I know, your request involves torture or public humiliation.”
Chloe glanced beyond his shoulder toward two men at the bar. They were cheering on a third, who was working to down a draft beer without stopping to take a breath. The drink dribbled out both corners of his mouth and down his chin, soaking a line down the center of his T-shirt to the crotch of his jeans.
“I don’t think you need me to provide public humiliation.” Shuddering, she tipped her head toward the threesome as proof.
“What do I need you for, Chloe?”
Chloe pretended to consider Eric’s question while inwardly, her mind raced. She really hated the thought of having to turn on her helpless-female bullshit meter.
But over the years she’d honed her shtick to a true science. And this situation, more than any other one she’d been in, merited experimenting with her skills.
She continued to toy with her straw, but now she averted her gaze from Eric’s, keeping her lashes lowered, her pout humble and subdued.
“You’re probably right,” she cooed, and sighed. “I don’t have anything that you need. But you have something that would really help me out a lot.”
“A favor? That’s it? You need a favor?” Wearily, he rubbed a hand down his face. “I thought you were going to want me to jump through seven kinds of hoops or something.”
She wouldn’t yet rule out hoops or tricks. Not until she’d convinced him that he’d be doing this favor of his own free will. Maybe if she played her cards right, she’d even convince him the entire idea, from conception to completion, had been his own.
“Where should I start?”
He peeked at her from between spread fingers. “The beginning is always a good place.”
The beginning was one place to which she preferred not to return. Look at the trouble she was in now because of where she’d begun. “I’m not sure my, uh, situation has a beginning as much as a sudden realization by others that it exists.”
“English, Chloe. Plain English.”
“It’s about work and my reputation for savoring a good expletive.”
Eric let out a loud whoop. “I knew it was bound to happen. You’ve been called on the carpet for your potty mouth, haven’t you?”
“And that’s another thing,” she responded, rising to the debate. “Why is it a potty mouth for a woman and straight business vernacular for a man? Another totally unfair double standard.” It was one of her pet peeves.
Eric was scarcely able to keep a straight face. “I’d think it would be hard to be one of the guys when you work for a company called gIRL-gEAR.”
“It’s perfectly acceptable for me to be one of the guys when it’s a partners-only situation. When we have late night meetings or when we do our thing at Macy’s loft. Make that Lauren’s loft, since Macy is in the throes of cozy domestic bliss with Leo.” Chloe went back to toying with her straw, dunking her ice cube. “It’s when I…forget myself at the office that Sydney tends to get bent out of shape.”
“It’s hard to imagine Sydney Ford getting bent out of shape over anything.”
“She takes the business seriously. And that includes how each of the partners’ actions and reputations reflect back on gIRL-gEAR.”
“So, you’ve been busted.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“Sounds like it was your manner of speaking.”
This was where she needed to tread carefully—and where she most needed his help. She held up her own thumb and index finger. “There’s a little bit more.”
“More?” Eric braced both forearms on the bar edge and leaned into her space, as if he couldn’t stand not knowing what other trouble she’d gotten herself into.
Funny how she wanted his interest on the one hand, but hated that he showed it on the other. She wished she was here for any other reason.
Now that the time had arrived, she hated that she’d had to come here at all. That she couldn’t get herself out of this ridiculous mess on her own.
She drew long and hard on her straw, swallowed and, before she could think twice, blurted out, “It’s my dating habits.”
“You mean, the men you go through like diet soda?” he asked, spinning her now empty glass on the bar. “The first sip satisfies, but then the ice melts and the fizz is gone?”
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not one hundred percent accurate.”
“What is accurate, Chloe? Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t find enough fingers and toes to count the number of men I’ve seen you with this year. And it’s only April.”
Was it really over twenty? She’d obviously lost count. “I like men. I like dating. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out immediate incompatibility.”
“Wait a minute. Let me get this straight.” Eric shook his head, signaled a time-out. “Every time you go out with a new guy, you give him a compatibility test? You don’t try for friendship first? Or for just plain fun?”
“Fun and friendship also require compatibility, sugar.”
All girls had their expectations and fantasies, didn’t they? So what if hers were nonnegotiable. She knew she’d heard at least one song about a woman bemoaning the absence of her own John Wayne.
Chloe’s preference just happened to be Cary Grant.
“And you and me?” Eric asked. “You think we’re compatible?”
They had fun together. She counted him as a friend. It was a start, wasn’t it? “We spent a month digging through one another’s baggage and I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Eric seemed momentarily at a loss for words. But his thought processes seemed equally stunned, judging from the sudden blank look on his face. But then he caught her off guard, retorting, “Didn’t we just determine that you’re here because you need a favor? Not because of any compatibility issue.”
“I do need a favor. I need an escort.” She stated it flat out, hoping the shock value would knock him off balance and into capitulation.
“You want me to take a poll? See which of my customers meet your criteria?” Eric cast a sweeping glance around the bar, then narrowed his gaze on her. “Or you want I should call in a favor from a buddy you haven’t met yet? Press one of the high-profile athletes I know into service?”
As if! “No. I want you.”
He frowned, backed a safe step away and crossed his arms. “What do you mean, you want me?”
She placed both hands, palm side up, on the bar. “I want you to be my escort.”
“So you can bust my chops all the way to next Tuesday?”
