All right, I’d play his game.
I’d agree to dinner and the dance, and I’d make his life hell the entire time. Starting with my wardrobe choice. My lips tugged upward. Yeah, I had the perfect outfit in mind. If I was lucky, he’d finish our interview at the house as a result of not wanting to be seen in public with me.
“All right, Tray,” I said to him, standing and pulling my bag onto my shoulder. “You win.”
“Do I?” he asked, having paused midstep when I said his name. He glanced over his shoulder. “Six o’clock?”
“Six o’clock,” I agreed.
“And the dance?”
I forced a smile. “Sure, Tray. We’ll go to the dance.”
His gaze twinkled. “You won’t regret it.”
I nearly snorted and instead just shook my head, leaving him behind me. Because yeah, he was right. I wouldn’t regret this weekend at all. But he definitely would. I’d make sure of it.
“Don’t forget your questions tomorrow,” he called after me.
I flipped him off in response.
He’d get his interview questions.
And a hell of a lot more.
Chapter Six
Tray
Isabella stood waiting for me at the front of her long, winding driveway in a pair of black ripped jeans and an oversized, ink-stained sweatshirt. Her blonde hair was tousled up into a messy bun, and her face was sans makeup.
My lips kicked up at the sides, amusement warming my chest.
If she thought this homeless look would turn me off, she had another think coming.
“Hello, darling,” I said as I walked around the hood of my car. “Ready for your big night?”
Shock briefly widened her pupils, followed by a hint of intrigue as she took in the cut of my all-black suit. Her tongue slipped out to lick her lips, the little tell flooring me almost as much as her immediate recovery—when she narrowed her blue eyes into slits. “You consider Homecoming a big night?”
“I consider our first date a big night, yes.” I opened the passenger-side door. “In you go, Isabella.”
“Interview tip number one,” she drawled, stepping forward in her beat-up boots. “I prefer Ella.”
“Date tip number one”—I snagged her hip and pulled her to me so I could press my lips to her ear—“I’m calling you Isabella.” I released her in the direction of the seat and smirked as she practically fell into the car. It wasn’t my words so much as it was the baggy flare of her jeans. “Should have worn something a little more practical, beautiful.”
She tucked her
legs into the car and glared up at me. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Sure.” I shut her door, then picked up the bag she’d forgotten on the driveway to toss into my trunk. She’d already buckled herself in by the time I settled in beside her, not even bothering to thank me for retrieving her discarded belongings. “Your manners are exemplary,” I told her as I started the car.
“Why, thank you,” she replied, her tone sickly sweet. “I sharpened them just for you.”
I snorted. “I actually believe that.” She’d been prickly toward me all week, her interview sheet summing up her feelings toward me rather nicely.
What’s your biggest failure?
Would you rather swim in a shark-infested pool or play in a snake pit?