Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 256(@200wpm)___ 205(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
“No, thank you.”
I’ve never been turned down so relentlessly before, and I’m not sure what to do with it.
I think about offering more, but I don’t like to make desperate moves. Hell, no woman has ever had me in a position where I’d even consider it, but I don’t understand why she’s so adamantly disinterested in going out with me—and I’m very adamantly interested in going out with her.
She turns to go back out to reception to ask about a payment plan or charge a fucking credit card she’ll probably spend months paying off. All because she’d rather pay than spend a single evening in my company.
I should be insulted. I am a little, but more than that, I’m confused.
“Your neighbor. Tell me his name.”
She turns back to look at me over her shoulder. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
She’s startled by the command, but rather than tell me to go to hell, she says, “Brent Hartley. His wife’s name is Lisa.”
“Thank you.”
She nods, trying not to be rude, but also trying to drop my gaze like she’s afraid to look at me for too long.
I guess I have to release her.
I don’t want to, but that doesn’t make any sense, so I nod back.
Her gaze leaves mine immediately, and she flees my office without another word.
My phone vibrates on my desk, but I don’t look at it until Gemma is out of sight.
It’s a text from my housekeeper telling me the salmon she was about to prepare for dinner is unexpectedly bad, and we’ll have to change tonight’s menu.
I grab the phone and shoot a quick text back, telling her I won’t be home for dinner, after all. She can just make something for Landon.
Then I slide the phone across the desk and turn my attention to my computer.
Clearly, Gemma’s going to need a little more convincing.
I should probably let it go, but I’ve never been known to take no for an answer.
Let’s see what I can find out about Brent Hartley before I take Gemma Cane out for that drink.
Chapter Three
Gemma
When rehearsal wraps up for the day, Nancy continues to struggle with her timing. Since it’s Friday and we’re out of official rehearsal time, I offer to stay a little late and work with her on perfecting her moves.
Ordinarily, I’d want to get home to Parker, and I do, but Nancy isn’t like my other belly dancing students who are mostly taking the class as a fun workout. She’s an older lady who always wanted to learn to belly dance when she was younger, but she was too self-conscious about showing her tummy. After surviving cancer, she realized there are plenty of things to be afraid of, but a bare stomach isn’t one of them. She’s so proud of herself for finally putting herself out there and having fun without worrying what people think about her. She even has her grown son and his wife and kids coming to watch her, so she wants to be perfect at the recital.
I text Parker that I’ll be working late and stay to practice with Nancy until she finally nails the rhythm. When we stop for a water break before she leaves, she gives me a hug and thanks me.
“You’re gonna knock ’em dead, girl,” I assure her, smiling as I uncap my water bottle to take a drink.
She beams at me as she makes her way over to grab her purse. “Thank you for staying late, honey. You didn’t have to do that.”
“It was fun,” I assure her with a smile. “I’m so glad you took my class this summer.”
“So am I,” she says, shimmying her hips and making me laugh.
When Nancy leaves, I turn off all the lights and prepare to leave as well. I grab my phone and see I have several missed texts from Parker, so I swipe the screen and open the message chain to see what I’ve missed.
Mostly there are just texts of her asking when I’m coming home, but she must be getting hungry because the messages are getting hilariously weird. She sent me individual pictures of ham and slices of cheese with sad faces drawn on in purple marker in markup mode, then she sent three sobbing emojis with the added caption, “Me because I don’t have jamón y queso in my tummy right now.”
I grin and text back, “I’m sorry! Nancy and I JUST finished. Mommy is on the way to save the day right now!”
She sends back party emojis instantaneously, and I smile, slipping the phone into my purse and drawing out my keys.
Movement in the dark auditorium makes my heart drop and wipes the smile right off my face. I clutch my car keys, my heart stuttering, and try to remember what I’m supposed to do if I’m accosted in the dark by a stranger.