“And they are?”
“You do the interview. Not that old jackass Stapleton. He has guest interviewers all the time. They want me, you’ll be the guest interviewer.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. I’m sure Stapleton won’t be happy about it. But Mr. Cu—my boss will.”
“Then it’s settled.”
My eyes narrowed. “Why are you being nice to me now, when I just unleashed what will probably turn into a media shitstorm on you?”
“I like you.”
I shook my head. “I’ll talk to my boss and then call your agent to set it up.”
“Sounds good. Can I borrow your cell? Coach is probably wondering where I disappeared to.”
I handed him my phone. He dialed a number, hung up and handed the phone back to me without bringing it to his ear.
He read the confusion on my face. “You didn’t ask me what condition number two was.”
I’d gotten so excited he was going to give me an interview, I’d forgotten he’d said there were two conditions. “What’s the second condition?”
“You have dinner with me.”
“Dinner?”
“That’s right.”
“Does dinner mean sleeping with you?”
“Hopefully when it’s over. But if you want to switch things up a bit and get to the fucking first, I’m happy to oblige.”
“No thanks.”
“Relax. I’m joking. Dinner means dinner. You know, I take you out to some overpriced restaurant where we share a meal and I tell you how great I am.”
“Gee. How can I turn that invitation down?”
He winked. “That’s what I thought. I am sort of irresistible.”
“If you don’t say so yourself.”
I was pulling out of the parking lot and still wondering what the hell I’d just agreed to, when my phone buzzed.
Brody: Wednesday night. I’ll pick you up at your office at 6. Wear something sexy.
Chapter 7
Delilah “What the hell are you wearing?” Indie arrived just as I returned to my office from the ladies’ room on Wednesday evening.
“A new outfit. For my date tonight.”
“You’re dressed like a sixty-year-old grandmother of nine about to go to church.”
I totally was. Some of it I’d actually had to purchase just for the occasion. The Goodwill store on Seventy-Second Street was perfect—a bag full of granny goods for under twenty bucks. I caught my reflection in the glass window. Oversized navy corduroy blazer. Navy elastic waist polyester pants (pretty damn comfortable). Cream-cotton-and-doily-lace button-up blouse, buttoned up to the top, of course. A string of fake pearls. Hair pulled back in a tight bun. Worn penny loafers. (Okay, so those might have been mine.) I patted my bun and rolled on some bland, mauve lipstick, purposefully swiping some on my front tooth. “You don’t like my outfit?”
“Seriously? You look a little insane.”
I smoothed my jacket down and picked up the giant dowdy brown church-lady purse. “What? You don’t think I look sexy?”
“Are you wearing bloomers under there?”
I flipped off the light switch in my office. “And a nursing bra.” I actually had a G-string and a demi cup bra on, but the appalled look on Indie’s face was worth the little white lie.
She followed me out of my office. Luckily, the building was already mostly empty, or I might have gotten some strange looks. I really did look a bit nuts.
“Did you get that crap from wardrobe?” Indie asked.
“Nope. I bought it for my date.”
“You bought that getup?”
“Sure did.”
“I think you’ve been under too much stress lately.” She kissed me on the cheek before jumping on the up elevator to head back to her office. “Breakfast in your office at eight. I can’t wait to hear all about this date.”
Ten minutes later, I exited the glass turn-style door of WMBC and saw a fancy car double-parked right at the curb. Brody got out and walked around the car to open the passenger door. As his eyes swept me up and down, his brows drew together. Then he blinked repeatedly. “Hi.”
I gave him a goofy ear-to-ear smile. “Hi. Where are we going?”
“Um . . . to the . . . um . . . the restaurant at the Regency.”
It was everything I could do to not crack up. He had no idea if my outfit was serious or a joke. Although he earned a point for being polite enough not to say anything. I couldn’t resist screwing with him a little more after we settled into the car.
“You look nice.” He was wearing a hunter-green cashmere sweater that fit him well, snug across his broad shoulders, but not too tight, and simple black slacks.
He glanced at me and back at the road. “Thank you.” I wasn’t sure if I liked him more or less because he didn’t lie and feed me a compliment back about my outfit.
“You look different with your hair up. I like it.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. It’s sexy librarian.”
“Sexy librarian, huh?”
“I’ve always had a thing for librarians. You know . . . unpin her tight hair, let it loose down her back. And then make her moan between the stacks.”
“How romantic.” I shifted in my seat at the visual he painted.