“Because, sweet pea, I’ve accepted a position at UCF as an adjunct professor, and I need to fit the part.”
“Marcus, that’s great! When did you decide to do that?” Marcus had been a divorce lawyer for many years and did some business law work for a few select clients as well. He’d been good enough to answer her questions over the course of her accounting career about things concerning her clients, and she’d returned the favor by doing his taxes.
“I’ve always wanted to do this.” He didn’t meet her eyes when he answered, instead taking a little too much interest in a nearby potted plant.
Elizabeth eyed him suspiciously, closing the door behind him. “That’s funny. I don’t recall hearing you mention it before.” She and Marcus were pretty close. And he had a tendency to go off on different life tangents for the express purpose of chasing tail. Male tail, that is.
“Fine. You’ve sussed me out. There was this totally gorgeous hunk of a professor who made a visit over to the office, and it just got me thinking …”
“Thinking what?” she laughed. “That you’d put on a jacket with elbow patches, get a job over there, and land yourself a hot date for Friday night?”
“No. But is there anything wrong with that? I mean, seriously. What do you expect me to do? Internet date? Go on Rent-a-nob dot com? I don’t think so.” He brushed some imaginary lint off of his lapel.
Elizabeth rubbed his upper arm, soothing his ruffled feathers and trying really hard not to laugh. “No. No one expects that of you. Dating sucks. Rent-a-… what did you call it … ?”
“Nob. Rent-a-nob dot com.”
“Yeah, that. Don’t go there. Internet dating sucks. I hear ya.”
“Try doing it as a gay divorce lawyer.”
“And you think your prospects as a gay professor will be better?”
“Sweetie, they couldn’t get any worse.”
Elizabeth shrugged. To each his own. “Come into the kitchen and sit with me. I have your favorite coffee, and I need your help.”
“I live to serve,” he sighed as he followed her in. “So what’s new in your incredibly exciting life as an accountant?” He obviously was expecting to hear the same old answer, which was usually ‘not much’.
Elizabeth smiled as she put down a cup of coffee in front of him, waiting until he took a sip to respond with, “I told my boss to take his job and shove it, and partnered up with an exotic dancer and a divorcée to open up a cafe bakery called Desperate Measures … but other than that, not much.”
Marcus choked on his coffee, leaning forward as he desperately tried to keep from staining his Brooks Brothers jacket and fine cotton shirt.
Elizabeth handed him a napkin.
Once he had gotten himself together, Marcus glared at her. “You did that on purpose. You knew I was going to cough up a lung, and yet you said it anyway. You don’t like the jacket, do you? Or is it the tie?” He craned his neck trying to see it for himself.
Elizabeth smiled. “No, I actually do like your jacket and your tie. I think the whole professor thing suits you. If I were a gay man, I’d be all over you right now.”
Marcus dropped his glare, partially mollified. “Thank you. You have excellent taste, as usual. So, tell me. Are you having a mid-life crisis? What exactly is motivating you to drop a nuclear bomb on your oh-so-carefully-crafted life?”
“I’m not old enough to have a mid-life crisis.”
“Lack of sex can age a woman. It’s a proven fact.”
She slapped the back of his hand. “I have sex. Sometimes.”
“Having carnal relations with your vibrator doesn’t count, love bug.”
Elizabeth gave him the stink eye. But deep down she was wondering if there wasn’t a grain of truth to what he was saying. She felt older than she should, and budding romance always made her feel young again. Maybe after this business was up and running she could try Internet dating again. Ugh. Even the thought of it made her want to go do another spreadsheet. She was better off with numbers than another failed attempt at connecting with someone who valued nothing other than tits and ass.
“Whatever, Casanova. Just drink your coffee.” She got up and grabbed a plate off the counter, bringing it over and setting it down in front of him on the table. “Try one of these.”
Marcus reached over and took one of Aimee’s cookies, biting into it just before lifting his cup of coffee to take another sip. His hand froze when the cup was nearly to his lips. He cocked his head to the right, chewing now more slowly, a frown creasing his forehead. “Hmmm …”