“So this is a setup,” Crickitt said.
Sadie paused in the middle of unloading the various spirits onto the breakfast bar. “Basically.”
Crickitt propped a hand on her hip. “And where are the outfits of yours I get to criticize?”
“A, you don’t criticize anyone, because you’re too nice,” she said, folding the empty bag. “And B, I can’t change, because it would compromise my artistic integrity.” Sadie screwed her mouth to the side. “Or something like that.”
Crickitt laughed.
“What’s your poison?” Sadie gestured to the minibar arranged on Crickitt’s countertop.
“Margarita.”
“That a girl.”
Perhaps two margaritas before dinner was pushing it. Somewhere between trying on outfits number five and six, Crickitt’s head began to spin.
“That’s the one!” Sadie announced, sloshing margarita onto her shoes as she jumped up from the couch. “Ah, crap! My new boots!”
“That was a test,” Crickitt slurred. “You failed.” Like she would dare wear the white sundress to dinner. The swinging, flouncy material swirled around her knees with each step she took. The spaghetti straps showed way too much of her shoulders, and the black strappy sandals were far too sexy, lacing up her ankles and setting off the black sash dripping down the back of the skirt.
“You have to wear that one!” Sadie held out her hands like she was trying to get Crickitt to lay down a weapon.
Crickitt lifted the tag hanging from the armpit area of the bodice. “I bought it last year on super clearance in case Ronald took me on a cruise.” She opted not to add, for our ten-year anniversary, which would have been this year.
“Well, that ship has sailed,” Sadie said with a snort. Then she placed her fingertips to her lips. “I’m sorry. Margarita talking.”
Crickitt waved her off. “I know what you mean.” Sadie was entitled to be a wee tad jaded after her near miss as a bride last year. “And anyway, you’re right. I shouldn’t have waited for him to take me anywhere, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” Sadie offered a careful smile.
Crickitt smoothed her hands down the skirt. “It’s not too much for a second interview?”
“Yes, definitely. But it’s perfect for a dinner date at Triangle.”
“It’s not a date.”
“I’ve never had a second date at Triangle.” Sadie added, “I’ve never had any date at Triangle. I’m insanely jealous that while you are having caviar and tiramisu, I’ll be hovering over a plate of nachos and a Mason jar full of beer.”
Crickitt shook her head; she knew her friend too well. “No, you’re not.”
Sadie’s face broke into a grin. “No. I’m not.”
Chapter 5
Triangle, Osborn’s premiere fine-dining restaurant, drew an upper-crust crowd. Crickitt had eaten here once before, with Ronald for their one-year anniversary. It was the only anniversary they celebrated extravagantly, come to think of it. She pulled into the lot, her blue Chevy Malibu out of place among the luxury cars.
She’d worn the dress. And the shoes. The prospect of air-conditioning paired with a dose of modesty had her throw a lacy black wrap over her shoulders. Sadie styled Crickitt’s curly hair into an updo, leaving loose tendrils to frame her face. She adjusted a few of them in the rearview mirror and checked her lipstick as a zip of adrenaline pulsed through her.
Which made no sense. What did she have to be nervous about? She had turned down the job once already; she could do it again. Though she could blame her nerves on Sadie, who kept insisting on this being a date.
And it so wasn’t.
The very suggestion that Shane August would ask her on a date was preposterous. Never mind the idea he wanted to hire her badly enough to woo her over dinner. She gulped as she rolled the word “woo” around in her head. Crickitt was woefully underprepared to date a normal guy, let alone a sophisticated billionaire.
She got out and shut the door, catching her reflection in the car’s windows. Did she look like she was trying too hard? Like she had dressed for a potential lover rather than an employer? Maybe she should run home and change into sensible black pants and a blouse. She’d only be ten minutes late. Fifteen at the most.
“Crickitt, look at you.”
She turned to see Shane stepping out of a long black limousine. He shut the door behind him and approached, adjusting the sleeves on his dark suit. He’d changed for dinner. And, oh, he looked good. The pale lavender shirt stretched across his chest, complemented by a plum-colored tie running the length of his torso. She dragged her eyes north before they unwittingly traveled below his belt.