A few minutes later, their artificially blond-haired waitress came over and handed Julia a small gold box. “This is for you.”
“I’m sorry, there must be some mistake. I didn’t order this.”
“Obviously, dear. One of the guys at the bankers’ table sent it. And I was supposed to tell you that you’ll be breaking a heart if you send it back.” She smiled seductively at Gabriel. “Can I freshen your drink, Mr. Emerson?”
“I think we’re fresh enough over here, thank you.” He kept his eyes fixed on Julia, watching as she turned the small box over in her hand. In it she found a business card and a single, gold foil-wrapped truffle. On the business card, she read: Brad Curtis, MBA
Vice-President, Capital Markets
The Bank of Montreal
55 Bloor Street West, Fifth Floor
Toronto, Ontario
Tel. 416-555-2525
She turned the card over and read the words that were written in a very confident hand: Julia,
Sorry we got off on the wrong foot.
The chocolate reminds me of your beautiful eyes,
Brad.
Please call me: 416-555-1491
Julia turned the card over, and a smile spread across her oval face. He’d made a joke. He hadn’t thought her extreme awkwardness was a reason to reject her. And he hadn’t called her a virgin as if it were a curse word. He’d admired her eyes and thought she was attractive.
She carefully unwrapped the truffle and popped it into her mouth. Heaven. How did he know she loved expensive chocolates? It had to be fate. She closed her eyes and savored the intense, dark taste, licking her lips to make sure she didn’t miss anything. An involuntary groan escaped her mouth.
Why couldn’t I have met someone like him my freshman year at Saint Joseph’s?
Meanwhile, Gabriel was gnawing through the knuckles of his right hand like a crazed animal. Once again, the sight of Miss Mitchell enjoying life’s little pleasures was one of the most erotic things he’d ever witnessed. The way her eyes grew wide at the sight of the truffle, the flush that painted her pretty cheeks in anticipation of tasting it, the way she moaned with a half-open mouth, and the way her tongue darted out to pick up the traces of cocoa that clung to her ruby lips…it really was too much.
So of course, he had to ruin it.
“You didn’t just eat that, did you?”
Julia whipped her head around. She’d forgotten Gabriel was there, enmeshed as she was in her own chocolate-induced haze of pseudo-orgasmic ecstasy.
“It was delicious.”
“He could have drugged you. Don’t you know not to take candy from strangers, little girl?”
“I suppose it’s all right to accept apples, Gabriel?”
He narrowed his eyes at her non sequitur. He was missing something.
“And I’m not a little girl,” she huffed.
“Then stop acting like one. You aren’t going to keep that, are you?” He gestured to the box that was now poking out of Julia’s tiny handbag.
“Why not? He seemed nice.”
“You’d do that? You’d pick up a man in a bar?”
Her eyebrows knit together, and her lower lip began to tremble. “I wasn’t picking him up! And I’m sure you’ve never picked up a woman in a bar before—and taken her home with you, which, I might add, I’ve never done. Not that it’s even a shred of your business, Professor.”
Gabriel’s face grew very red. He couldn’t contradict her; he wouldn’t be that hypocritical. But something about what had just transpired between Miss Mitchell and Grendel-the-blond-banker really rankled him, although he didn’t know why. He quickly waved to the waitress to order another Scotch.
For her part, Julia ordered another Cosmopolitan, willing the fruity but potent mixture to help her forget the cruel but captivating man who sat achingly near to her, but whom she could never have.
When Rachel returned, collapsing in exhaustion on the banquette, Julia stood up and excused herself. She entered the back hallway in search of the ladies’ room. Gabriel’s arrogance and condescension truly infuriated her. He didn’t want her, but now he didn’t want anyone else to have her either. What was his problem?
She was so fixated on Gabriel that she didn’t see a man standing in the hallway. She ran right into him, springing backward and careening dangerously toward the floor. Luckily, the man caught her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, looking up into the amused face of Ethan, the bouncer.
“No problem.” He released her immediately.
“I was looking for the ladies’ room.”
He pointed with his cell phone. “Other direction.” Returning to the text he’d been composing before she ran into him, he cursed. “Damn it.”
“Did I break something?”
Ethan shook his head. “No. I’m just having…text trouble.”
Julia smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” He eyed her appraisingly. “I’m impressed. Emerson doesn’t usually arrive with a lady.”
“Why not?”
Ethan snorted. “Are you serious? Look around you. How many couples do you think arrived together?”