Prologue #2
“I can’t tell. He has nice hands, though.
” The brunette jabbed her fork at the redhead, who looked like she wasn’t done asking questions.
“Anything else you need to know about the guy checking you out, you can find out for yourself by doing your own recon. I need to give my Samurai roll some attention.”
That was Malcom’s cue to pretend to be reading once again, which he did, even turning a page to make it look authentic.
After what seemed like five minutes, but was probably closer to thirty seconds, the redhead said, “He’s not bad. He has that distinguished, Clark Kent thing going for him. But he’s probably married, with a couple of kids playing in a soccer league.”
The initial thrill at the Clark Kent comparison (obviously better than being on the douchebag spectrum) dimmed a little at the ‘probably married’ assumption. Did she really think he’d be checking her out if he was married, with children?
Just then the waitress stopped by with the check, pulling his attention from the other table. He took the leather folder with his left hand, which deliberately put his bare ring finger on display, and chuckled when she commented about his choice of ‘light reading’.
After glancing at his bill, he took some cash out of his wallet while she waited. He then put it in the folder and handed it back with a smile. As the waitress turned and left, he heard the redhead talking again.
“So, he appears to be single. And has a nice voice. But it doesn’t matter,” she said dismissively. “He looks like a lawyer. And I don’t do lawyers. Not even extremely hot ones.”
Even though he’d apparently been upgraded from ‘not bad’ to ‘extremely hot’, it was the ‘lawyer’ reference that had the most impact. For a moment he just sat there, her words giving him pause and making him second-guess going over and introducing himself.
Should he, or shouldn’t he? he kept asking himself, before finally deciding he had nothing to lose—and if Brent could do it, so could Malcom. Besides, the physical pull he felt toward the redhead was so strong, he didn’t know if he could just walk past the table without stopping.
Fuck it, he was going over there. Carpe fucking diem.
He retrieved a business card from his wallet and wrote a short note on the back.
Then, standing up, he shrugged into his suit jacket, picked up his book, and started to make his way to their table.
Summoning as much self-confidence as he could (and hoping it would be enough), Malcom looked over, making direct eye contact with the redhead for the first time, and saw her expression turn to one of guarded anticipation.
His legs felt a little shaky as he came to a stop in between the two women.
Up close, the redhead appeared even more stunning than she had from fifteen feet away, and his heart started to beat faster, like he’d sprinted to their table.
Her facial features were strong with a sharp jawline and a slightly squared chin.
She had a wide mouth with full lips, and a nose that was slightly broad at the tip, and at this close distance he could see a hint of a bump on the bridge, the imperfection actually making her look more perfect.
Her eyes were a deep, indigo blue, with dramatic, dark copper eyebrows arching above, and a liberal dusting of freckles on both cheeks that almost made him smile.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Hello,” as he looked from one woman to the other. “I’m Malcom Hodge.”
The brunette was the first to react by extending a hand and introducing herself. “Paige Clemons.”
“Nice to meet you, Paige,” Malcom returned politely, giving her hand a firm shake before pivoting toward the redhead.
After giving Paige a quick, irritated glare (which didn’t go unnoticed by Malcom) the redhead offered up her own hand for him to shake, before saying, “Jules Shaw.”
Jules, he thought, the name settling in his brain like it belonged there, his hand tingling from her touch. That’s perfect.
“Nice to meet you, Jules,” he murmured, looking down at her as if he had all the time in the world.
When he realized he didn’t, and the moment was stretching out rather awkwardly, he shifted his focus back to the reason he’d come over in the first place.
Clearing his throat again, Malcom said, “First, let me start off by saying that I normally don’t approach women in restaurants—”
“You don’t?” she asked, her expression clearly saying, And yet, here you are, approaching a woman in a restaurant.
“No. And especially not after she’s already been approached by another man.”
Jules gave him a long, assessing look, letting him know she’d come to the conclusion he’d seen the previous encounter with the other man. “Then why are you, now?”
He inclined his head a little to the left and waded in. “Because I figure I stand a better chance at being taken more seriously than … Brent.”
He saw the moment she realized he’d also heard the encounter, since he knew Brent’s name. “And how do you figure that?” she asked.
He cleared his throat for a third time. “Well, unlike Brent, I’m not on the douchebag spectrum.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly at that nugget, but before she could respond, he continued .
“I always wear normal socks, except when taking a shower, which I do every day. Or, you know, when I’m swimming, which I hardly ever do.
Or, when I sleep. Anyway …” Malcom trailed off for a moment.
“I’ve never attempted to, uh, smolder, nor have I ever gotten a manicure and the last time I used hair gel was in high school, when I was guilty of making a few regrettable choices. ”
Jules leaned forward as if getting ready to share a secret. “It’s impolite to eavesdrop, Malcom.”
Paige, having just taken a drink of her water, started coughing.
Malcom quickly looked over to see if Paige was okay, and she waved him off. “Sorry. I just swallowed wrong.”
After a brief pause, Malcom turned back to Jules. “I agree it’s impolite. But I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
“You weren’t?”
“No. If I’d been eavesdropping, I would’ve been secretly listening to your private conversation, but I wasn’t—” he broke off as Paige started coughing again.
She quickly covered her mouth. “Sorry. Swallowed wrong again.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Malcom asked.
“She’s fine.” Jules didn’t even look in Paige’s direction. “So, you were saying?”
“I was saying I wasn’t listening to a private conversation,” Malcom said.
“Your conversation was taking place in a public, crowded restaurant, so the expectation of privacy doesn’t apply, since anyone around you can overhear what you’re saying.
Including me. I was simply overhearing things I couldn’t help but overhear. ”
“And how much did you overhear?”
He paused. “Everything from The Godfather reference on … for the most part. I couldn’t help it. Honestly. The Godfather is one of my favorite movies, so that caught my attention. And I’m not saying that to pander—”
“Name all the Corleone children.”
Malcom’s eyes widened as the unexpected request caught him off guard. “In alphabetical order, or chronological?”
“Chronological is fine.”
“All right. The oldest is Santino, aka Sonny, followed by Frederico, aka Fredo, then Michael, who occasionally gets called ‘Mikey’. Last but not least, is Constanzia, aka Connie.”
“You forgot Tom. ”
“You mean Tom Hagen?” Malcom shook his head.
“Technically, he’s not a Corleone. He may have been raised by the Corleones and is often referred to as a ‘brother’, but he was never legally adopted by Vito and Carmela, so I didn’t include him as one of their children.
” Then, tilting his head, he asked, “So, did I pass?”
Jules gave him a conceding nod, one which also managed to convey she wasn’t completely impressed.
Taking that to mean he could continue, he did.
“I was briefly married several years ago—but am now divorced—and to my knowledge don’t have any children playing in a soccer league anywhere.
” He reached up to touch his glasses. “I do wear glasses a lot, partly because contacts make me feel like I have sand in my eyes, but mostly because I’m afraid to have surgery.
There’s just something really unappealing about having lasers anywhere near my eyes.
Anyway, I don’t wear them during sex and … whatnot. I do take them off for that.”
The reference to sex and … whatnot , which had amused Malcom earlier, now sort of made him feel slightly awkward saying the words out loud to the women, and he had to take a second to get past it.
“So …” he trailed off as he carefully set his business card down on the table and slid it toward Jules, almost exactly like Brent had done. “Speaking of work …”
Jules glanced down at the card and read the front before giving him a less-than-thrilled look. “You’re a lawyer.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “And I know you don’t do lawyers, even if they’re extremely hot—thank you for that, by the way—but I’m hoping you’ll overlook it, though, because I would love to take you to dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes. I don’t want to have a drink with you.
I want to have dinner with you. Preferably at a restaurant that requires a reservation, with cloth napkins and outrageous prices and really good desserts.
A place where we can enjoy an amazing bottle of wine, while we sit and talk for a couple of hours.
About anything. Movies, books, the douchebag spectrum … whatever you want.”
“And if I don’t want to do that?”
His throat tightened for a moment. “Then I’ll be disappointed. Truly. So I’m hoping like hell that instead of ripping up my card, you’ll give me a call. Not a text … because if you’re going to accept my invitation for dinner, I want to hear your voice when you do. ”
Jules leaned back in her chair and gazed at him for several moments. “All right. I’ll think about it.”
She didn’t appear to be lying to him, nor was her expression fake, as it had been with Brent, so he let himself claim a small victory.
“Thank you. Now then, I’m going to leave and let you two finish enjoying your meals,” he said, shifting gears.
Angling his head toward Paige, he said, “It was nice to meet you, Paige. And, uh, good luck with David.”
Paige blinked at him, clearly taken aback at his reference to David. “Nice to meet you, too, Malcom,” she returned. “And … thanks, I guess.”
He turned his attention back to Jules, taking the opportunity to get one last, lingering look in before leaving, the pull he felt for this woman off the charts.
“It was nice to meet you, Jules,” he told her, thinking he’d never spoken truer words in his life, before adding quietly, “And I really do hope to hear from you soon.”