Chapter Seven
Bobbi
My first instinct is to run outside and snatch the croissants from Noah, assuming I can catch up to him. But I don’t have the time to get ready for my date and deal with him.
The date matters more, my mind says. It could be your future. Noah’s your past.
Right. I inhale, then go back to my bedroom. My hands shake with rage as I try to curl my hair and reapply my mascara and lipstick. It’s all Noah’s fault. Closing my eyes, I breathe, trying to settle my temper. But it isn’t easy. I’m imagining wrapping my hands around his neck and squeezing. Hard.
Except he’d just laugh. He got a minor scratch in Mexico when the trio of thugs attacked me, but he’s no pushover.
Before rage can consume me further, I look at my vision board. The photos of a hot guy and four kids—I’d be okay with two, but four seems ideal—a house complete with a yard and white picket fence, beautiful baked goods, and Se?or Mittens. I’d love a big, loving family that has dinner together every night and laughs, cheers when things are good and hugs and cries when things are bad because I never had that growing up. And firm roots. No moving all over the place. We constantly relocated all over the world due to my father’s job, and Mom was always busy trying to adjust to a new place, a new language and culture.
The photos make a perfect vision for my future. And hopefully I’ll be closer to it after tonight’s date.
Se?or Mittens comes over and meows in that secretive I-know-something-you-don’t kind of way. I scratch his head. “Don’t worry. My future includes you.”
He shakes his head, then sits in front of my vision board. His tail swishes in front of the picture of the guy—the one representing my future husband. I smile. “That’s the one I’m going to get tonight. Hopefully.”
Se?or Mittens stares at me disdainfully, his tail swishing faster.
“What? I’m sure he’s not allergic to cats. You’re on my board, too.” I step forward and put my finger on the board. “This is you… Hey, wait a minute…”
I look closer and realize that Noah has pasted a photo of his own face and taped it over the hot model. He did it so slickly that the colors and shadows blend together almost perfectly, which probably contributed to me not realizing earlier.
“Son of a bitch!” I snatch the picture from the board. Noah’s head is smiling, his eyes crinkled. That bastard. He must’ve done this before he decided to raid my fridge for the apple pie!
Okay, that’s it. I’m going to murder him. I so fucking will!
Se?or Mittens’s eyes turn to slits as he yawns and stretches. Obviously, he’s annoyed at the lack of proper appreciation for pointing out the problem with my vision board.
“Thank you, buddy. You’re the only one I can count on.”
He purrs. Even though he can’t speak, I know what it means: “Pay me with tuna.”
“Okay, fine. One can of your favorite tuna for pointing out the problem.” The stuff is pricey, which is why I don’t buy it for him all the time. But this definitely warrants laying out a little cash. What kind of future am I going to manifest with Noah’s smiling head on my vision board?
I toss the crushed photo into the trash and resume getting ready. No way is Noah going to derail me tonight.
Resolutely, I finish applying makeup, then I change into a sleeveless cream scoop-neck top along with my favorite red and black plaid pleated skirt over fishnet thigh-highs and medium heels. The man’s profile says he’s six-three, so the shoes will make us about even in height.
You could’ve wornhigh heels if it were Noah.
I shove aside the irritating thought. This isn’t about him. It’s about my life, which does not include him.
Determined to forge ahead into a Noah-less future, I drive to Gion Shiyaki. The restaurant is much fancier than the places I normally frequent. It opened not too long ago, so I’ve never been inside, not even guarding one of my high-profile clients. Assuming they could get a table. It’s apparently always booked, and not even celebrities can get a table on short notice. My date must’ve pulled some serious strings to grab a table on a busy Friday night. And that earns him lots of bonus points. A man who can make magic happen to make a girl feel special? Sold!
The entrance is the definition of understated elegance with a Japanese stone garden set with a small water feature. A quiet melody consisting of some Asian string instruments comes from speakers, the plucked notes lilting and pretty. A slim Asian woman in a deep purple kimono comes out with a smile.
I give her my date’s name.
“Oh yes, he’s here already. Right this way.”
“Great.” See? Normal men show up when they say they will.
Stop comparing every one of your dates to Noah.
Right. That wouldn’t be fair to my date, potentially my future husband. He should be judged on his own merits.
The lady leads me through corridors with hardwood floors and off-white walls. Little nooks and crannies hold wood carvings and Asian potteries in earth tones.
Excitement starts to build as I focus on what’s to come. Most people fudge a little on their dating profiles, but we’ll probably hit it off even if he’s exaggerated his charms a bit. Not only is he stunning, but he’s looking for someone who knows what she wants, is seeking commitment and shared dreams and values. He loves movies, dancing on the beach and singing. He enjoys musicals and loves to travel to tropical places with turquoise water. A lover of animals and an expert surfer, too. When I messaged him that I’d love to learn, he said it’d be his pleasure to take me out on the water. He added, “I’ll plan everything. All you have to do is show up.”
That let me know he might actually be the one. Noah has never offered to plan anything—but then he can’t even remember to come to stuff I planned.
Time to stop thinking about him. Even though it’s been a year since I resolved to evict him from my life, he’s managed to occupy a small corner of my mind, popping back up now and then like he can’t bear to let me forget him. My cousin Josie, who’s a shrink, would have a field day with this—which is why I haven’t said a word to her. I don’t need to get my head examined. My problem is that my heart is stubbornly fixated on Noah for some reason, and I’m making slow progress freeing myself. Once I find a man who cherishes me and I can stake my future on, Noah will be history. A discarded and never-to-be-revisited chapter in my life.
The lady pushes a sliding door open. I start to smile, then my face freezes.
There’s no way this…person can be my date. The photo doesn’t match the guy in front of me. The profile pic showed a stunning man with beautifully tousled auburn hair and smiling green eyes, full lips stretched into a boyish smile. The jawline was tight, the cheekbones high and sharp enough to cut wood. But the guy sitting in front of me has flaming orange hair slicked back with gel, showcasing a massive forehead. The angle of his cheekbones is nothing special, and the tip of his jaw is round enough that it can’t even be called a “tip.” Owlish green eyes stare at me, and his thin lips are colorless.
The photo was an eight or a nine. This guy is maybe a four.
He doesn’t stand up. “You’re finally here! Great. You look just like your profile.”
And you don’t.I can’t decide how to say it without sounding rude.
“Have a seat.” He gestures with a small, smug smile.
I sit, more or less on auto-pilot. What am I supposed to do now? I should’ve known the day could, in fact, continue to get worse after running into Reggie, Floyd and Noah. “Was your profile name your real name?”
“Nope. Joey Martin, at your service.” He pauses expectantly.
“Am I…supposed to know you?”
He spreads his hands, giving me incredulity. “I work for Ted Lasker.”
“Oh, okay. The movie producer, right?” The man’s a legend.
“Correct.” Joey beams proudly.
“And…?” I prompt, unsure why he’s bringing up his boss.
“I’m his right hand. And left hand.”
Color me skeptical. This guy is maybe his left foot.
“I’m glad we were able to meet in person.” He gives me a once-over like he’s assessing merchandise at a yard sale. “You’ll look pretty enough with a bit more makeup.”
Is he serious?At least I posted a regular selfie pic, not something that had twenty filters on it! “Thanks. So will you,” I say with a fake smile, then gesture at our server for some warm sake. I can’t do this without alcohol.
“The magic of make-up, darling.” He sighs with satisfaction. “It can make anybody beautiful.”
“Whoever did yours must’ve been amazing.”
The sarcasm flies right over his head. “She does make-up for Ryder Reed,” he says.
Ryder Reed.When the actor announced his marriage, my client at the time wept because she was convinced he would’ve married her if she could’ve engineered a meet-cute grandiose enough for her rep. She didn’t seem to understand that it’s meet-cute, not meet-crazy.
“His looks aren’t from the makeup,” I point out coolly.
Ryder is a very good friend of Ivy’s husband Tony Blackwood, and I’ve met the man in person. Doesn’t matter what he’s wearing or how sweaty he’s become. Still ridiculously hot. Joey, on the other hand…? Not exactly.
“Meh. He still has a whole team dedicated to that, unlike me. I don’t need to bother.” Joey waves a hand dismissively, and I raise an eyebrow. Does he honestly think he’s better looking than Ryder Reed? “My accomplishments alone…” Joey spreads his hands again with a meaningful look.
Except…I don’t know what his accomplishments are, other than that he works for a movie producer. He doesn’t elaborate. He probably doesn’t have anything else.
The dating app must be cursed. Lorcan frickin’ Duncan. A few go-nowhere dates. And now this.
The server places a small bottle of hot sake in front of me, thank God, and I start drinking. The food follows, coming out on delightful little plates and bowls, tiny portions of fresh fish, tofu, meat and seasonal items broiled or simmered in various sauces. I lift my head and look at Joey, then back at the food. I don’t have much appetite. As a matter of fact, I’m beginning to have a headache. But given the amount of care the chef put into creating this meal, I should try to enjoy it and endure this moment. I have to eat dinner anyway.
I’ve just taken a small bite of the horse mackerel when Joey says, “I’d love for you to have a grandbaby for Ted.”
“What?” This is maybe the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve been around some very weird people. “Are you Ted’s son?”
“No.” He frowns in confusion. “What does that have to do with him wanting a grandchild?”
“You said you wanted children in your profile…?”
“Oh.” He laughs, then pops a small chunk of chilled tofu topped with spring onions into his mouth. “I put that so I could find a woman who’s open to the idea.”
My chopsticks go still in the air. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“Not now, obviously—”
“Not ever.”
“—since we’re trying to get Ted an accessible grandchild first,” Joey continues, completely oblivious to my rejection. He’s probably one of those guys who only hears what he wants.
“An accessible grandchild?”
“Well, yeah. There’s no point in having a grandchild he can’t take to parties. Grandchildren are meant to be displayed, not hidden.” He takes a healthy bite of beef simmered in savory sauce.
“I’m pretty sure taking a young child to a Hollywood party wouldn’t be considered good parenting.” I put my chopsticks down and pour more sake into my thimble-sized cup.
“He wouldn’t be the parent. He’d be the grandparent. A jovial man of great accomplishments. Someone everyone loves. All you have to do is produce a beautiful baby that coos like a dove and sings like an angel.”
Maybe I snorted something without meaning to—Noah might’ve left it; after all, he’s the kind of bastard who defaces vision boards—and now I’m hallucinating. “I think I’d need a loving husband first.”
“Ted will make sure you’re taken care of. And your kid.”
Joey’s making no sense. Maybe he’s the one who snorted something. “I thought he wanted a grandchild?” I lift the sake cup to my mouth.
“Yes. You’re going to sleep with one of his sons.”
The sake goes up my nose. Oh shit, that burns!
He hands me a tissue with a small frown. “I hope you present yourself better than this. But anyway, one of the available sons is a great catch. Women fawn all over him. He’s basically perfect.”
“Mmm, so perfect he can’t find a woman to marry.”
“It’s called outsourcing, honey.” Joey informs me in a slightly pitying tone, like I’m some cavewoman who hasn’t discovered the wonders of delegation.
“Yeah, sure. What does this perfect and available son do?” Maybe he’s an actor. Not the hot kind, but the weird kind.
“Nothing. He’s rich.”
I make a face. A spoiled overgrown man-child. How sexy. No wonder he needs to have Joey find him a woman.
“He’s working on some novel, but I don’t think he plans to finish it any time soon. Which is fantastic because it leaves him with a lot of free time. So all you have to do is sleep with him and have his baby.”
“So simple!” I snap my fingers. “Where’s the proposal and wedding?”
“Don’t be plebian. Who does that in real life anyway? It’s just for shows and movies.”
I just can’t.
“Besides, you should be honored. I’ve hired escorts—and I mean hot ones—models and actresses, but he didn’t find any of them good enough. Which is why I’ve expanded the pool to include, you know, regular women. If you looked the slightest bit less hot, I would’ve walked out the door a long time ago.”
That’s it. I have no appetite and I’m not putting myself through the torture of nonsense coming from Joey. I start to rise.
“Bathroom’s down the hall, to your right,” he says.
He must’ve been here a lot with his important boss to know where the bathroom is! Except that isn’t where I’m going.
I open my mouth to tell him, but then a waitress enters, placing a fresh bottle of sake on the table. Don’t remember ordering it, but I certainly deserve it.
The server holds the sleeve of her kimono just so and pours me an elegant thimble-full, but I grab the bottle and take a direct swig. I turn to thank her, but then shock knocks me back on my ass.
Noah. What the hell?
He’s in a freakin’ suit, which of course fits him perfectly. It also adds that extra edge of power and authority which makes him look even hotter than he did earlier. The fact that I notice at all burns my gall.
“Good sake, isn’t it?” he says.
He’s smiling, just like on the vision board. But I ripped that picture off, so why isn’t he disappearing?
He sits next to me, takes the bottle and places it on the table. “Feeling better?” he asks. “You really should be more selective about your dates. Joey isn’t much better than Lorcan Duncan.” His chiding tone says I should’ve been out with him.
How does he know my date’s name? Just what the hell is going on?
“How did you find me?” I manage finally. My voice is hoarse, and I clear my throat. “Are you stalking me?” I wouldn’t put it past him. He showed up at my bakery without warning, then broke into my home. He could’ve bugged my house. Or maybe planted a tracker on my truck on his way out. Those things are dirt cheap and small enough that the victim would never notice.
“No. I just keep my eyes and ears open when it comes to you,” Noah says softly.
“Probably social media,” Joey says. “People post pictures when they see someone important.” His tone says he’s the important someone.
After struggling to process the moment, I give up. The sake bottle is sitting there on the table, taunting me. I grab it and take another swallow.
“So, you two know each other?” Joey asks. The excitement in his voice slithers over my back like a snake. Cold goosebumps cover my body despite the alcohol.
“No,” I say, at the same time Noah says, “Yes.”
“Perfect.” Joey grins. “Please. Meet Noah Lasker. He’s the one I told you about. You know, the guy who doesn’t do anything but be rich.”
Displeasure twists Noah’s handsome face as he turns to Joey.
“I believe you. He doesn’t even stick around.” I spit the words out between clenched teeth.
“Right?” Joey says with a broad grin. Noah shoots him a murderous look. If gazes were tangible, Joey’s brain would be splattered all over the unfinished meal. “But don’t worry. Ted will take care of everything, as I said. With my assistance, of course.”
“You don’t want this leper colony reject near us,” Noah says.
“Hey,” Joey protests.
“Come on, Bobbi. Let’s go.” Noah puts a hand on my arm, the feel of his skin on mine sending warm shivers through me. “You and I will have a better time alone with each other. We can catch up and talk about our future.”
“There is no our future. There’s only my future and your future.”
“Joey upset you. I have a reservation at La Mer,” Noah says, mentioning a high-end seafood restaurant that also has a long waiting list.
“No!” I stand up and shake his hand off my arm. “I’m not having dinner with you whenever you decide it’s convenient for you. We don’t have that kind of relationship. In fact, we don’t have any kind of relationship. We might as well be strangers.”
Noah looks like I just slapped him. And the hint of vulnerability shakes me more than the charming fa?ade he wore this afternoon. But I can’t afford to let myself weaken. Give him an inch, he’ll take five or six miles. I’m not putting myself through such cruel and unusual punishment out of some misguided hope that he’ll be different this time. “It was an interesting evening. I hope I never run into either of you again.”
“Bobbi,” Noah says. “Look—”
“Wait, we have to hammer out the details!” Joey sounds slightly desperate.
“Better not to. Bring a hammer anywhere near me, and I’ll be forced to kill you with it to save my sanity.”