by Julie James
Now she simply needed to apply those same instincts to her personal life. One had to be somewhat businesslike in order to survive the thirtysomething dating scene; to be successful, she needed to be open to new prospects, but also decisive and quick to move on when a candidate looked to be a less-than-stellar investment.
Maybe some would say her approach to dating was too pragmatic, perhaps even somewhat aloof. Maybe some people would say that she should follow her heart instead of her head when it came to falling in love.
She used to be one of those people.
“At least the coffee’s good here.”
The rich masculine voice had a hint of rough grit to it. Sidney looked up from her cell phone and—
Criminy.
It was him. The hot guy she’d noticed when she’d first walked into the coffee shop. He was tall and somehow managed to look ruggedly sexy, despite the rather conservative dark gray suit and blue tie he wore. Maybe it was the short cut of his thick, brown hair. Or his keen hazel eyes. Or his strong, chiseled jaw with that just-perfect amount of five-o’clock shadow.
Too bad she had no clue what he was talking about.
“The coffee?” she asked. “As opposed to . . . ?”
“The conversation,” he said. “Your date looked like it could’ve gone better.”
“You noticed that, did you?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about the fact that a perfect stranger had been paying such close attention to her date.
“Yes. But only because I’m trained to notice things.” He flashed her a smile. “It’s not like I’m some creepy perv or something.”
“Probably that’s exactly what a creepy perv would say.”
“True.” There was a teasing gleam in his eyes. “I could show you my badge, if that’ll make you feel better.”
Sidney looked him over more closely. Presumably, this reference to a “badge” meant he was in some kind of law enforcement. She could see that—he had the bold air of someone accustomed to being in a position of authority. “Why do I get the feeling I’m not the first strange woman you’ve offered to show your badge to?”
“Trust me, in my line of work, a lot of strange women have seen my badge. Strange men, too.” With that, he grabbed the chair on the opposite end of the table and sat down.
Um. . . hello? Sidney gestured to the chair he’d just helped himself to. “What are you doing?”
He looked at her as if this was obvious. “Starting a conversation.”
“But I don’t even know you.”
“That’s why I’m starting a conversation. Let’s begin with the basics. Like your name.”
Ah, right. Sidney knew exactly what was happening here. This guy had seen her on her failed date, had obviously deduced that she was single, and now thought she was easy pickings.
“I’m not giving you my name,” she said.
“All right, then. ‘Ms. Doe,’ it is,” he said, undeterred. “Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Ms. Doe?”
She leveled him with her best “Scram, buddy” gaze, perfected after eight years of living in New York. “So we’re going with the good-cop pickup routine now? How original.”
His tone turned wicked. “I can easily switch to the bad-cop routine, if you like.”
Sidney fought back a blush at the innuendo. “I’m betting those kinds of comments normally work really well for you, don’t they?”
“The question is, are they working for you?”
“Not at all.”
“Damn. Guess I’d better switch tactics, then.”
“And I’d love to stick around for that. Really.” Sidney checked her watch. “But, unfortunately, I have a dinner I need to get to.”
He surprised her then.
His expression turned more earnest. “Okay, look. Maybe I’m coming on a little strong here. Normally I would’ve thought up some witty opening line, followed by this whole cute pickup routine in which I charm and impress you—yes, I see the skeptical look there, but you’ll have to trust me on this: it’s quality stuff. But like you, I have somewhere I need to be. So I’m under the gun.
“The simple truth is, you’ve had me intrigued from the moment you walked into this coffee shop. And I’d like to know more. You don’t have to give me your number or even your name. Just meet me here tomorrow, same time. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee, we’ll talk, and then you can decide whether I really am the asshole you’re thinking I might be.” A smile curled at the edges of his mouth. “I might actually surprise you on that front.”
Confident, flirty, and drop-dead gorgeous. It was a lethal combination that Sidney had no doubt typically played very well for this guy. She could easily say Why not?, meet him again tomorrow, and if he was as cocky as she thought he might be, that would be the end of that. She’d get a free cup of coffee out of it and the cheap thrill of having a guy who looked like him chasing after her.
But.
The problem was, she knew this guy. She’d dated this guy. Hell, she’d been engaged to this guy. Manhattan was crawling with guys just like him: confident, good-looking, and slick as all get-out. And she was plenty familiar with the way things would turn out because she’d once gone down this exact road with Brody: this guy wouldn’t actually be an asshole tomorrow, instead he would be smooth and smart and witty, and coffee would turn into drinks and drinks into dinner, and she would have flutters of excitement in her stomach throughout every moment of it. Blah, blah, blah.
She was so over this guy.
Because, in truth, any woman who allowed herself to be swept up in the romantic fantasy of dating this kind of guy would be ignoring one crucial fact.
This guy was a bad investment.
And she knew that better than anyone.
Still, the logical part of her realized that the hazel-eyed, dark-scruff iteration of This Guy who sat across from her right then hadn’t actually done anything wrong to her. Because of that, she smiled in an effort to be polite. “That’s nice of you to ask. But, unfortunately, I’m going to have to say no.”
“Great.” He nodded, as if expecting this very answer. Then his brow furrowed, and he cocked his head. “Wait—what?”
Sidney bit her lip to hold back a laugh. Ah . . . when she told this story later to Trish, the perplexed look on this guy’s face would be the highlight.
“I’m afraid I have to pass on meeting you tomorrow,” she explained.
His confused expression turned to one of understanding. “Oh, sure. Because you have other plans, right?”
She shook her head. “Not really. It’s more just a flat-out no.”
“Huh.” He folded his arms over his chest, taking a moment to think that over. “I have to say, I was expecting a different answer.”
Yes, she got that.
“Can I ask why?” he said.
“I just don’t think you’re my type,” she said, for simplicity’s sake.
“Interesting. You were able to determine ‘my type’ in the all of five minutes we’ve been talking?”
Now he was pushing her buttons a bit. “Yes.”
“That’s impressive. See, it’s my job to size people up. So I’m intrigued to hear if you’re as good as you obviously think you are.”
Sidney threw him a look. “Honey, you know exactly what your type is. And so does every single woman in her thirties.”
“I see.” He leaned back in his chair and beckoned with this hand. “Now I really need to hear this.”
Logically, Sidney knew this was not the kind of conversation one should have with a perfect stranger in a coffee shop. First of all, there was no point. Second, she had places to be, and allegedly so did he.
But his eyes dared her.
Despite her better judgment, she felt a spike of adrenaline course through her, a rush to rise to his challenge. Back when she’d first
started working as an investment banker in Manhattan, she’d known plenty of men who’d assumed they could intimidate her with tactics just like these.
They’d assumed wrong.
So she, too, sat back in her chair and got comfortable. She’d tried to be as diplomatic as possible in her rejection, but, hey, if this guy insisted on answers, then answers he would get.
“All right.” Her eyes raked over him in assessment. “You’re thirty-four or thirty-five, gainfully employed, never been married. You think maybe you’ll settle down one day, perhaps when you’re forty, but for now you work hard at your job, so you want to play hard, too. You tend to skew more toward dating women in their midtwenties, because women in their early twenties seem just a little too young and women in their thirties frustrate you with the way they all want to talk about marriage and kids by the third date. You’ll go out with a girl a few times, you’ll have a lot of fun together, and then when she starts pushing for something more serious, you’ll move on to someone else, wondering why it is that women can’t be content to just date without needing a commitment. And why would you want to commit to one person right now? For men as attractive as you, this city is one big candy store, filled with so many shiny treats, you couldn’t possibly choose just one. So instead, you run around with your obviously healthy ego, sampling as many of the goods as you can get your hands on—simply because you can.”
When finished, Sidney took a deep breath and felt strangely . . . good. For the last six months, she’d been so determined to move forward after her breakup with Brody, and to keep a stiff upper lip around her friends, family, and work colleagues, that she’d barely vented at all to anyone. So it felt great to finally express her frustration.
To this guy, apparently.
Better him than anyone else, she figured. It wasn’t as though she was ever going to see him again.
He rested his arms on the table. “Well. On behalf of the male population, let me be the first to apologize for whatever he did.”
Sidney’s eyes narrowed. He was being sarcastic—fair enough, given what she’d just said to him. But that hit a little too close to home. “We’re done here, right?”
“I’d say so.” He got up from his chair. “Enjoy your coffee, Ms. Doe.” He walked out of the café without further word.
Sidney took a deep breath, shaking it off. She was meeting her sister, Isabelle, and her sister’s boyfriend in a couple minutes and didn’t want to show up for dinner in a crummy mood.
She noticed that the man at the table next to her, in his sixties, was watching her. Clearly, he’d caught the show.
“Well, he asked for my opinion,” she said defensively.
“I’m just wondering what you’re going to do to the next guy who walks in,” the older man said. “They’re gonna start taking them out of here in body bags.”
Probably it was high time she left this coffee shop.
Two
SO, APPARENTLY, THAT was a no from Ms. Doe.
Vaughn cut across the street, dodging around a taxi in the intersection while trying to dislodge the self-righteous speech that was stuck in his head like an annoying earworm.
And why would you want to commit to one person right now? For men as attractive as you, this city is one big candy store, filled with so many shiny treats, you couldn’t possibly choose just one.
Well, in a nutshell . . . yes.
He didn’t deny it; he liked to have fun. He had a healthy dating life, he was free to go out with different women and have a good time, and he didn’t see why he should feel guilty about any of that. There wasn’t some big angsty reason he avoided commitment, he simply enjoyed his life as it was. He was a single man with a good job living in a vibrant city teeming with interesting people, a variety of things to do and see, new restaurants and bars to try. He didn’t knock anyone else for wanting to settle down, but he, personally, didn’t feel a compulsion to do so at this particular point in his life. Maybe when he was forty.
He could practically hear the snarky Ms. Doe smugly shouting I knew it! in his head.
Indeed, she’d pretty much described him to a tee—something that undoubtedly would have impressed him more if she hadn’t been such a pill about it. He felt a little guilty about the sarcastic comment he’d made, but this was substantially mitigated by the fact that she’d so obviously relished busting his balls first. Not the way things typically went when he hit on a woman—not to toot his own horn, but women really dug the FBI thing—but, oh well. It wasn’t like he was ever going to see her again.
Most thankfully.
Vaughn caught sight of The Boarding House, the restaurant where he was meeting Simon and Isabelle, and pushed all thoughts of the cantankerous Ms. Doe from his mind. Although he’d been to the bar several times, which was known for its massive chandelier made out of nine thousand wineglasses, he’d never eaten in the main dining room on the third floor. The space, he saw, had been designed with exposed beams, hardwood floors, large bay windows, and what appeared to be thousands of wine bottles artfully installed in the ceiling.
He saw Simon seated at a booth by one of the windows next to a pretty woman in her mid-to-late twenties with strawberry blond hair.
So this was the mysterious Isabelle.
He headed over to their table. Simon stood up, gripped his shoulder in hello, and immediately made the introductions.
“Isabelle, this is my brother, Vaughn. Vaughn . . . this is Isabelle.”
“It’s a pleasure, Isabelle,” Vaughn said warmly, while shaking her hand. This was obviously a big deal for Simon, so he planned to be on his best behavior. Which meant he’d save all embarrassing anecdotes about his brother at least until the main course.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said. “Simon’s told me so much about you.”
“I had to edit a few of the stories, but she gets the gist,” Simon teased.
Chuckling, Vaughn sat down. He noticed the seat next to him had a place setting.
“Isabelle’s sister is coming tonight, too,” Simon explained.
“Meeting both families?” Vaughn raised an eyebrow. “This is getting serious.”
“Actually, Simon has already met Sidney,” Isabelle said. “But we thought it would be nice to have dinner with both of you tonight.”
Vaughn thought that seemed a little . . . interesting. Perhaps something was up? “The more the merrier.” He took a sip of water, checking out Simon’s big goofy smile over the top of his glass.
Something was up, all right.
“Ah, perfect timing. There’s Sidney now.” Isabelle waved excitedly at someone across the restaurant.
Vaughn had his back to the entrance, so he turned around to look.
No.
Fucking.
Way.
It was the cantankerous Ms. Doe.
Catching sight of him in that very same moment, she stopped dead in her tracks. Vaughn was pretty sure she muttered Oh shit under her breath.
His sentiments exactly.
Sidney quickly recovered and headed over.
Isabelle got up from the table and hugged her. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She turned to Vaughn. “This is Simon’s brother, Vaughn. Vaughn, my sister, Sidney.”
Vaughn stood up and held out his hand. Given the circumstances, he had no intention of indicating that they’d previously met. “Nice to meet you, Sidney.”
Locking eyes with him, she seemed to be on the same page. She slid her hand into his. “You, too.”
“Sid,” Simon said, as if they were old friends. He came around the table and pulled her in for a big hug.
Then they all took their seats, Vaughn next to Sidney. He folded his hands on the table. Well, isn’t this cozy?
Isabelle looked at Simon. He shrugged, still with the goofy smile. She turned back to Sidney and Vaughn, speaking in a rush.
“Okay, I know we should wait, so that you two can get to know each other a little better, but I can’t help it. Simon and I have some news.”
“In that case, Vaughn and I are happy to fast-forward through the getting-to-know-each-other part,” Sidney said with a charming smile.
“Quite happy,” he agreed, matching her charm with his own.
“Aw, you guys are so sweet. Well, then, I guess there’s no sense beating around the bush . . . ” Isabelle sneaked a look at Simon and then threw out her hands. “We’re getting married!”
Vaughn’s mouth fell open at the same time Sidney covered hers with her hands.
“Oh my god,” Sidney said.
He wholeheartedly concurred with that sentiment. His brother had proposed after only knowing Isabelle for three months? He’d thought they were going to announce that they were moving in together, which would’ve been a significant milestone in its own right. But marriage?
Kind of a big deal, that.
“This is such wonderful news,” Sidney said. With a huge grin, she stood up to hug her sister.
Vaughn looked across the table and saw his brother watching him with obvious hesitation.
Seeing that . . . got to him.
Okay, yes. In his mind, proposing to a woman after only knowing her for three months was utterly crazy. How could anyone be that certain, in such a short amount of time, about spending the rest of his or her life with just one person? His eye twitched at the mere thought. No more chase. No more fun one-night stands. No more thinking about that threesome you’d had with what’s-her-name and her hot friend, and wondering if they might be up for it again some time. Poof—all of that gone, just like that.