He gave a slow head shake. “No. Because dating isn’t all I want to do to you.”
Not amused, she crossed her arms and glared at him. “Correct me if I’m wrong but you’ve had an entire year to act like a jealous idiot, Archer.”
“Well, I’m dyslexic, so . . .”
She was so mad that she actually couldn’t access most of her vocabulary. “You’re insane” was the best she could do.
“In a good way, right?”
“Oh my God.” Tossing up her hands, she turned to go anywhere but here.
“You wanted a date tonight,” he said to her back. “Go out with me.”
She faced him again. “Tell me one good reason why I would do that.”
“Because we’ve never gone out on a date and that’s on me. I should have taken you out.”
“You don’t date,” she reminded him. “You charm—when you’re in the mood. You play.” And ooze sex appeal . . . “But you don’t date, at least not like normal men.”
“I do tonight,” he said. “Dinner, Elle. Or whatever you want.”
She didn’t believe him, but she had questions, and she wanted answers. Here was an opportunity to grill him, and she did love a good opportunity. “Fine,” she said. “A hot dog.”
“What?”
She pointed to the hot dog stand.
“That’s what you want for dinner on our first date,” he said. “A hot dog from a street vendor.”
“Yep. Problem?”
“Not at all,” he said. “But you’re letting me off easy and you don’t do easy. What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. She walked to the hot dog stand. She ordered two for herself and then piled them high with ketchup, mustard, and pickles. And then, just to be mean, she added onions.
Archer watched her in silence, although she was pretty sure he shuddered at her plate. He also ordered two hot dogs, mustard only.
“Boring,” she said.
He looked surprised. Probably a woman had never called him boring before in his life.
They found a bench facing the water where Archer proceeded to watch as she demolished her hot dogs. She might have bothered with a smidgeon of embarrassment but, one, it turned out being mad made her hungry, and two, his eyes were lit with genuine amusement.
“What?” she asked testily.
“I’m just impressed. I like a woman who can enjoy her food.”
“Hmm,” she said, waiting until he took a big bite. “So. You got me my job?”
He choked on the hot dog. It was greatly satisfying. She slapped him on the back a few times, probably harder than necessary. “You can use sign language if you need to but I want an answer.”
“You got yourself the job,” he managed. “On your own merits. I just recommended you for it. That’s all.”
So it was true. He’d interfered. The implications boggled her brain. “Wow,” she finally said. “Just wow.”
“You can’t be mad,” he said. “It was all you.”
“You know,” she said with a quiet she absolutely did not feel. The calm before the storm that was brewing inside her. A category five storm at that . . . “I’m not even sure where to start.”
“Maybe you want to sleep on it,” he suggested.
She opened her mouth and then closed it, sincerely having trouble finding the right words for the first time in her life. “I need . . . I don’t know.” She stood up, shaking her head when he tried to follow.
“You need a minute,” he said. “I get that.”
“Oh, I’m going to need more than a minute.” She drew a deep breath. “You know what, Archer? My needs are simple. All I’ve ever wanted was to be independent and strong. I thought I was doing both of those things but you just pulled the rug out from underneath me.”
He grimaced. “Elle, listen to me. You are independent and strong. Christ, you’re the most independent, strong woman I know. You’re incredible. I hope you know that. I didn’t tell you because there was no reason to. You got the job because of you. Not me.”
Fed up with him, she shook her head. “Don’t follow me.” And then she walked away, getting into the first cab she came to.
Chapter 11
#ThatsWhatSheSaid
By some miracle, Archer managed to get into his truck and follow Elle’s cab back to the Pacific Pier Building. When she got out, so did he, and while she was looking in her purse for her wallet, he paid her driver.
She chewed on her back teeth over that but didn’t argue. Mostly, he knew, because she was being polite in front of the cab driver. “Thanks,” she said begrudgingly. “But to be clear, I’m fine. You don’t need to watch out for me. You’ve done your time, a whole year apparently. I already owe you more than I can repay so please stop. I’m moving on and so should you.”
He watched her walk off but she didn’t enter the pub as he’d expected. Instead she slowed at the fountain and stared pensively into the water, arms wrapped around herself as if cold. He waited, not wanting to intrude but also not wanting to walk away in case she needed him—a thought that was laughable because she’d made herself clear. She didn’t need anyone, and most certainly not him.
She thought she still owed him. His worst nightmare, because as long as she truly believed that, he couldn’t even fantasize about having her as his someday. Because every time they were together, he’d worry it was in repayment.
Which reminded him of something he was ashamed to realize he’d forgotten until right this very moment.
Tonight was his dad’s retirement party and he hadn’t even RSVP’d. He hadn’t called. He hadn’t anything. With guilt and self-loathing rolling over him in waves, he pulled out his phone and accessed his contacts. He scrolled to his dad and stared at the number.
Call or text? No, texting would be the chicken-shit route. He shoved the phone back into his pocket. Then he swore and tugged it out again, called, and . . . got his dad’s voice mail. “Dad,” he said at the beep. “Hey. Look, I know it’s last minute and I should’ve called you long before now and at least RSVP’d to your party tonight.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry but I’d like to still come by, if that’s okay with you. You can text if you’d rather just . . . Let me know.” Shit. He disconnected and stood there for a long beat, not sure what to do with himself. Finally he swore some more and then looked up at the odd prickling at the base of his neck.
Elle was no longer by the fountain. She’d moved closer and stood right there, watching him.
“Hey,” she said quietly, her expression softer than he was used to seeing when she looked at him. She felt sorry for him.
And if that didn’t suck big-time. “Don’t,” he said.
“Don’t what?”
Pity me. But he couldn’t even say it. “I’ve gotta go,” he said instead and headed to the stairs. He had a damn suit in his damn office closet for the very occasional meetings that required it. He needed to change into it and get to his dad’s retirement party, hoping that late was better than never.