By Proxy(69)

“Yeah.” Sam gave a short, cynical snort. “Better you than me, brother.”

Ron looked perplexed. “Better you—” He rubbed his index finger on his chin like he was trying to figure something out. Then he pointed at Sam. “She dumped you, right? That’s why you’ve been so mopey?”

Sam shook his head slowly.

“I don’t get you, Sammy. You had that, and you let it go? You cut it loose?” Ron shook his head in confusion and disbelief.

“Things aren’t always what they seem.”

Ron’s baffled expression suddenly brightened and he gestured to the girls making their way into the bistro. He stood halfway out of his seat and waved them over.

Sam stood up and fixed an engaging smile on his face. At least try.

“Sammy, this is Sandra,” Ron said, gesturing to a grinning, blonde woman whom Sam recognized from his office building. “And this is Kiki.”

Kiki smiled, offering her hand to Sam. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” He enveloped her hand, irrationally hating the fact that the last woman whose hand he’d held was Jenny’s. Now it was Kiki’s. He released her hand gently, telling himself not to be an ass…which just reminded him of Jenny all over again.

This must be what it feels like to go utterly crazy.

Sam raised his eyebrows, gesturing to Kiki’s raincoat, but she slipped out of it easily and took the seat next to Sam. He noticed it was a Burberry, possibly custom-fitted, and probably cost a fortune. He couldn’t help but wonder how she’d look in a puffy parka with white fur around the hood framing her face.

“Cozy foursome,” observed Ron. Sandra giggled and looked up adoringly at him.

Sam turned to Kiki. “So, Kiki, what are you drinking?”

“Champagne,” she answered with a brief, refined smile, assessing the small bistro with a calculated glance.

“Sandra?”

“Same! Why not? It’s Christmastime!” She giggled again and Ron asked her about her day. She leaned in closer and they continued an intimate conversation dotted with several gasps and giggles.

Sam called the waitress over and placed their drink orders. He turned back to find Kiki’s elbow rested on the table, her chin rested on her hand, looking frankly at Sam. Her glossy red nails caught the dim light of the café as they tapped lightly on her cheek, checking him out. She was pretty. She had almost-black hair and bright green eyes she made up expertly; she was very thin, and her black blouse set off her pale skin and dark locks. A few weeks ago, he’d have felt eternal gratitude to Ron for suggesting he be the fourth for a setup date with such a beautiful girl.

“So, Sam. Sandra told me you used to date that weather girl? Pepper Pettway?”

Bold. What’s in your underwear drawer, Kiki?

“We broke up a couple months ago.”

“I like that, though.” She winked at him. “She’s a nine and I’m a nine, so it’s all in the family.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on. Don’t play innocent. You rate us just like we rate you!”

“Rate?”

Kiki cleared her throat. “Umm, lovebirds! Atencion, s’il vous plait!” Sandra and Ron looked up. Kiki flashed Ron a runway smile. “Ron, one to ten, what am I?”

Ron smiled back at her teasingly, raising his eyebrows. “What do I get if I say eleven?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!”

“I would like to know.”

“It’s illegal in several countries,” she volleyed back, licking her finger then touching her cleavage, throwing her head back, moaning lightly.

Ron narrowed his eyes dramatically and breathed in loudly, assessing her. “Umm…nine.”

Kiki winked at him, raised a delicate eyebrow and turned to her friend. “Sandra?”

Sandra elbowed Ron lightly. “Come on! She’s a ten, baby!”

Kiki turned back to Sam, victory bright in her eyes. “See?”

“I see,” he answered, honestly wondering how in the hell he was going to make it through dinner.

“Oh, come on!” Kiki cajoled, noting his sour expression. “Everyone’s doing it! It’s the new thing. Want me to do you?”

He stared at her like she was an alien life form. She took that as a yes.

“Brown eyes…not bad. Hmmm…what is that? Reddish-blond hair? Huh. One point off. Ginger’s not ‘in’ right now.” She let her glance sweep suggestively, brazenly up and down his seated body, letting her eyes rest for a long moment on his lap. When she returned to his eyes, she smiled sexily, wetting her lips and pursing them together. “Clearly fit. What else? Vice president, right? Not partner, though, huh? I give you…an eight—and a half, ’cause you’re cute. Dye your hair or come find me when you’re a partner, then I’ll give you a nine.” She smiled that full-blown runway smile she’d offered to Ron, that Sam was quite sure she’d offer to just about anyone with parts between his legs as long as she deemed him an eight or up.