Page 3 of Sly Like a Fox
She laughs.“Most people do.That’s why I have job security.”
I’m cautiously optimistic that this might lead somewhere.Red doesn’t seem judgmental or shocked by my honesty.She’s treating my desires like legitimate preferences instead of character flaws.
“I think I have someone perfect for you,” she says, scrolling through her tablet.“Fenton Nielsen.He’s a bobcat shifter, thirty-one, and works in technology consulting.He’s intelligent, financially stable, and specifically requested someone who can match his mental agility.”
My ears perk up at “financially stable” and “technology consulting.”Tech money is good money.“What’s the catch?”
She laughs.“No catch, though he has had some challenging experiences with traditional dating approaches.Sound familiar?”
“Very.”I try not to seem too eager.“When can I meet him?”
“Tomorrow night, assuming he agrees.There’s an upscale restaurant I like to use for first meetings.Neutral territory, good atmosphere.”Red hands me a business card with the restaurant’s information.“Seven o’clock?”
I take the card, trying not to think about how I can’t afford a meal at a place like this.“That sounds perfect.”
“Excellent.One last thing, Jenna.”Her expression grows serious.“Be yourself.Don’t try to be who you think he wants.The right person will appreciate exactly who you are.”
I nod, though privately I’m already planning my outfit and conversation strategy.Being myself hasn’t worked out so well lately.Red’s confidence is infectious, though, and for the first time in months, I think maybe my luck is about to change.
The walk back to my apartment gives me time to process what just happened.Red saw through my act immediately but didn’t judge me for it.She listened to my actual concerns and treated them as valid.Most importantly, she matched me with someone who sounds promising.
Fenton Nielsen, bobcat shifter, technology consultant, intelligent, and financially stable.The combination sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with money and everything to do with the possibility of finding someone who might actually understand me.
I stop at a corner bodega and use three of my precious remaining dollars to buy a cup of coffee and a packet of breath mints.It’s a celebration and preparation all in one.The elderly man behind the counter looks at my bandaged forehead with concern.
“You okay, miss?”
“Getting better,” I tell him, and for the first time today, I mean it.
The stiletto heel is still embedded in my wall when I get home, but somehow, it doesn’t look quite so threatening anymore.I pull it free and return it to my closet along with its mate before I start cleaning up the mess.I sweep up and throw away the wine bottle fragments before stepping on the wine stain with a dark towel.I should have tackled it earlier, but I couldn’t face it then.When I pull away the soaked towel, the damp spot on the rug blends okay-ish with the rest of the print, so it’ll have to do.
It’s time to start fresh.I lay the restaurant’s business card on my coffee table and start planning.
My phone buzzes with another text from Chloe:If you don’t want coffee, do you want company while you figure out whatever’s going on?You seemed off earlier in the lobby when we were both getting our mail.
I consider her offer.Chloe’s the friend who brings cookies when you’re down and never asks uncomfortable questions.
Actually, yes.Come over.I have news.
Good news or bad news?
Potentially amazing news.
On my way.
While I wait for her, I head to my tiny closet and start assessing my options.Most of my clothes are either too casual for an upscale restaurant or too obviously cheap.I need something that says, “sophisticated woman worth getting to know,” without screaming, “desperate fox shifter who can’t afford rent.”
The black dress Chloe loaned me for a job interview last month still hangs in the back.It’s simple but elegant with clean lines that flatter my curves without being too revealing.She said I could keep it since it was too long for her anyway.
Perfect.
A knock at my door announces Chloe’s arrival.She bounces in carrying a bakery box and wearing her usual bright smile.Her dark hair is pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she’s traded her work apron for a pink T-shirt and white jeans.
“Okay, spill.What’s this amazing news?”She sets the box on my kitchen counter and opens it to reveal chocolate chip cookies that smell like heaven.
“I have a date tomorrow night.”
Her eyebrows shoot up.“With whom?Is it that Ralph guy you’ve been talking about?He sounds too good to be true.”
