License to Date (10 page)

I gave a little wave.
 

“I’d like you both to meet Jill Parnell. She works with Charlie over at Corbett, Grey, and Shaw. We’re meeting him for lunch and thought it would be fun to run into you here.”

Kristen smiled, and held her hand out to Jill. “Nice to meet you.”

Instead of biting her head off like the shark she appeared to be, Jill accepted Kristen’s hand with a warm smile. “You, too.”

Again, I waved.

“Have a good lunch.” Kristen smiled then turned back to me as Ethan and Jill strode toward the entrance to meet up with the man who’d just walked in. “Charlie’s a good friend of Ethan’s. They’re talking about opening their own law firm together.”

“Sounds like an exciting move.” Glancing around me, I bit my lip. “Back to the wedding location, though. I’m afraid you’re making a mistake Kristen. I know you won’t be happy disappointing your mom like this.”
 

“You and I have a lot in common when it comes to mothers, Kaitlin.” Kristen leaned back as the waiter set our dishes down. “But I’ve changed since I met Ethan. Love makes you willing to take huge risks because the payoff is so worth it. I could marry him in a tent and it would still be the best day of my life. My mom is going to have to deal.”

I immediately thought of Paul. He wasn’t the country club type my mom had always pushed me toward, but I loved being around him. Maybe he’d be worth taking a risk for.
 

She slid her chopstick into her stir fried rice. “We don’t get many second chances in life and Ethan is my second chance. You have a beautiful house . . . do you really want to be in it alone forever?”

“Until this week I would’ve answered yes.” But relaxing with Paul by the dock hadn’t taken me out of my happy place—sharing the space with him had made it better. Warmer. Fuller.

“And now?”
 

“I’m going on date number three tonight.” I glanced over to where Ethan was having lunch with the beautiful brunette. Like me, Kristen had been cheated on before. But she hadn’t had one ounce of jealousy seeing Ethan with that gorgeous attorney because she trusted him. I made a decision. “I’m also going to line up date number four.”

Kristen’s brows quirked. “With who?”

My heart rate picked up just thinking about him. “The bartender from the Geoffries hotel.”
 

There, I’d said it. There was no turning back.
 

Tonight, I’d ask Paul on a date. I just hoped he said yes.
 

****

After work, I strode into the Geoffries hotel to meet date number three. Yes, I’d picked the location but Kyle had
asked
where I wanted to go and the hotel seemed convenient since I needed to seal date number four as soon as possible (before I freaked out and changed my mind). It felt too impersonal to ask Paul out via telephone, which was why I’d arrived at the hotel early for my date.

Checking my watch, my heels clicked across the lobby as I headed for the bar.

“Kaitlin?”

I stopped in the middle of the marble lobby, tingles running down my spine at the familiar male voice. I glanced over my shoulder and, sure enough, Paul stood behind the concierge desk wearing his sexy grin.

I couldn’t stop the smile that spread over my face or the happiness that filled me at the sight of him. I walked over to the desk, then placed my purse on the counter. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes crinkled. “Working.”

“That’s obvious.” I laughed. “But what are you doing here at the concierge desk and not over there at the bar?”

He leaned over the desk. “Filling in. Manuel has the night off.”

Shooting him a questioning look, I teased, “Isn’t being a concierge a form of art? Like in that Michael J. Fox movie,
For Love or Money
?”
 

He smirked. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

“I’m not sure.” I leaned toward him and breathed in his spicy scent. “You do make a mean Geoffries martini though.”

“If you take a break from your date, I’ll have one here waiting for you,” he said, then straightened and stepped back.

I frowned. “But—”

“Kaitlin Murray?” a male voice said from behind me.

I swiveled around. “Yes?”

In front of me stood a tall, muscular, blond who could easily rival any Greek god. I take that back. With that crown of gold, athletic build, and sparkling green eyes, he might actually
be
a Greek god—if one had descended to Sacramento wearing a polo shirt, that is.

“Kyle Harper.” He thrust his hand out. “I recognized you from the photo Ellen showed me.”

Wow, Ellen hadn’t told me Kyle Harper was hot.

“You’re early.” My forehead wrinkled at my date’s promptness. I hadn’t asked Paul out yet and what if he got off work before I had the chance? How late did a temp concierge work, anyway?

When I continued to stand there, Kyle gave me an odd look. “Shall we go?”

Since it seemed rude to ask him to hold on a sec while I checked to see if the concierge was free tomorrow night, I smiled politely. “Sure.”
 

As we sauntered off, I glanced back at Paul and shot him an apologetic look. He did not, however, pass me a look of understanding. In fact, his jaw muscles tightened, and the usual glint in his eyes disappeared.
 

 
****

Kyle had made a reservation so we were seated right away in a corner table next to an indoor waterfall. When the waitress took our drink order, I asked for water only. I figured no drinks, no appetizer, and no dessert might speed this date up.

Unfortunately, Kyle didn’t seem worried about time because he ordered a beer. Sigh.

“How long have you known Ellen?” Kyle asked.

“A few months.” I glanced behind me in the direction of the lobby as if I might be able to see Paul through some kind of x-ray vision. Didn’t work.

Kyle opened his menu, but kept his eyes on me. “She said you two work together?”

“Mmhmm.” I opened my own menu, chose the first thing I spotted, then shut it again. “You ready to order?”

“Not quite yet,” he said, slowly. He gave me a curious look then began perusing the menu.

After a few seconds, my knees started bouncing. Why was it taking Kyle forever to pick a dish? It’s not like the menu was
that
big. I eyed him closely, wondering if he’d notice if I sent a quick text under the table.

He glanced up from his menu and caught me staring. Oh, yeah. He’d notice.
 

“Everything all right, Kaitlin?”

“Great.” I drummed my fingers against the table. “The shrimp scampi looks good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His brows rose as he turned back to the menu.
 

The waitress arrived with our drinks. “Are you ready to order?”

Kyle opened his mouth—

“Yes, I’ll have the shrimp scampi please.” My head whipped to my date. “Kyle?”

He set his menu down and leaned back. “May I hear your specials?”

My neck stiffened. Did this guy have all the time in the world or what?

“Excuse me a minute while I run to the . . . restroom.” I slid out of the booth and raced down the stairs before either could answer me. As I hurried toward the lobby, I straightened my silk top then ran my fingers down my hair as I tried to work up the courage to ask Paul on a date—if he hadn’t gotten off work, that is.

I flew past the bar, down the corridor, and let out a sigh of relief when I spotted him behind the concierge desk. Another employee stood next to him and I recognized the woman from rappelling last night. Odd that she’d worked with him on the fifth floor and now happened to be working at the concierge desk with him today. She didn’t so much as glance at me as I trotted up, but then again she was helping a guest.

“You’re back,” he said, when I stopped in front of him.

“Sorry. My date arrived early.” I rolled my eyes in a way that said ‘whatever.’ “So we didn’t get to finish our conversation.”

And I didn’t get to ask him out on a date yet. Gulp.

His face relaxed and his mouth curved upward as he whipped out a martini glass and shaker from below his desk and poured me a pink drink that had to be a Geoffries Martini. “As promised.”

Just what I needed to give my courage a little boost. “You are the most thoughtful concierge slash bartender ever.”

He brushed his lips over my ear. “Sweetheart, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

A shiver ran through me. Oh
wow
.
 

I brought the martini glass to my lips, sipped my drink, and the cold, sweet liquid rolled down my throat. “Delicious. What’s in it?”

He shook his head. “Can’t tell you. It’s a Geoffries family secret.”

I guffawed. “It’s not like the Geoffries are real people.”

He chuckled. “You think they’re alien imposters?”

“No.” I giggled. “I guess I never thought about it. I just drink at the hotel—”

“And rappel. . . .”

“Exactly.” I touched his forearm and his ropey muscles flexed under my fingers.
 

He glanced at my hand as I (regretfully) removed it from his arm. “I can tell you that this martini was named after Irene Geoffries. It’s her favorite drink, and her husband would bring her a glass every night while she cooked them dinner.”

“Sounds romantic.” I took another sweet sip. “My husband would never do that for me because I rarely cook.”

Had I just said husband? When had I put the idea of marriage back on the table?

Paul reached out to play with a lock of my hair. “I’d bring you a drink every night. You could probably convince me to cook for you, too.”

Staring into his ethereal eyes, my stomach flipped. I knew this was my chance. I mean, he must like me if he was twirling my hair between his manly fingers and offering (hypothetically) to bring me drinks à la romantic hotel magnate, Mr. Geoffries.
 

I swallowed, then blurted. “Would you be my date number four tomorrow night?”
 

Momentary surprise flickered across his face, then he shook his head. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

My heart sank. “Why not?”

His eyes twinkled. “Aren’t you
on
a date right now?”

“Oh, Kyle!” I drained half my martini, then set it back down. “I’d better get back because he was ordering dinner and—”

“Wait.” He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out two tickets. “Want to go with me to the ballet tonight?”

My head spun. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s just for fun. One of the perks of being concierge is that I have two extra tickets to see Cinderella.”

I tilted my head. “You like the ballet?”

His eyes held amusement. “Who
doesn’t
like the ballet?”
 

Me, for one. The only time I’d gone was when my dad had taken me after my parents split and I’d spent the entire time trying not to cry. But that had been over a decade ago. And being next to Paul in a dark theatre didn’t exactly sound horrible. Maybe I could even let him know what he was missing by rejecting me. . . .
 

I took a final sip of my Geoffries Martini (yum). “I’m in.”

His face lit up. “Great. Meet here in an hour?”
 

“All right.” I hurried across the lobby, past the bar, and up the stairs to the restaurant. I found Kyle leaning back in his seat with half his beer gone. “Sorry. That took longer than expected.”

I cringed. That did not sound pretty.

Kyle sipped his beer, then set it back down. “You’re obviously not interested in me, Kaitlin. That’s really okay—”

“No, you’re great.” I shook my head quickly. “In fact, I’d love to set you up on a date with my friend Ginger.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Aren’t
we
on a date?”

Oh, this was awkward.
 

“Yes. . .” My voice trailed off and I cringed, realizing it was time to come clean. “I’m sorry, but I only agreed to go out with you because of my friends. I told them I wasn’t ready to date and they pushed me to get back in the game so I made a dating deal, which wasn’t fair to you. Then I met this guy who works for the hotel and I didn’t mean to, but I think I’ve fallen for him. You’re super nice and incredibly handsome and I didn’t mean to waste your time.”

Instead of getting annoyed or angry, he laughed. “Handsome and nice? That has got to be the best rejection speech ever.”

Feeling like a louse, I raised my brow. “You’re not upset?”

“Actually, I am.” He flashed a smile, showing off his straight white teeth. “If you’re interested in this other guy, what are you doing here with me? Go get him, Kaitlin.”

Who was I to argue with a Greek god?

Chapter Eight

I stared at my reflection in the silver-framed mirror of the Geoffries hotel’s women’s lounge and touched up my lip-gloss. Remembering Paul’s kiss last night, I shivered. Why wouldn’t he go out with me? No guy could kiss like that if he wasn’t into someone. No way. At least I didn’t think so. . . .