Page 7 of Dating the Boss

My jaw drops open. “Are you serious?”

She giggles. “No, even though the right answers to number one and two might get me hot enough to wonder, asking a question like that in five minutes is begging for creeps.”

I tip back my martini glass and finish the last of my Cosmo. “So?”

“Do you crave routine or spontaneity? The known or unknown?”

“That’s a weird question.”

“Is it?”

She gives me a side-eye as the woman from earlier gets on the microphone again. “Ladies, if you could take your seats. We’ll be starting in two minutes.”

Margot pulls the maraschino cherry off the stem and dumps it in her empty glass before throwing me a quick wink. “See you in an hour.”

I take my seat at number fourteen. I’m only a few seats away from Margot, which makes me wonder if we are seated alphabetically. I glance around, looking for a pattern to our arrangement, but without last names, there’s no way to tell. Preoccupied with our seating arrangement, which I refuse to believe is anything other than random, I forget to be nervous when a tall drink of water sits in the chair across from me.

“Hi,” I squeak out, all my nerves hitting me at once.

“Hey.” He offers me his hand. “I’m James, and you are Brooklyn. Cool name.”

“Thanks.” I shake his hand, which is warm and soft, and I’m betting James in his striped dress shirt and navy blue tie works in an office punching numbers and playing tennis at the racquet club on the weekends.

“Is this the first time you’ve done this kind of thing?” He grins, and I have to admit, he’s handsome with a boyish charm. He’s got dimples, which, of course, immediately conjures up images of Coulter. I give an imperceptible shake of my head, scolding myself for daydreaming about my unattainable boss when there’s a flesh-and-blood man sitting in front of me. Giving him another once over, I realize my mother would love him, which sets off warning bells. Margot would devour him and spit out the remains.

“Yeah.” I giggle. “My friend signed me up.”

“So, you aren’t looking to date?” He leans back in his chair, giving me a casual but comfortable vibe.

“Well, I mean, I guess I’d love to date, but with my job, I haven’t had time to think about it. How about you?”

“Same. I work a lot, and when I’m not working, I’m cramming in as much time with my friends as possible. But my friends have been slowly pairing up, getting hitched, and before I knew it, I was given the lifelong bachelor badge of my friend group. Only it doesn’t feel like a badge of honor, you know?”

I laugh and nod. “I suppose not.”

A bell rings, indicating thirty seconds before he has to move on.

“Well, that’s my cue. I hope we speak again, Brooklyn.”

Shaking his proffered hand, I smile and nod. “Yeah, I hope so too, James.”

In the few seconds I have before the next guy sits down, I find James on my score sheet and mark a yes next to his name. I mean, he seems nice enough to warrant a coffee date, or maybe a walk in the park.

Oh God, could I be more lame?

As the next guy sits down, I see a flash near the doors, and I swear Coulter Manning is watching me. But as quickly as I think I see him, I find the doorway empty, and the butterflies that had calmed down in my belly kick up to dance a jig.

“Hey Brooklyn, I’m Dave. I saw you standing with the redhead earlier. Are you two friends?” Before I can look at the person sitting in front of me, I’ve already checked no next to his name in my head. Besides, I’m preoccupied with the door and why I’d be dreaming my boss is haunting its threshold.

4

COULTER

“What are you doing?” Camden comes up beside me and peeks into the bar area where the MatchMakers speed dating event commences. I clocked Brooklyn almost immediately, smiling at some douchebag in a button-down shirt and tie. It took everything within me not to march up to her table, grab her hand, and haul her beautiful ass out of there.

But this inner caveman warring to get out is not my style. I’m charismatic, if not a tad aloof, and causing a scene is in direct contrast with Camden’s carefully curated image campaign.

“Is that Margot?” he asks. “What’s she doing here?”

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