Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“Emma Ann Woods.” Mom whisper-yelled each portion of my name. I could see the heat rising on her face.
Shoot.
I was so close.
“I can explain.” I held my hands in front of me.
“Get to it.” Her body was rigid.
My shoulders tensed—actually, I couldn’t explain. I’d thought of this moment over and over and was banking on something coming to me.
It didn’t come.
“Emma.” She growled
Looked like the truth was all I had. I sighed. “I was looking at this dating app thing and there was an ad for Kismet Silvers. It’s for fifty and up and has all sorts of activities. It looked like a blast, but I thought you wouldn’t come if you knew it was for dating.”
“You thought right,” she looked to the exit.
“Mom, come on. Just try it out…”
“Absolutely not.” Mom crossed her arms and her lips pinched in anger. “We’re leaving right now.” Her eyebrow raised, daring me to challenge her decision.“Wait.” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Do you even need help at your apartment tonight?” Her blue eyes met mine, hope barely visible.
I dipped my shoulders and shook my head.
“Wow, Em.”
I couldn’t look her in the eyes, but I had come too far to give up now. “Just give me fifteen minutes. You sit here and eat dessert.”
She eyed her plate of dessert. “To do what, exactly?”
“See if any of these men would take you to Europe or if they have horses?”
“What are you talking about?” Mom pinched the bridge of her nose as each word came out with more exhaustion than the last.
“Some of these guys have horse ranches and Ferraris.” I nodded my head toward the crowds mingling about. “I’m sure of it.”
She leaned on her fist and raised a brow. “Yeah, and some have mounds of debt, broods of kids and grandkids, and expectations of what a wife should be.” Mom rolled her eyes. “I’m done, Em. If you won’t take me home, I’ll call Betty.”
My stomach sank as I watched her dig in her purse for her phone. When she found out it wouldn’t work, it would be spray-painted Spike all over again. Probably worse. Well, so much for making sure no one saw me.
“I’ll be right back.” She would forgive me later…hopefully. I bolted, nearly causing my chair to fly back.
I opened the notes on my phone and walked between the tables and eavesdropped on conversations.
Fred was divorced and desperate.
Fred—No.
Hank grumbled about collection calls.
Hank—No.
Charlie mentioned a medical procedure accompanied by buckets of oozing pus.
Yikes!
Charlie—No .
This was less promising than I’d hoped. I looked around the room.
On the back wall, beside a large window, stood a George Clooney look-alike talking with a group of gentlemen whose appearance screamed I have a yacht and a red Ferrari . Tailored suits, flashy watches, a golf club exclusive type stance. The GC look-alike had on black slacks and a pressed striped button-up shirt. He flashed gold jewelry and a smile.
Mom waved her hand, catching my attention, and then pointed to her phone.
I acted like I didn’t know what she meant, and picked up speed toward my target. GC2 scowled at me, but continued the conversation about his new sailboat. I refrained from giving a fist bump. Called it!
Mom would love to sail.
After hearing his dark velvety voice and seeing him, I remembered he was the man who welcomed us to the event. Should I still ask him?
It would be a risk, but he still might be my best option.
He had a sailboat.
I pursed my lips and twisted slightly on my high heels. How would I ask him on a date for Mom and not sound super creepy?
“Excuse me, can I help you?” GC2 turned to me, giving me a full view of his name tag. Darian Cole.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt.” I cringed. “I…I just thought I heard you mention a boat?” Why was my voice so high? I cleared my throat.
“Yes.” The man’s tone was hesitant.
“Can I ask what kind?” I did my best to be sweet.
“Why does it matter?” His mouth pulled down into a frown.
Yikes. “I was only making small talk, because well…” I stopped before I mentioned Mom. “I was thinking of owning a boat myself.”
The man shot a puzzled look at the other gentlemen. “You don’t look fifty.” Darian Cole folded his arms and glared down his long nose at me.
“Oh, that’s because I…” I almost said I wasn’t, but the man narrowed his eyes in anger. I decided not to mention my age.
Abort mission. Something about this man had danger warning alarms going off in my mind.
“Um…I have a great doctor.” I turned away. “Enjoy your evening.” I scurried away to a corner.
That man… Well, he was terrifying. It took all I had not to turn and see if he was still watching me.I shook off the negative vibes that still reached out to me.
I tried to slow my breathing as I opened my notes and typed Darian Cole—NO!!
I didn’t want this night to be a total loss. What else could I try? I met Mom’s eyes, and she snapped her finger and pointed to the table. I knew that from my childhood this meant time was up. I had pushed my luck as far as it would stretch.
An older man with a cane blocked my path. He smiled at me with a gap-toothed grin as I glanced at him curiously.
He wasn’t my first choice, but maybe he had horses?
“Good evening.” I nodded.
“Hello there, Miss.” The man raised his eyebrows. “With shoes like those, your feet must have great arches.” He grinned. His eyes roamed down my legs and landed on my feet. “Can I look at them?”
Wait. What?
“Your feet.” He gestured toward them again.
“You want to look at my feet?” What was he talking about? I shook my head and figured I must have heard him wrong.
“Oh yes, without your shoes, please.” The man looked at my face again, before he rubbed his hands together in anticipation as he practically drooled.
Ew! Gross!
I checked the name tag. Brad .
I ran away and held back the gagging sound in my throat. I opened my notepad on my phone.
Brad—NO NO NO.
What a waste. Time to admit defeat, beg forgiveness, and go home.
I peeked over my shoulder and saw the man with the cane in slow but steady pursuit. For the first time in my life, I might agree with Jane that running had some sudden new benefits.
I glanced at the table where I’d left Mom. She was talking to another woman beside her and smiled. I couldn’t leave now. Maybe I could hide? I continued through the room while keeping my eyes on Mom.
Mom’s eyes met mine and her eyebrows suddenly pulled down in concern, then I slammed into something solid. My nose smashed against an immovable wall of muscle, and my phone went flying. I stumbled back.
My eyes watered as I reached up and gingerly pressed around my nose.
Ouch!
Apparently, I’d hit a man. What the heck was this guy made of? Concrete? My gaze followed the shoes upward.
Oh wow.
My mouth fell open. Maybe it was because I’d spent the evening pinballing between fifty-year-old men, or maybe my vision was still blurry, but holy hot cakes… wow. He looked vaguely familiar, but surely I would have remembered him.
The man had sharp brown eyes and tightly trimmed facial hair. He towered over me in suit pants and a long sleeve button-up shirt snug against his chest. My throat tightened. He smelled divine, like the smell of rain after a dry spell. I was drawn to him, pulled in by his magnetism.
His lip dropped into a grimace and his eyes fell to my phone lying face-up on his shoe, screen glowing with my long list of NOs.
Whoops !
I bent and scooped up the phone. “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was walking and?—”
“Age?” His voice was a low grumble.
I checked his finger. No ring. Not that it mattered…
Wait. “What was that?”
“How old are you?” Mr. Muscles asked, his voice clipped. “Also, I need you to delete whatever information you collected tonight.” He gestured toward my phone.
My forehead wrinkled. “What?”
“Now,” he said firmly, holding out his hand.
Okay, hot and rude!
I smiled smugly and dropped the phone into my purse. Not happening.
Mr. Muscles raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. He didn’t move. He just stood there, a Greek god statue brought to life. “Were you aware you needed to be over fifty to attend any of these events?” His facial expression was cold.
“You’re one to talk.” I shot right back, planting my hand on my hip.
He dipped his head condescending, arms folded over his perfect chest. I wondered if he ever popped a button that way.
“You need to leave. Now.”
I had planned on leaving, but now I didn’t want this guy to tell me what to do. Then GC2 walked up and stood beside him, and those creepy vibes reached out for me again.I was not messing with that guy.
Fine.
I sighed and turned to get Mom when a large firm hand dropped on my shoulder. “Not that way,” Mr. Muscles rumbled.
I scoffed, shaking off his grip—my shoulder still feeling warm from where his touch had been. Annoying.
“As owner of this establishment,” he practically growled, “and as part of my contract with Kismet Silvers,” he nodded to Darian Cole, “no one under the age of fifty is allowed at these events.” His eyebrow slowly raised. “There have been problems with gold diggers before.”
Gross.
“What?” I squeaked. “I am not a gold digger!”
“Your notes and complaints tonight would say otherwise.” The arrogant man cleared his throat. “Now, would you like for me to send for security? Because I can.”
Please, like it would take more than him to muscle me out of here.
I was so annoyed. The entire room stared at me, and I felt the anger and embarrassment of the attention burning my face.
“That won’t be necessary.” I added in my fakest sugary tone and stepped away from him. “I’m leaving.”
A hand grabbed my arm at my side, and I jumped to see Mom standing beside me.
“We’re both leaving.” Mom glared at the man, obviously not intimidated by his size. She wrapped her arm through my elbow.
The man stepped to the side, motioning for us to continue. Mr. Cole grabbed onto Muscles and began whisper-yelling something to him.
“You better fix my phone,” she chastised me under her breath as we walked toward the exit.
What a horrible man! If I never saw him again, it would still be too soon.