down to a science. Anything less and they’ll feel like they were short-changed and will only call back later. Anything more and it becomes the snowball effect, picking up speed and intensity and then there’s no interrupting them once the full sermon gets going about all the sacrifices they made for you and how you’re throwing away opportunities.”
“I feel like I should be taking notes. Please, let me buy you a drink. You can tell me the top five best excuses for getting out of Thanksgiving family dinners.”
She should’ve politely refused, grabbed her jacket and purse, and walked as quickly to the elevator bank as she could. But she thought of her own prospects for the holiday that was only a couple of months around the corner, and the hard, familiar lump of loneliness wedged in her throat. When was the last time she’d talked with a man who wasn’t a well-known neighbor or hadn’t been vetted by her two closest friends?
He must have sensed her vacillating because he shot her that boyish smile. “What are you having?”
Her nerve endings fizzled again and, before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Champagne.”
He looked doubtfully at the glass sitting in front of her—the one containing clear liquid and the remnants of a lime—and then raised his perfectly arched brown brows at her before asking the bartender to bring a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.
A whole bottle? What had she been thinking?
Maxine and Kylie would’ve told her she’d been thinking with her lady parts. Then they’d have high-fived her for double downing on their dare and told her it was about time she tested the waters of the romance pond. It had been so long, it wouldn’t hurt to just dip her toe in.
Hopefully, she wasn’t already in way over her head.
* * *
Garrett McCormick had been having the most frustrating evening of his life when he’d aimlessly wandered into the deserted lounge at the upper-class hotel. And that was saying something considering he’d been a battlefield surgeon in some of the hottest combat zones in the world. When he’d stormed out of the five-star restaurant down the street, leaving his argumentative and overbearing father at the table, he’d wanted a stiff drink and the kind of solitude he knew he couldn’t get from the downtown college bar scene or from the officer’s club near the Shadowview Military Hospital, where he was on staff.
He’d been so angry and so intent on downing something that would steady his nerves, he hadn’t even noticed the petite raven-haired beauty sitting at the bar. If he had, his internal warning bells would’ve gone off and he’d have found another place to sit.
When his cell phone rang, he’d been startled and his embarrassment had forced him to take in his surroundings. What he’d told her was true—he hated people who were so self-important they answered their phones in public places, forcing strangers to have to listen to their private calls.
Yet, he wasn’t sorry if his obnoxious telephone etiquette was the reason he now sat talking with her. She was wearing a strapless sequined top, and a black satin jacket hung off the back of her high leather chair. The shiny material matched her form-fitting black pants, making him think she was wearing some sort of feminine tuxedo. But softer. Sexier.
Considering it was almost eleven o’clock on a weeknight, she must’ve been at some fancy party before stopping into the hotel lounge for a nightcap. Either that or she was just all dressed up and on the hunt for some lonely traveling businessman.
He knew the types well. The gold diggers, the celebrity seekers, even the bored soccer moms who got their kicks by meeting random strangers at bars for one-night stands. But there was something about her shimmering blue eyes that made her look more like a scared rabbit than a prowling sex kitten. Besides, she was beautiful, but not in that surgically enhanced “tries too hard” way.
That was the first thing he shied away from when it came to women. His father was a plastic surgeon turned television producer who specialized in shows about surgical enhancements and makeovers. If there was one thing Garrett knew, it was artificial beauty. And he’d spent the past fifteen or so years of his life trying to get away from Med TV and the people who perpetuated that false and pretentious ideal.
He swallowed back his scotch just as the ice bucket and champagne showed up. The bartender set two glasses in front of them and, while Garrett had been intent on keeping company with only a bottle of Glenlivet Eighteen, his plans for tonight had suddenly taken a different turn.
“Here’s to parents who don’t know when to let go,” he said as he tipped his champagne flute toward hers.
“Here’s to a lot of people who don’t know when to let go.”
Garrett didn’t know if her added comment was in reference to someone else she knew or if it was a premonition that they were both too uptight and needed to cut loose. He chose to focus on the latter because, after all, once he was discharged from the navy next week, he would be letting go of everything and starting his life all over again.
“So how far away did you have to move to get away from your parents?” he asked, wanting to get to know her better. She took a sip and tilted her head, as if pondering how much personal information she wanted to share with him. After all, they were two random people sitting in a bar. Who opened up to a complete stranger?
“My mom lives in Florida.”
“Is that where you’re from?”
“Not originally. We moved a lot when I was a kid. My mom was a bit of a flake when it came to herself, but as her only child, she was always seeking greater opportunities for me. She’d hear about some new dance troupe or a hyped-up instructor and she’d pack up all of my tights and leotards and off we’d go.”
“So you’re a dancer?”
“I was,” she murmured before finishing off her glass. “What about you? Did you have to go far to get away from your parents?”
He took the hint that she didn’t want to expand on what might be a personal subject and refilled her glass. “I moved away from home the day after my high school graduation, much to the chagrin of my dad and stepmothers.”
“Stepmothers plural?”
“Well, Dad has gone through his share of wives. Not at the same time, mind you,” he clarified when it looked as if she was going to choke on her champagne. “But most of them kept in touch with me, even if it was only for the length of time they received their alimony checks.”
“My mom always hoped for an alimony check. But she and my father never got married so she had to make do with lowly child support. I never got it, you know?”
“The child support? She didn’t use it for you?”
“No, she did. I meant that I never got that whole depending-on-a-man-for-money mentality. I guess, sure, men should pay for their kids and stuff, but I always thought it would just be easier to make a clean break from the loser and start fresh. Support yourself.”
Wow, some guy must’ve really done a number on this lady. While it was refreshing to hear that there was a woman out there who wasn’t looking to get rich off some unsuspecting meal ticket, Garrett couldn’t help thinking of all the fake blondes back home who’d made it more than clear that they would love nothing more than to gain access to his large trust fund or the rolling cameras that constantly surrounded
