“Cassie! Lean back, hold your nose here. We need to stem the blood flow.”
Blood flow?
Underwear logos were forgotten immediately. In a daze, I did as Parker instructed, sitting back down heavily on the offending barstool.
I heard Parker ask the waitress for some ice in an efficient, doctorly tone. As I sat, head back, I wished I had a remote control so I could rewind the events of the last few seconds—was that all it’d been?—and get a do-over. Jeez, how I would love a do-over.
We hadn’t even got to dinner yet! This was so not the impression I wanted to make on my future husband.
Parker, proving to be every inch the caring doctor of my fantasies, gently placed a bag of ice wrapped in a towel on my nose. I winced, and he handed me a wad of tissues, which I immediately placed above my lips.
“The ice will help stem the flow as well as lessen any swelling.”
Swelling? Great.
“Thanks,” I muttered from my awkward position, only able to catch a glimpse of Parker out of the corner of my eye. “I’m so sorry about this.”
“Don’t be. It could have happened to anybody.” He smiled at me. “Well, maybe not anybody.”
I let out a weak laugh. It hurt.
“Try and stay still if you can, Cassie. I’ll need to check to see if it’s broken.”
Oh, this was getting better and better.
Parker pulled the ice pack away from my nose. “Hold still, this may hurt.” He gently tweaked it, moving it from side to side. I must have looked beyond ridiculous. In all my fantasies of how tonight would go, not a single one involved my future husband gently tweaking my bloodied and painful nose as I leaned against a bar, surrounded by onlookers.
“Miss Dunhill? I think you’re going to live. Your nose is not broken,” Parker declared at the end of his examination.
To my eternal humiliation, tears stung my eyes. I blinked them away quickly. Whacking myself in the face and flashing the world’s tackiest underwear at the man I wanted to marry was more than enough humiliation for one night. I wasn’t adding crying like a little girl to the list.
I forced a bright and breezy tone. “Well, that’s a relief!” I sat upright on the stool and noticed Parker watching me, concern etched across his handsome face. I shot him a sheepish smile.
“Looks like the bleeding has stopped, which is good.”
“Yeah, it feels okay now.” I tucked the bloodstained tissues into my purse. Keen to get this date back on track, I added, “We’d better get to the restaurant.”
“As long as you’re sure? I can cancel the booking if you’d prefer to go home.”
Was he kidding? Never before in the history of romance has a date been so anticipated as this. There was no way I was going home right now.
“Don’t be silly. It’s nothing. I’m fine.” I stood up, smoothing my skirt down to ensure there wouldn’t be a stool-attached-to-dress repeat performance. Once in a lifetime was more than enough.
His face broke into a smile. “Great.”
I glanced over at my friends. They looked anxious. “I might go to the ladies’ first, though, to check on the damage.”
He nodded. “Of course. I’ll wait here.”
I reached the bathroom and peered in the mirror. My nose was red and swollen, my makeup smudged beneath my eyes. I looked like a panda who’d lost a fight. As I grabbed some toilet paper to make some repairs, the bathroom door banged open. Marissa and Paige came flying in.
“Oh, my god. Are you okay?” Paige asked, bringing me in for a hug.
“That had to have hurt,” Marissa added, shaking her head.
Pulling away, I replied, “I’m fine, really. Just embarrassed. Parker was a total gentleman.”
“Oh, yes. We saw that. He was amazing. That’s one good thing to come out of this . . . mess,” Marissa replied tactfully.
Embarrassed, I brought my hand up over my eyes, accidentally banged my nose, and winced. “Ow!” I let out a heavy sigh. “This is so not what I had in mind for tonight.”
Paige rubbed my arm. “I know.”
“You know what? Men love to be in control, right? They love to feel like they’re being all manly and crap. You gave him the opportunity to do just that,” Marissa stated.
Hope rose. “You think?”
“Absolutely!” Paige confirmed. “Marissa’s right. You’ve made him feel special, needed. He’s got to love that.”
Huh. They may have a point.
“Now, fix your face up and get yourself out there. You’ve got a date to go on.” Marissa’s tone was brisk.
Resolved, I swept away my smudged makeup, powdered my nose as gently as humanly possible, ran a comb through my hair, and freshened up my lipstick.
Marissa held the door open for me. “Go get ’em, tiger.”
A moment later, I was by Parker’s side once more.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded, smiling. He took my hand in his and led me through the throngs toward the door. It felt nice. I glanced quickly back at my friends. They both gave me the thumbs-up, grinning.
Parker and I walked the short distance to the restaurant. He held my hand the whole way. Weirdly, conversation flowed much better since I’d banged my own fist into my face. Who knew? Perhaps the blood loss improved my conversation skills.
Once seated, we ordered our meals, and Parker asked me about my family. I told him about how my parents had been married for thirty-one years, how I don’t see them as much as I would like, and how I saw my annoying little sister, Bella, more than I would like. He smiled and told me about his family. I began to feel so comfortable with him, like I’d known him all my life—not just researched him and cyber-stalked him for the past five weeks.
We discussed music taste. His was very refined: classical music, jazz, a smattering of classic rock. Mine was more at the Katy Perry and Taylor Swift end of the scale. I decided there and then it wasn’t a problem: we could introduce each other to our music, share it with each other. We could go to concerts and concertos—or whatever those things are called. And I could develop an appreciation for classical music and jazz, no problem. In fact, I secretly suspected I would love classical music and jazz, only I hadn’t heard much of it.
I grinned to myself. Oh, yes. My One Last First Date was going really, really well.
“Parker? What do your friends call you?” I asked once our meals had been delivered.
“Umm . . . Parker.” He looked at me uncertainly, like I was demented for asking him such a stupid, obvious question. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” I couldn’t help but smile. Cassie: one, Know-It-All Will Jordan: zero.
“Your crab looks good. He’s watching me with his little beady eyes,” I said, picking up my silverware to tuck into my own meal.
Parker chuckled, picked his crab up in his hand, and wobbled it from side to side. “Hi, Cassie. I’m Colin Crab. How do you do?” His voice was high-pitched and silly.
I giggled. Parker looked so cute being a goofball. “I can’t really pick my pasta up to respond, Colin Crab.”
“Oh, that’s okay, Cassie. You’re so pretty.”
I blushed. I looked down at my plate and piled some pasta onto my fork to hide it.
“Bite me!”
I snapped my head up, startled. Did Parker really just say “bite me”? I looked at him, wide-eyed as mortification seeped up my body from my curling toes. “What did you just say?” I asked, breathless.
Parker wobbled the crab from side to side once more. “Bite me! Bite me!” he repeated in his silly voice.
Did he see my underwear reflected in the mirror? He didn’t seem to have at the time, but then he did go straight into competent doctor mode. And if he did see it, why would he want to mock me?
Parker returned the crab to his plate. “By the look on your face, I took that a little too far. Sorry.”
“No, no. It’s fine.” I returned my attention to my pasta. “This is good,” I
lied, not having taken a single bite. “How’s yours?”
“I’ll tell you in a second.” He broke into the crab and took a large mouthful of meat. He grinned at me. “It’s delicious.”
I nodded at him. Whether he did see my “bite me” panties or not, I needed to move past it and get this date back on track.
I reverted to my bullet pointed wrist, chose a topic, and asked him a question. To my eternal relief, before too long we were laughing and sharing and having a great time once more.
At the end of the evening, after a delicious dinner, Parker walked me to my car, hand in hand, down along the water front.
We reached my little hatchback, parked in a side street. “This is me.”
We stopped and stood by my car. “I’ve had a really great time tonight,” Parker said.
“Me, too.” My heart pounded as the bees in my tummy took flight. “You know, other than injuring myself, that is.” I let out a nervous laugh as my nose gave a throb, reminding me of my humiliation.
He smiled at me, taking a step closer. Was he going to kiss me? Please, kiss me! In my head, this was how the date ended. A perfect first kiss. A perfect last first kiss at the end of the not-quite-so-perfect One Last First Date.
“Can I see you again?” he asked, looking in my eyes.
“Oh, yes.” My voice was breathless. “I mean, that would be nice.”
“Great.” He bit his lip.
Was he nervous?
“I’ll . . . ah . . . be going then.” He didn’t take his eyes from mine.
“Okay.”
“Unless—?”
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Unless what?”
Without further warning, he took me around the waist and pulled me in for a kiss. His nose banged against mine. I let out a wince as my eyes began to water.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I forgot. Are you all right?”
I nodded. “Yes.” I was quite clearly not.
He smiled at me. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”
I nodded again. “Kinda. But I don’t want it to.” I knew I sounded like a sulky child.
“You’ll need to ice that again when you get home.” He paused. “Well, I suppose I’d better get going. Early start tomorrow.”
I looked at him in shock. Was that it? Was he leaving? There was no way I was letting my One Last First Date end without a one last first kiss.
I took hold of his hand and gazed up at him. Being considerably shorter than his six feet, it was a long way. But he seemed to know what I wanted. He leaned down, and I closed my eyes, my lips prepared for a long, sweet, careful kiss.
And it was just that. A wonderful first kiss. A first kiss to end all first kisses.
“I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you sitting at that bar,” Parker said.
“Me too.”
He kissed me again. “Well, good night, Cassie.”
“Good night, Parker. And thanks for . . . everything.”
I watched as he walked down the street. Once he was out of sight and I was safely sitting in my car, I grabbed hold of the steering wheel and let out an excited squeal. He likes me! He likes me! He wants to see me again!
I knew this was it. I knew he was the one for me. We were on our way.
Everything was coming together as planned.
Chapter 4
I FLOATED INTO THE office the following morning in my wonderful, Parker-filled dream world.
Mr. and Mrs. Parker Hamilton. No, too old-fashioned. Mrs. Cassandra Hamilton. Hmm, I like the sound of that. Mrs. Cassandra Dunhill-Hamilton. Ooh, fancy.
“You look happy.”
It was that annoying Will, smirking at me from behind his desk. Well, he won’t bother me today. I had officially moved up to Cloud Nine, and I fully expected to buy a spot up there and stay. Permanently.
“Good morning, Will,” I replied in what I hoped was a superior, school ma’am tone as I walked past him toward my desk.
To my irritation, he jumped up and followed me. “So, how was the big date with . . . what’s his name? Prince Charming?”
I tried to stop myself blushing at the thought of Parker dressed as Prince Charming. Swoon. He would look a-mazing.
I reached my cubicle and placed my laptop bag on my desk. “Actually, Will, I have some work to do. So, if you wouldn’t mind?”
He sat himself down on my desk, blocking my progress.
“Excuse me!” I protested. I gestured with my hands in the internationally recognized sign of get-your-sorry-butt-off-my-desk-this-minute.
He peered at my face. “Whoa! What happened to you?”
“What? Nothing.” I darted my hand self-consciously to my nose. I had to put my makeup on this morning with extreme care. It was still swollen, but, thankfully, only sore to the touch. Small progress, but at least it no longer throbbed like a bass guitar at a rock concert the way it had last night.
“It doesn’t look like nothing,” he replied, sizing up my face. “In fact, I would say it looks like something.” He frowned. “What happened?”
“It was an accident. Last night. It’s fine, really.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Last night? On the big date?”
I nodded, willing this conversation to be over. Now.
A cloud passed over his features. “He didn’t hurt you, this guy?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. He’s a total gentleman. I kind of . . . hit my nose by accident getting my dress unstuck.”
Will leaned back on my desk and roared with laughter. “Now, that I’d like to have seen.”
I colored. Why had I bothered telling him? “Anyway, I’ve got some work to do.”
To my immense frustration, he stayed firmly put, smirking at me. “So?”
I let out an exasperated breath. “So, what?”
“Aren’t you going to tell me about your big date? Or did this,” he waved his hand at my nose, “mess it up for you?”
I crossed my arms and pursed my lips. He was not going to get up and leave until I gave him something. I went for generic. “It was lovely, thank you. Parker and I had a very nice time together.”
He raised his eyebrows at me. “And?”
I shrugged. “And nothing.”
He scrunched his nose. “You struck out, huh?”
“No!”
“Ha! So, you got lucky! Cassandra Dunhill, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Annoyed I had fallen into his trap, I pushed my auburn hair behind my ear, willing my deepening blush to somehow magically disappear. It didn’t.
“It wasn’t like that. We . . . He . . . It was all very chaste.”
He sucked in air. “Oh, that’s not good.”
“Well, not chaste exactly. We kissed—” Why am I telling him this?
“Did you, now?” His eyebrows did a Mexican wave.
I ignored him and instead shook my head. “Anyway, why is my love life of any interest to you?”
He picked a paperweight up off my desk, turning it in his hand. “It’s not. I’m just making conversation, that’s all. Dunny, what the heck is this?”
“It’s a curled-up fern.”
“It looks like a dog turd.”
I stretched my hand out. “Nice.”
He handed the paperweight back to me, and I returned it to its rightful position on my desk. He was right; it did look like a dog turd. Damn him! “Oh, before I forget. You owe me twenty bucks. Parker doesn’t have a nickname.” I shot him a defiant grin, stretching my hand out once more, this time for the money.
Will raised his eyebrows at me. “Is that so?” He stood up and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. “You know, I would be pretty suspicious of any guy who doesn’t have a nickname.”
“You would.” I pushed my hand closer to him. “Pay up.”
He handed me a fresh, crisp twenty-dollar bill.
“Thank you.” I slipped it into my wallet.
“Hey, have you had the chance to present ‘The Sheldon’ to Nettco?” he asked, cha
nging the subject. Much to my annoyance, he remained perched on my desk. When was this guy going to leave?
“Actually, that’s what I need to work on today. So, if you don’t mind . . . ?” I gestured for him to leave.
“When’s your next meeting with them?”
“This afternoon.”
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and peered at his screen. “I can make that.”
I guffawed. “You want to come to my meeting?”
He stood up. “Sure. Some of us have already made our targets for the quarter, you know.”
I gave him a steely glare. “So you said.”
“Right then, it’s a date.” He smiled at me.
“No, Will. It’s a meeting.” I shooed him out of my cubicle. “And I suppose you can come if you want to,” I added begrudgingly.
He grinned at me, placing his hand over his heart. “Thanks for the warm invitation. It means a lot.”
I ignored his jibe. “It’s at two o’clock over at the Nettco head office. We’ll need to leave here at one thirty.”
He typed into his phone, then looked back up at me with a cheeky grin plastered across his face. “I’ll look forward to our non-date, then.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure, whatever.”
We heard a sound like a muffled animal whine nearby. We both watched as Shelby, Richard’s assistant, hurried past, holding her hand over her mouth, her eyes red. The door to the ladies’ banged behind her as she bustled through.
“You women. So emotional,” Will commented, looking back at me, his eyes teasing.
“Your compassion knows no bounds, Will Jordan. I wonder what’s wrong with her.”
“Who knows?” He shrugged, clearly not caring. “See you later, Dunny.” He turned to leave.
I searched my brain, trying to come up with an equally insulting nickname for him. “Yeah, well, see you later . . . ‘Poop Boy’.”
“Poop Boy”? How old am I? Seven?
He stopped, turned, and looked at me. He raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together to suppress a grin. “‘Poop Boy’?”
I cringed. It might not be my best work, but I was committed now. I squared my shoulders. “You call me Dunny, that makes you ‘Poop Boy’.”
One Last First Date Page 3
