“I thought you might like a good, old Texan meal.”
“It’s fine,” I croaked, damning myself for demanding he open the window in the first place because my throat had turned dry and sore.
“I can still take us somewhere else.” Raising his brows, he looked at me sideways, and for a moment our eyes connected in the semi-darkness of the car. My heart took another unwelcome dive.
I shook my head, unable to utter a single word, and interlaced my fingers in my lap, squeezing hard until the skin felt painfully taut.
Wherever he was taking me was okay.
I wasn’t planning on staying for dessert anyway. I smiled at myself because I had it all figured out. Get a salad or something while asking him a few questions while pretending that he was a suitable candidate, then fire him. Not on the spot, of course, because, obviously, I didn’t want him to be offended, or—worse yet—seek revenge for wasting his time. But fire him nevertheless, after I called a cab home, which would be right after one drink. Until then I would stay friendly. Professional. Endure his boring chats and his obnoxious confidence.
Because, to be realistic, good looks or not, Chase wasn’t suitable for the job.
God, it was such a fantastic plan!
Jude would be pleased that I had done my best to find a suitable fiancé, and I could go back to brainstorming a less vacuous idea. Duty done, and no hard feelings.
The car took a sharp right, and we drove in silence for another minute or two before Chase asked, “Do you mind if I turn on the music?” Without waiting for my reply, he turned on the radio and closed the window.
Great, he probably thought I was boring. Possibly the worst company he’d ever had. My smile was wiped off my face. I sank deeper into my seat, ready to drown in my mortification.
“So, what’s this job all about?” Chase asked, tapping his fingers to some pop charts tune—exactly the kind of music I would have expected him to like. The question didn’t exactly take me by surprise. I had thought about my answer and knew exactly what to say.
“I need a fiancé. A future husband.”
Only it didn’t come out as clever and poised as I had planned. I pushed a stray strand of hair out of my face and turned to catch his reaction. He was smiling—the kind of smile I’d have gladly slapped off his face if I weren’t against violence.
“I didn’t mean—” I began, then closed my mouth as his gaze turned on me, and heat rushed to my face.
“Usually, I need a proposal first, but I’ll make an exception for you.”
He was laughing at me.
Damn him!
I cringed as another hot wave of humiliation washed over me.
“I’m twenty-two, a college graduate, and very much in love with my independence,” I said through gritted teeth. “Unfortunately, where I come from, that’s not an acceptable status.”
I shrugged because that was all I wanted to explain. In fact, I didn’t need to explain myself to this stranger at all. The guy would be history by tomorrow anyway, and then he could go back to his manicures and scantily clad women kind of life, while I’d gladly return to my matchbox apartment and boring nights in.
“And I’m twenty-eight, not a college graduate, and very much in love with my independence.” He shrugged. “You see, we already have one of three things in common. If that doesn’t make for a great pretend engagement, then I don’t know what will.”
The car pulled abruptly into a dark side road. To either side stretched what looked like warehouses closed for the night. The moon was obscured by dense rain clouds, bathing the area in scary darkness. Apart from a car or two passing us by, nothing stirred. This was absolutely what I had expected—the knowledge hit me like a rock in the pit of my stomach.
My date was a psycho.
My gut feeling had been right all along, and Jude sucked—big time. I swallowed hard and gently pushed my hand into my handbag, my fingers fishing for my cell phone, ready to call the police and communicate my whereabouts…as soon as I found out where we were. Or, if there wasn’t enough time, I’d fish out the pepper spray I always carried with me.
I craned my neck to look for a street sign, anything to give away my whereabouts, when the tires screeched on the wet asphalt.
Chase pulled into a parking lot and killed the engine. I peered up at the dimly lit building in front of us, and my jaw dropped.
“Is this a—” I almost choked on the word.
“A biker bar?”
A strip joint, I wanted to ask, but realized I might have gotten the picture before me all wrong. The blinking lights of a woman standing in front of what looked like a stripping pole were open to interpretation. In fact, I wasn’t even sure it was a woman. Maybe a guy with really tall legs leaning against the corner of a building? Or maybe it was supposed to be a very thin slice of bacon wrapped around a fork?