Page 13 of Perfectly Right

A word is nothing if you don’t have talent, and you have plenty of that.

Darcy could almost see Elizabeth rolling her eyes. And indeed, her reply made clear she wasn’t satisfied.

So did you, oh great and powerful Oz?

How was it that the same fierce intelligence and independence he so admired could be so equally frustrating? He sighed.

Charlie told Georgiana about this matchmaking deal. She’s stalked your store for a while and she’s pretty dramatic, ignoring that you have a real job in tech and imagining you’re a starving artist shivering in a dank garret, and suggested we rescue you from consumption and certain death by mentioning you to the ‘cool guy with braids and purple sneakers’ at Pemberley Ink.

LOL. Has she seen La Boheme?

Twice. Perverse girl likes opera. Nothing she or I said takes anything away from you and your talents.

She sounds awesome. And thank you bunches for putting in a word for me.

He smiled, and his thumb hovered over the heart emoji, but he sent her a thumbs-up instead.

CHAPTER TEN

A word?Elizabeth was not an idiot. She knew how the world worked. As talented as she might be, a word from Darcy would get her noticed by one of his companies. Any company. That the man she had once considered cold and indifferent had been observant—no, thoughtful—enough to notice her part-time artistic efforts was amazing. Once, she would have resented his help, taken it as officious and meddling. Now, though, she knew better.

He was not at all what she had thought a few months ago.He is quiet, not aloof. Thoughtful, not disdainful.And funny. No one had made her laugh more or understood her better than Darcy had these past few weeks. How was that possible? Had he always been this way and she had refused to see it? Or had he kept it hidden?

I like him. I like him a lot. He liked me once. He told me he did, and he kissed me, thinking I felt the same.

It had shocked her, the kiss. However startling his impassioned declaration had been, the fiery emotion in his kiss and the feelings it had stirred in her, had been unsettling. She had made clear what she thought of him, issuing a brutal takedown.If I remember what he said to me, my words wereworse, and they must linger in his thoughts.The idea of having hurt him—continuing to hurt him—made her feel awful. Ashamed.

She had judged him harshly because he was not what she wanted him to be—open and friendly like Charlie. But he was open and friendly with those he felt comfortable around—with his sister, with Charlie.

With me.

Elizabeth woke up early on Saturday, and although dreading her impending date, she took extra care with her clothes and makeup. No one needed to dress nicely for morning coffee with a stranger they had no interest in—she knew this—but she changed her shirt three times anyway before switching to a romper, and had to call an Uber to arrive on time at the little French brasserie where Darcy had scheduled her date.

He’d called it one of his favorite places. Of course,thatwas against the rules, and now she’d imagine him at every table.

Pedestrian traffic and double-parked cars led her driver to drop her off half a block from her destination. Spotting the restaurant’s awning, she saw outdoor tables full of couples canoodling, looking as if they’d rolled out of their shared beds and gone to dine alfresco and down mimosas. It was so romantic, she almost ached. Or at least she did until she noticed a beefy, bearded man in a tight yellow t-shirt walking towards her, smiling. A red rose dangled from his hand.No, no, no!Her dread shifted to relief as he moved past her and handed the flower to a woman in a matching canary-yellow shirt.

“Elizabeth?”

Pulling off her sunglasses, she glanced to her left and found Darcy standing a few feet away at a small table. “Wait, why are you here? Did my date cancel? Are you filling in?”

“No, actually, er, do you mind if I’m your date?” He picked up a pink peony from the table and handed it to her.

Elizabeth was too busy processing the situation, too busy quelling her nerves, to reply. Darcy looked worried and began speaking quickly. “I couldn’t risk disappointing you again, and apparently I have a dearth of acquaintances who are anywhere near good enough for you.”

She nodded, a little shocked at such a compliment, before a small smile broke through. “I should be sad for you, having such terrible friends,” she said, sitting in the chair Darcy pulled out for her. Her finger traced the soft edge of the sweet-smelling flower she laid on the table. “But coffee with you is far less stressful than with a stranger, especially since Charlotte didn’t come today.”

“Was she your emergency chaperone?”

She gave him a wry look. “Yes.”

“You didn’t really think I’d fix you up with a?—”

“Serial killer? No, but men are weird, and she was my escape hatch. A tug on my left ear and she’d call with some work or family emergency.”

“I see. You understand I’m now fixated on your earlobe, worried you’ll unconsciously tug at it while we’re here.”

“But I won’t. Of course, if it was the guy in the t-shirt, I’d be pulling on my earlobe by now,” she said softly, ensuring the aforementioned man and his date wouldn’t hear her. “I couldn’t see you setting me up with him, but he had a red rose, so...”

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