Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86596 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Eli laughs. “Because this isn’t business related anymore. It’s personal.”
sixteen
eli
This isn’t business related anymore. It’s personal.
Personal.
Since when—and what the hell do I tell Penelope Halbrook?
Why am I so fucking nervous?
I spend the entire week on the internet googling ideas for a first date with Molly. Sure, I could easily just make dinner reservations at a fancy restaurant and call it a day. There are several in the city eighty stories high that could razzle and dazzle even the most discerning guest, but somehow, I feel as if she would be less impressed with that than the average female.
Something creative.
Something…dare I say, competitive?
I’m not about to take her ax throwing, but the she-devil would probably love it.
I enlist the help of my administrative assistant, Donna, who might be old, but she has a young soul. And she is hella creative.
I hate to admit this, but in the past, Donna has helped me with more dates and gifts than I care to admit. When I first hired her, I was already dating Laura, but Donna jumped right in, planning fun weekends and vacations.
Nashville?
New York?
My brain works overtime, and I shoot a note to Donna—lack of time this week coupled with a shit ton of indecision—and enlist her help to ease the burden. Ha.
“Boss, you don’t want me to book dinner reservations? At all?”
“First of all, stop calling me Boss.” I sound so much like Molly that it’s ridiculous. “Secondly, I’m not opposed to dinner reservations, but I’d rather do something fun instead? This woman is…different.”
Donna shakes her head. “I can’t believe that after all these months, you’re going on an actual date.”
She looks like a proud mother.
“Yeah, well—we’re friends, and lately, we thought we’d try going out.”
“Friends?” Donna looks pleased as punch. “Good for you. Develop some real genuine feelings before jumping in the sack. I like that. Good for you.”
“Jumping in the sack? Jesus, Donna.”
She shrugs, snapping her gum. “You don’t have time for friends, let alone the female variety. I’m surprised, that’s all. But this is a good thing. It proves it’s not a fling.”
Donna makes no attempt to bring up Laura—she never does—although she has tried to meddle in my life several times. Downloaded a few dating apps onto my phone a few months back. Brought a matchmaker to the office without warning me.
Even hired me a therapist that I now have coming to the office once a week during my lunch hour, and damn, has it helped.
I sit on the edge of her desk gazing out the window at the view.
“What about renting a boat and doing a moonlight cruise?”
Er. “So Molly can throw me overboard? Pass.”
She hums. “Rollerblading by the beach?”
I shoot her a look. “No.” Dear god, no.
“Surfing, kayaking? Paddleboarding.”
“What’s with you and the water? You don’t know this woman. She’ll probably want to drown me.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Still, Donna crosses these off her list.
“Dry land, Donna. Dry. Land.”
“So no to a hot air balloon ride?”
“Are you trying to get me killed?”
Another pencil line across her sheet of paper.
“How about doing one of those tree house rentals in the Carolinas? I check the weekend dates, and they have one available.”
I sit up straight. “Drive or fly?”
Not to flex but my company has a jet.
“Flying is obviously quicker, and I can rent you a car. One night?”
I mull it over. Would Molly be pissed if I drove her to the airport and whisked her away to an entirely different state for a first date?
Is that too extra?
Would she think I was showing off?
“How do you think she’d feel about it only having one queen-sized bed?”
Donna is tapping away on her tablet, no doubt already punching my name on the rentals reservation page.
“If she doesn’t like it, she can erect a pillow barrier, or you can stay at a hotel nearby.”
Sounds logical enough.
“Fuck it.” I nod with authority. Less authority than I feel. “Book it.”
A few more days go by, and suddenly, it’s the end of the week. Every single day this week, all I’ve done is stare out the window, completely distracted, counting down the days until my date with Molly.
She still has no idea what we’re doing for our date; no idea that we are hopping on a plane and flying south. My game plan is to tell her to pack an overnight bag when she asks what she should wear. Knowing her, she will give me grief and ask a million questions because Molly can’t ever just agree to anything.
It’s a pain in the ass sometimes but also one of the reasons I like her.
As if on cue, around eleven in the morning, she shoots me a message.
Molly: Know what we’re doing tonight for our BIG DATE?!
At least she sounds excited and hasn’t backed out, which I half expected her to do. She’s entitled to change her mind about this, and I wouldn’t blame her for wanting to stay in the friend zone we put one another in from day one.