Ask Me Something
By Aubrey Bondurant
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is for mature audiences only.
Cover by: coversbykaren.com
Text copyright © 2015 by Aubrey Bondurant
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CONNECT WITH AUBREY
CHAPTER ONE
My perfectly manicured nails flew across the keyboard with the intention of sending one last email out this evening before I left to meet my friend Catherine. If I hoped to take the next week off, flying out first thing on Christmas Eve, I needed to ensure everything was in order. Not that I wouldn’t be working over the holidays. I never truly turned it off as Vice President of the New York branch of Gamble Advertising.
The direct line lit on my desk phone, and I smiled at the number that flashed.
“Sasha Brooks here,” I answered.
“Are you working late tonight?” Brian’s smooth baritone came over the line.
Brian Carpenter was the East Coast Regional Vice President for our company. We’d known each other almost eight years. Over that time, we’d developed a relationship that was a combination of colleagues and friends. When I’d been promoted last year, however, he’d become my boss. Our working relationship was going through some growing pains, but the biggest change had been my move from Charlotte up to New York City, where I no longer saw him every day.
“Actually, I’m finishing up right now.” Glancing at the clock, I saw it was only five-thirty. Early, for me.
“Good. Are you free for dinner tonight?”
My heart beat faster. “Wait. You’re here in the city?” Brian traveled up here at least once a month. When he did, we tried to get together outside of the office for dinner or drinks. These occasions didn’t happen as often as when we’d both lived down in Charlotte, so when he was in town I tried to rearrange my plans to see him.
“I am,” he chuckled. “Otherwise it might be awkward.”
Shit. I couldn’t get out of my commitment. “Cute. Uh, I wish I’d known. I have this thing tonight.”
“Oh, yeah? Hot date?”
I groaned and decided to come clean even though he would give me a hard time. “I promised to go with Catherine to a speed dating night.”
“Uh, I wasn’t aware you were into that sort of thing.”
“Believe me, I’m not. I’m doing it for Catherine. You should feel sorry for me.”
“Honey, I don’t know who to feel sorrier for: you or those poor bastards you’re going to meet. Why in the world is Catherine speed dating to begin with? She shouldn’t need that type of thing to meet a man.”
I couldn’t help smiling when he called me honey. It always got me in my sweet spot. “I tried to tell her that, but I think she’s anxious because her ex got remarried a couple of weeks ago. I’m accompanying her for support.”
“That’s rough, but you’re being a good friend. I know this type of thing is outside your comfort zone.”
Yes, it was. He knew I had apprehension with new social situations. “What about drinks afterwards? If you’re okay with the both of us, we should be finished by eight o’clock.”
“Sure. Text me when you’re done and let me know where. I’ll meet you.”
“Okay, sounds good. See you later.” At least my evening was looking up now.
***
Why the hell had I agreed to this? I’d asked myself that question ten times over since arriving but had yet to come up with an answer that didn’t have me scoping out the exit signs in this eclectic little coffee shop decorated for the holidays. The scene in front of me was like a bad dream, but in all reality here I was at my first and hopefully last Manhattan speed dating night.
Damn, the perky woman in charge of the evening was talking to us ladies, and I hadn’t been paying attention. I took in her big hair, heavy makeup—and were those shoulder pads? Huh. It was like I was looking at Miss Texas circa nineteen eighty-five. Considering she’d preserved her signature style while living in fashion-centric New York City spoke volumes. The woman obviously had some impressive self-confidence.
“Are you nervous, Sasha?” Catherine asked, interrupting my wandering thoughts.
Observing her barely contained enthusiasm, I realized I’d need to fake it tonight in order to be a good friend. Right. That’s why I was here: to be supportive. Deep breaths and think about how much fun I was going to pretend to have.
I gave Catherine a wan smile. “No, this is less intimidating than a one-on-one blind date.”
She beamed, and I knew that I’d done the right thing in agreeing to accompany her tonight. Catherine’s divorce last year had taken quite a toll on her self-esteem when it came to dating and men. Since we’d become good friends, she’d confided in me about trying to venture out. Being single, I’d agreed to come along so that she wouldn’t have to do it alone. It was my own fault for getting into this situation. Upon meeting Catherine, I’d gone out with her like I’d written the book on how to meet men. This was the image I’d created for myself, and I was too invested to back down now.
Taking a deep breath, I glanced at my watch. If all went according to plan, we’d be done in less than two hours. I’d text Brian and we’d meet for drinks. It had been three weeks since I’d last seen him, and I was looking forward to it.
Catherine handed me a chai tea and I wished it was something stronger. Amongst the twenty women attending, I wondered how many of them were regulars to this type of thing? Is this what females over the age of thirty did to meet men in this city? I was slightly north of that aging milestone, but I felt more pressure in imagining a romantic relationship than in worrying about a biological clock ticking.
I observed the men file in and take their seats. The women assessed them with quiet whispers, practically giddy with anticipation over the potential to meet the man of their dreams.
“Remember, ladies, you only get one chance to make a good first impression,” Ms. Texas advised us.
Like I needed a reminder about the importance of a good first impression or the fact that I wasn’t the kind of girl known for making one. Initially, I came off as unfriendly, but the truth was wrapped around my wrist in the form of a hair band. I snapped it discreetly: once, twice and a third time, telling myself that I wouldn’t let my anxiety control me.
“The gentlemen are getting their nametags and sheets together, so only five more minutes, ladies,” our MC of Love
offered up.
For a moment it was so laughable that someone like me was here trying to make a good first impression that I knew I had to fire off a text to Brian.
“About to start. Lady in charge said to be sure to make a good first impression.”
“Your specialty. Remember no RBF.”
“Haha, very funny.”
RBF was an acronym for Resting Bitch Face. I had it. I couldn’t help it. And I’d refused to believe it until he’d essentially proven it to me years ago. Our professional relationship wasn’t without its challenges, considering I wasn’t always the easiest person to manage. But the one thing I could always count on was him being honest with me even if it meant telling me I had a resting bitch face.
“I’d wish you luck, but I wouldn’t really mean it,” he texted back.
I wondered if he’d intended it the way it sounded. We were always flirting like this, with neither of us actually making a move beyond the platonic.
Bracing myself, I downed one final gulp of my tea before Ms. You-Can-Find-Love-In-Five-Minutes told us to stand in front of a chair along the line.
The bell sounded, and we each took a seat in front of prospective mates with the clock ticking.
Raising a brow at the man across from me, I tried very hard to keep my face from sliding into RBF. My mind wandered to why Brian was up in New York in the first place. He hadn’t mentioned it when we’d spoken yesterday on the phone.
Crap. I was still thinking about Brian, and the man in front of me at the small table had been talking for two full minutes. I shifted my focus to him.
He wasn’t unattractive. And that was pretty much the only description I could give as he finished up.
“That’s me in a nutshell. How about you?” he asked.
Er, okay. “My name is Sasha—”
“Yeah that’s on your nametag,” he teased.
Before I could help it, my eyes narrowed. I watched him shift uncomfortably. Oh, hell. I’d gone from resting bitch face to full-on active bitch face. “Right, sorry. I’m nervous,” I fibbed, trying to recover. I took a deep breath. “I’m thirty-two, and I work a lot of hours in the advertising field. Um, I moved up here from Charlotte, North Carolina, last year.”
“Do you like your job?” He appeared genuinely curious.
“Yes, absolutely.” There should be no reason why I shouldn’t enjoy it. My career was exactly where I’d always dreamed it would be. So what if my level of anxiety had increased with it? It was to be expected, right? The higher the paycheck, the larger the responsibility, my dad had once told me.
“That’s good. Not many people can say that. I’m currently between jobs and trying my hand at Broadway auditions.”
Uh, yeah. I could officially add that statement to my virtual list of instant turnoffs. Be nice, I reminded myself. “Is there any particular part or show you’re interested in?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “My dream would be one of the monkeys in the Wicked production.”
For a moment, I entertained the idea that I was on some type of reality television show where I was being punked. I even looked up for the hidden camera or for some celebrity to come out. Who the hell said their Broadway dream was to be a monkey? After thirty seconds, it became obvious this was for real, and even though my mind was saying, I’ve got nothing, my mouth mercifully managed, “That’s nice.”
Thank God I was literally saved by the bell. But as I scanned down the long line of nineteen more men, the panic started to well up.
Catherine caught my eye and gave me a wink. She was enjoying herself. Undoubtedly she would make a great impression in the small allotted time. We might both be polished and professional career women who were single in the city, but that was about it when it came to the similarities between us. Her blonde hair was soft and framed her heart-shaped face flawlessly. My chin-length hair was black and cut in a chic-bob. She was fair with blue eyes and classic features, whereas I had my biological mother’s brown eyes, olive skin and full lips from somewhere else in my family gene pool. Despite being the editor for Cosmo magazine, Catherine was down-to-earth and genuinely sweet. Sweet would never be a word to describe me. I snapped my band under the next table three more times, willing myself to stay calm. I could do this.
Five guys later, I was ready to feign a minor medical emergency. The next candidate, however, interrupted my thoughts on what appendicitis might look like. He was very attractive. Since his eyes were running over me with frank interest, I could tell he might be thinking the same thing.
“I’m Bradley, and you must be lost. A woman like you definitely doesn’t need a speed date to find a man,” he theorized.
He was clean-cut, and professional in a suit and tie. But he still wasn’t as handsome as Brian.
Jesus. Where had that thought come from? Giving Bradley a smile, I confessed, “I’m here with a friend who wanted to come. What about you?”
“I’m in the same situation. Can you believe some of the losers at this tonight?”
My smile faltered. Sweet might never describe me, but I wasn’t mean-spirited. “Uh, I don’t know that I’d go that far.”
“That blonde two down had promise, but then she started talking about her divorce. Like a prospective date wants to hear about that kind of baggage. Completely pathetic.”
Active bitch face came out in full force. “That blonde happens to be my friend. And I’ve learned all I need to about you, Bradley.”
“Come on, don’t you believe in second chances?” he cajoled, leaning forward. The practiced look he was giving me suggested that Bradley had probably enjoyed his share of second chances with women.
“Not when they need to happen within the first five minutes, I don’t.” I smiled tightly and took out my phone to google symptoms of acute medical emergencies.
***
The rest of the evening was a blur. In addition to being soured on bachelor number six, by the time I got to number twenty, I could barely manage a smile. Since bachelor seven had been a doctor, I’d abandoned the idea of feigning an episode of anything medical. The man was creepy enough that he’d most likely perform mouth-to-mouth for a sprained ankle. Ugh.
Catherine, on the other hand, was thrilled with the evening and the results. Our hostess-of-human-torture-otherwise-known-as-speed-dating passed out the contact information of the men who’d been interested and Catherine had garnered fourteen of them.
Was there no other female participant here tonight who was indignant that they’d polled the men instead of us women? I folded my paper and tucked it into my purse wishing I could throw it away without hurting Catherine’s feelings.
“How many names did you get?” she questioned.
“Uh, only a couple and I’m not interested in them unfortunately,” I supplied, not wanting to let her know I’d also gotten fourteen. For the life of me, I didn’t know why. Perhaps my numbed responses and pained face came off as an attractive quality in New York City.
Eager to see Brian, I took out my phone and typed. “On our way to Evan’s Grill. There were no casualties.”
“Oh, I’m certain plenty of hearts are breaking. See you there in about twenty.”
“Who’s the reason for the smile?” Catherine probed, catching me off guard as we slid into the back of her sedan.
“Uh, it was a funny text from my boss, Brian. He’s in town, and I told him we were out for drinks. Hope you don’t mind if he joins us later?”
“No, I don’t mind at all. The couple times I’ve met him, he’s seemed like a fun guy.”
He was good fun and could maybe talk Catherine into better ways to meet eligible men. “Yeah, he is. We should have some time to recap the bachelors before he shows up.”
After arriving at the bar, we got a table and ordered some drinks. I loved Evan’s old wood and romantic lighting and knew it was a favorite of Brian’s as well.
By the time Catherine and I recapped the men from earlier, laughing at some of conversations we’d had, I
spotted Brian come through the door. He was dressed in slacks and a sweater, complete with his long wool jacket. My heart skipped a beat when his warm brown eyes found mine, and he started walking toward us.
“Hi, Sasha. Hi, Catherine.” He kissed both of our cheeks and took the empty stool next to me. “Catherine, nice to see you again. It’s been awhile.”
She smiled. “Nice to see you again, too. Are you up here for Christmas?”
He shrugged off his coat and ordered a drink from our waitress. “No, I’m actually flying to Virginia to spend it with family tomorrow afternoon.”
He looked at me and winked.
While Catherine and he made small talk about holiday plans, I assessed Brian through her eyes. He was the all American GQ-type guy with sandy brown hair, baby face, and charismatic, whiskey-colored eyes. Standing over six feet tall, with a nice build and clean-cut looks, he definitely earned the attention he got from women.
“So tell me about the speed dating thing tonight. How did it go?” he questioned, earning him a kick under the table from me.
His laughing eyes flashed towards mine.
Luckily, Catherine took it in stride. I’d wondered if she would be sensitive to him knowing about it.
“You know, it went okay. Fourteen wanted my number and I narrowed the list down to a couple I may contact,” Catherine provided. “I think I definitely had more fun than Sasha.”
He gave me an amused look. “I think that you ladies need to get out of New York and come down South where men know how to treat a lady.”
She grinned. “You could be onto something. Maybe that’s part of my problem; I’ve been in this city too long.”
“So how many men wanted your number, Sasha?” Brian asked.
“Uh, only a couple,” I lied. “Not a huge surprise that I don’t make a very good first impression.”
He studied me for a moment and I fidgeted with the scrutiny. He could always tell when I wasn’t telling the truth.
“RBF strikes again?” he teased finally.
“For your information I resisted it quite nicely.”
“What is RBF?” Catherine queried.
Slightly embarrassed, I was about to answer, but he beat me to it.
Ask Me Something (The Something Series Book 2) Page 1
