Page 40 of The Frog Prince
“Have the front desk let me know you’ve arrived. I’ll warn them that I’m expecting you.” He pauses. “And who did you say you were?”
“Holly Bishop.” And I’m still smiling.
*
At home thatnight I have a message from Tom and a message from Paul Petersen. I delete Tom’s message and call Paul back.
He’s called to see if I’ve got time for dinner on Saturday night, and the words “dinner” and “Saturday night” are enough to make my blood run cold.
I like Paul. But I don’t want to date him, and I also don’t want to hurt him, because I don’t yet have enough friends to start alienating more than one a week. “How about Thursday?” I propose. Thursday night isn’t a date night, and it’s near enough the end of the week to sound better than a Tuesday night dinner, which always sounds rather like Shrove Tuesday regardless of the time of year.
He counters with Friday night. I counter with Wednesday. We settle on Thursday, and then we chat a while about a book he’s reading that was heralded as brilliant and groundbreaking but is really just crap. When I finally hang up, I see I was on the phone for nearly a half hour.
If we can talk for a half hour on the phone about nothing, dinner shouldn’t be a problem.
Morning arrives too soon, and with my venti Starbucks nonfat white chocolate mocha sans whipped cream in hand, I settle at my desk and get to work. I’m so immersed in what I’m doing that I forget to take lunch (which was meant to be spent at the gym), and am only roused by the ringing of the phone.’
It’s Brian Fadden. He’s called to cancel our meeting. “Okay,” I say, and I must sound very small and sad and pathetic, because he suddenly sighs.
“How about on Thursday? I’ll be in your vicinity late tomorrow morning. I could do a quick coffee then.”
Thursday, two days from now. Thursday, which is getting quite busy with my two engagements in one day—Brian Fadden in the morning, and dinner with Paul Petersen at night. “Sure.”
“Mr. J’s?” he suggests.
“Perfect.” It’s a funky coffeehouse not far from the office.
*
Before I knowit, it’s Thursday, and I still haven’t been to the gym or produced the numbers Olivia needs for the Oracle proposal, but I’m at Mr. J’s, trying not to look anxious, trying not to look as though I’m looking for someone, although of course I’m looking, since I have no idea who Brian is or what to expect.
“Holly?”
I turn abruptly, look up. It’s a long look up. He’s tall, easily six three, possibly six four. “Brian?”
“You sound surprised.”
I do, because I am. Brian Fadden is the name of a short, wide writer, not a guy who looks as if he could have played basketball at Cal. Brian’s not handsome, but he’s also not at all unattractive. In fact, with that little smile he’s smiling now, he’s quite attractive. Wavy brown hair, light blue eyes, a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, and a face that looks smart, literate, competent.
So he’s handsome.
I rise, stick out my hand, shake his. “Thanks for meeting me.”
His mouth quirks. “You don’t look like Olivia’s usual girl Friday.”
I didn’t know Olivia had girls Friday. “What’s the usual?”
“Hard, tight, I’m-going-to-nail-your-ass-to-the-wall.”
“So I do need to get back to the gym.”
He grins a broad, crooked grin, and his light brown hair kind of flops across his brow, and he’s looking more literate by the moment. “Coffee?”
I reach for my wallet. “My treat.”
“Not necessary—”
“Brian, if I thought a cup of java would buy you, I’d be sending coffee to your desk. I’m just being polite.”