Page 50 of False Evidence

Received:We’ll go dancing on our second date, then.

Sent:You’re so certain you’re getting a second date? I haven’t even agreed to the first.

Received:Muffin, I’m already planning date number 6.

Sent:Yeah? Where are you taking me?

Received:I don’t want to spoil the surprise. You might want to skip dates 2-5.

Sent:But not date 1?

Received:No, sweetheart, you definitely don’t want to miss that. Tomorrow. 7 p.m.

Sent:Where are we meeting?

Received:Are you in DC?

She didn’t live in the city, but close enough.

Sent:Yes.

Received:I’ll leave a note for Muffin at the Mayflower concierge desk.

She scrolled back up, rereading the full conversation. So many emotions swirled through her, but they all held a buzz of excitement. Joy.

Sent:What should I wear?

Received:Whatever makes you happy. But I wouldn’t object to the killer heels.

Sent:See you tomorrow, Pumpkin.

ChapterEighteen

The concierge gave her an envelope with “Muffin” written on the front in a neat, blocky script. She crossed the lobby to a couch outside the restaurant, sat down, and slid her finger under the flap to open the envelope.

She pulled out a single folded piece of paper.

Muffin, take the stairs to the right of the reception desk to the mezzanine level. I’m at a small table in a corner overlooking the lobby.

She glanced up, scanning the railing that wrapped around the mezzanine level. She spotted him almost immediately, watching her. He raised a hand in a subtle wave.

Her stomach tightened with anticipation. She’d considered canceling multiple times. But she couldn’t get him out of her mind—in a good way.

So here she was, wearing the fuck-me heels and a sexy emerald-green cocktail dress she’d dug out from the back of her closet. She’d worn it to a bachelorette party two years ago.

She felt his gaze as she rose from the couch, so she turned in a circle, allowing him to admire the dress that showed a lot of cleavage and stopped mid-thigh. She paused before heading to the stairs and caught his appreciative grin.

He’d no doubt be watching her ass as she crossed to the stairwell, so she made an effort to add a seductive sway, but she was very much out of practice walking in heels, so she didn’t overdo it for fear of stumbling.

The carpeting on the mezzanine level made circling around to meet him slightly less of a slipping hazard. He stood in front of a table that held a sealed bottle of wine in an ice bucket along with two white wine glasses.

She wondered how to greet him—handshake, hug, wave?—when he placed a hand on her waist and dropped a soft kiss to her lips before stepping back and indicating a plush chair.

“You look beautiful,” he said as she lowered herself into the seat.

“Thank you.”

He pushed the chair forward, then took the seat next to her. “Wine?”

---