Page 26 of Jerk Neighbor

It wasn’t a suit. It had a feminine, but conservative cut. She’d bought it for a work party. It wouldn’t make her feel like a hireling and it should please Bastian fine.

Impatiently, she snatched it off the bar. Tonight was less than a date. Angsting another moment was tantamount to admitting she wanted it to be more.

Bastian arrived early, while Paula was battling further hair pressures from her mother via phone, showing up in a perfectly tailored tux. The moment she opened the door, she had to fight against the instant pull of attraction.

He looked way too confident. Sharp, sophisticated, and comfortable in his own handsomeness. He wasn’t wearing cologne, but she could smell expensive aftershave and could see he’d shaved a second time that day. Georgette was right; it wasn’t fair. Shaving was probably all he’d done, and he looked amazing.

She responded to him with everything female she had. Her nipples hardened, her insides melted, her mood became happy and excited, and everything in her screamed,can’t wait for this date!

This couldn’t be good.

She braced herself for commentary on her outfit.

None came.

He didn’t even look her up and down.

Without a word, he extended his hand to offer her a single red rose.

She stared at it. He probably offered all his dates flowers. She became even more convinced it meant nothing special when he hardly looked at her after that and limited his conversation to polite nothings.

He said absolutely nothing about her appearance—dress, accessories, coat, anything—then or the whole time during the short ride to the small, exclusive bistro.

You warned him not to remark on it.

Yeah, but that would hardly stop Mr. Anal-Retentive-Control-Freak.

She could only conclude from his open disinterest that her outfit was barely adequate in his eyes. He was probably holding back for fear of losing his hard-won date.

Whatever. She knew she looked fetching and classy and wouldn’t embarrass him. To hell with him if he couldn’t see it.

The afternoon went downhill from there. Dining out was a chilly and uncomfortable affair, making her wish she’d gone with his first suggestion, to have a chef prepare a meal for them in his condo.

She was conscious of eyes pinning them critically. Though Bastian seemed unaware of it, she was sized up blatantly by the other diners.

One thing was sure, he was capable of politeness when it suited him. He kept up a stream of social niceties, and she responded in kind, biting back the urge to quiz him as to whether he’d succumbed to the usual infantile hysteria or emerged from the womb already making meaningless chit-chat.

She learned other things that lost him additional points. He inspected his silverware and glassware with obsessive attention. He claimed that the wine selection wasn’t worth bothering with. He ignored the food menu and instead made a barrage of demands of the poor, harried server.

He was not rude, exactly, but petty, that, yes. Like the way he asked for his meal to be made vegan but then ordered a side of rare steak. Who would do that?

The man was way too used to getting his way. And she was a little weirded out by his appetite. Who ate everything in sight before a Christmas party, anyway?

Not once did his eyes linger on her the way they had earlier. He was acting stuffy and distracted. Which boded ill for the rest of the evening…but at least it simplified her dilemma. Claims to the contrary notwithstanding, this was not a real date. She’d take his lead and keep it impersonal.

Because apparently out in public, she was an appendage, not a person.

Don’t be disappointed, self. It’s not like you had any expectations from Mr. How-Dare-You-Flirt-With-Me Spencer.

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