially since this isn’t…” Leila caught herself and glanced over at Pierce hoping he had missed her near slip. She had called Eli for help willingly, but admitting her faults to a stranger was mortifying. Leila sat down in her chair dejected. She didn’t look up when Eli finally left her side and sat down.
A leather bound menu was set in front of her, but before she could bury herself in it Pierce spoke and drew her eyes up to him. “Your waiter tonight will be Tony. If you have any questions about the menu, please feel free to ask him. Also, our head chef has chosen several unique dishes for tonight that are not featured on the menu.”
He paused, waiting for their assent to give them the details of these special dishes. Leila was still too deflated to respond, but Eli nodded.
“To start off your meal, our chef offers a panzanella caprese salad, a delectable mix of two Italian classics. The entrée features miso-glazed sea bass with asparagus, followed by a dark chocolate truffle tart with a raspberry reduction for desert.” Pierce smiled at Leila. “The truffle tart is especially divine. My favorite desert Chef Alonzo has come up with yet.”
His easy attitude helped Leila regain a little of her composure. She smiled back and dared looking over at Eli after Pierce took his leave. She was encouraged by the pleasant expression on his face.
“Pierce is a secret chocolate fanatic. Chef Alonzo saves him a dessert every night, but don’t tell him I told you that,” Eli said, a playful glint in his eye.
“My lips are sealed.” He chuckled at her response. It was a pleasant sound, and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed made Leila smile again.
When she realized she was still holding her purse in her lap, Leila glanced around for somewhere to put it. The chair had a rounded back and no arm rests. She settled for setting it next to her on the chair, but it slid off immediately with an audible thump. Eli looked over at her curiously. Cringing, Leila reached down and snatched her purse off the floor and let it fall back into her lap.
She dropped her eyes to hide her scarlet cheeks and opened her menu. Deciphering its contents would be a perfect distraction. Like the chef’s special, she had no idea what most of it meant. If Pierce hadn’t said the panzanella caprese was a salad, she wouldn’t have had a clue. She also didn’t know what miso was. The menu was filled with the names of dishes she was sure were fabulous, but the lack of descriptions left Leila lost. Was panko chicken different from regular chicken? What was raita? She wasn’t even sure whether pancetta was a meat or a vegetable.
Their waiter arrived and took their drink orders with polite professionalism. Not as friendly as Pierce was, Tony only broke his uptight demeanor once. Right before he left, his eyes swept over Leila in consideration. It wasn’t a glance to scope out her figure or looks; it was clearly curiosity to know what was wrong with her. Suddenly, Leila’s earlier wondering about whether Pierce knew about Eli’s job was answered. They must all know. Pierce was simply better at hiding. Tony turned away as if nothing had happened—and really it hadn’t—but with a deft sweep of her finger, Leila untucked her brunette hair from behind her ear. It fell forward to cover her face, and her embarrassment.
“Have you decided what to order?” Eli asked.
Leila folded her indecipherable menu and set it down. “The special sounds so good, I think I’ll have that.”
“I usually prefer a ginger sauce when it comes to Japanese cuisine, but Alonzo does make a very good miso sauce. Have you ever had it before?”
“Oh yes,” Leila lied. “I prefer it over ginger.” Her quick smile attempted to cover her deceit. The corner of Eli’s mouth twitched. He wasn’t buying it. “Actually, I’ve never much liked ginger, in anything. Gingerale and ginger snaps make me gag. My mom tried to give me some kind of ginger tea when I was sick once and it made me throw up. I didn’t like it before then, and I liked it even less after that.”
“Hmm, good thing Alonzo isn’t serving ginger sauce tonight then,” Eli said.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t mention throwing up and gagging when we’re about to eat. Where are my manners?”
Smiling, Eli said, “Don’t worry about it. It takes a lot to dampen my appetite for good food.”
Self-conscious, Leila looked to the side hoping to see their waiter on his way back to take their order. A few seconds later, her wish was granted. His haughty eyes swept over her as if she wasn’t even there. When he spoke, he addressed Eli first.
“Have you had enough time to peruse the menu, Mr. Walsh?”
Leila might have been imagining it, but Eli’s eyes seemed to narrow. “I would prefer to let the lady order first.”
“You can order first, Eli. I don’t mind.”
“I
do
mind,” he said, his voice stern.
“It’s not a big deal,” Leila said.
Eli’s eyes focused in on Tony’s. “It’s polite to let a lady order first.”
“Of course, Mr. Walsh.” Tony turned to Leila with a perfectly blank expression. “Miss? Have you decided?”
“Um, I’ll just have the chef’s special,” she said. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember what everything was called.”
Tony smirked. “Not to worry, Miss. I memorize the special each night.” He turned back to Eli. “And you, Mr. Walsh?”
“I will have the arugula and pancetta salad to start, and the beef bourguignon.” Eli folded his menu and handed it back to Tony. Leila did the same. Tony was about to leave when Eli stopped him with a raised hand. Tony’s eyebrows lifted expectantly.
“Would you let Conrad know I need to speak to him later tonight, if he has the time?”
Eli’s words wiped any trace of attitude off Tony’s face. “Yes, of course, Mr. Walsh. I’ll let him know immediately.” Then Tony high-tailed it back to the kitchen.
“Who’s Conrad?” Leila asked. The hard set of Eli’s features startled her and she backpedaled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You’re not prying,” Eli said as he slipped back into his casual, easy smile. “Conrad is the owner. We’ve been friends for a long time. I’ve been meaning to talk to him the past few days and haven’t found the time. I thought since I was here I would take advantage of the opportunity.”
Leila could sense that there was more, but ignored it and minded her own business. Silence fell over their table. Her mind struggled to come up with something witty or intelligent to say. The pressure of knowing she was being graded made her concentration slip even more. Leila couldn’t seem to think at all. Her fingers started tapping nervously on the table. The sound of them clicking away hit her eardrums and she snatched her fingers back. Clenched into fists, they couldn’t make noise. She was failing miserably. Big surprise. This was her one chance to find out what was wrong with her and she was blowing it. The sting of tears spread to her face and ears. She knew the inevitable drippy nose that always accompanied crying was only seconds away. That knowledge only made it ten times worse. Leila wanted to hide under the table, or maybe just run away.
“So, Leila, what do you do for a living?” Eli asked.
He already knew from the questionnaire she had filled out, but it was a lifeline out of her spiraling despair, and she latched onto it. “Marketing. I work for a fashion boutique downtown. I’m the one who coordinates advertising and has the final say on print and internet marketing. I don’t design any of it, though. I’ve never been artistic, at all. It was the only class in high school I got a C in. Perspective made no sense to me at all.”
“It sounds like you do a lot. Do you have anyone to help you, or is it all just you?” Eli asked.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t do all that on my own. There’s a designer that does all the graphics, a copy editor we contract with, the store owner, Ana, and there’s usually a couple of interns running around hoping to become the next Versace.”
Eli tilted his head to the side, watching her intently. “Do you think they will? The interns, I mean.”