Page 4 of A Ticking Time Boss

“Yes. Often is, as a matter of fact.”

“I guess that’s not on your list of criteria, then.”

“No. Come to think of it, I don’t know if she subscribes to a newspaper.”

“You should ask her that tonight,” I say. “I’ve heard it’s a dealbreaker for some.”

His smile stretches wide. “So have I, kid,” he says. “Tell me why dating makes you this nervous.”

“Kid? We’re practically the same age!”

He’s still smiling. “Are we? I can’t remember the last time I was as nervous as you waiting for someone to show up.”

This guy is a roller coaster. “That doesn’t define my maturity. I’m twenty-six,” I say. Honesty makes me add the rest. “Well, I will be in four months’ time. How old are you?”

“Thirty-two,” he says.

That’s when my phone vibrates in my pocket again. Ice shoots through my veins, freezing me to the spot. Brian’s probably here. Has it already been fifteen minutes? God, I hate this. Hate it hate it hate it.

A glance down at my phone confirms it. I’m outside. Did you grab a table?

“Is that him?” Peanut guy says.

“Yes,” I murmur. “It’s showtime.”

“For him, not for you,” he says. “Just be yourself.”

“Right.” My fingers fly over my phone. I have a table inside.

“Good luck, kid. I’ll be over here if you need me.”

“Stop calling me a kid,” I say. My nerves are flaring up again, making me lash out. “And don’t look at me the whole date. That’s weird.”

He smiles wide, and I catch a hint of a dimple beneath the dark five-o’clock shadow coating his jaw. “Just signal and I’ll give you a plausible excuse.”

“Um, thanks. Have a nice evening,” I say and head toward my table. My disgusting drink stands there, forgotten. I sit down and smooth my hands over my dress. I can do this. When I look up, I cast my eyes about for a man striding my way.

Instead I meet peanut guy’s gaze.

He’s leaning against the bar, glass in hand, and gives me the smallest of nods. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

The arrogant bastard.

But he’s quickly eclipsed by the man who approaches me. This has to be Brian. Nina set me up with him, a guy from her old job. She promised he would be nice. That was the word she used. Nice.

He looks nice, I think, in a friendly sort of way. He’s wearing a beanie that sits low on top of dark curls. He shrugs out of his denim jacket.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries.”

He looks down at my drink, and a frown mars his face. “You’ve already ordered?”

Yeah, dude. I was waiting here alone for twenty minutes. “I did, yes. I hope that’s okay.”

He shrugs and sits down opposite me. “Sure, sure. So Nina told me you’re a journalist.”

“I am, yes. I’d love to work in investigative reporting someday,” I say. Hopefully sooner than just one day, if the interview today had gone as well as it felt. I’d spent over two hours today at the New York Globe’s offices.

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