Vince

Jackie and I are at Three O’Clock, a hipster-styled coffee spot we both prefer. Yeah, they serve “flat whites,” but they also serve a mean cup of black coffee or, as Jackie prefers, one with a gallon of almond milk in it.

I’m on my second mug, legs kicked out and crossed at the ankles while Jackie grimaces at me over the first cup she’s nursing.

“This is dumb,” she states.

“What’s dumb?” Me, at the moment, I answer myself. Or at least, I’m playing it.

“I don’t want to practice having coffee with J.T.” She gestures, hands flared outward in exasperation. “I know how to have coffee.”

Despite her gesticulating, her voice is quiet.

“I don’t want to play games, Vince.”

Neither do I, but my being Mr. Available fast-tracked me to the friend zone. I can’t let that happen again. That’s why I’m behaving like an aloof coworker.

“I didn’t invite you here to frustrate you, Butler. I invited you here to help you. Do you want to advance beyond coffee and lunch dates with this guy or what?”

I won’t lie. Her hesitation tempts me to smile. She’s unsure about Jaundice and that’s some great fucking news.

“Yes. I mean, I want to spend more time with him.”

Ouch. But I keep my poker face. This is the play, and though I’m toying with fire running a game on Butler, I justify it by telling myself it’s for her own good.

“Okay.” I sit up and lean my forearms on the table. “Stand up, walk out of here, and we’ll start over.”

“Are you serious?” She gives me a bland blink. Too bad for her I’m as serious as Jim Carrey in The Truman Show.

“You’re twenty minutes late,” I instruct her, giving her a detail to work with. “You’re wearing a flowery dress with ruffles on it.”

“That’s specific.” She’s actually wearing black pants and a button-down shirt, but I need her to glide in here if this is going to work.

“The blue one.”

She holds my eyes, her lips parting at my comment. Hell, yeah, I was specific. She walks like she owns the world when she wears that dress. That’s what I want to see—confidence.

“Tell me you’re sorry you’re late and you want to make it up to me with dinner at Chez Chandon.”

“Why am I late?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters.”

Of course it does. Details are Jackie’s bag. “Fine. You were held up at work. Tell him I made you help me with a report I couldn’t figure out.”

She laughs, which lights her eyes. I love that sound.

“So it’s your fault. I can work with that.” She stands and leaves the coffee shop. I watch her walk, her measured steps professional and thoughtful. Outside, she walks past the windows and out of sight. The next time I see her, it’s a new Jackie.

Her chin is high, her arms swinging. She’s wiggling her ass like she’s working that blue dress we decided on. Inside, she pretends to look around and I play along, raising my hand to wave. The smile she wears when she approaches is staged and almost apologetic.

“I’m late. I know.” She bends down and grazes the side of my mouth with her lips. The touch is too brief but enough to send my mind spinning. “Vince kept me late because he needed help with the quarterly reports. Again.” She adds an eye roll. “I don’t know what he’d do without me.”

I break character to grin before resuming my role. “You’re forgiven. Have a seat. I still have ten minutes.”

She sucks air through her teeth. “Actually, I don’t. I have to get back. Tell you what, let me treat you to dinner at Chez Chandon tonight.” She sighs, her shoulders pulling down with the breath. “Now what do I say? I know he has a four o’clock appointment.”

“You say, ‘Meet me there at six. I’ll be the one in red.’ ”

“Why would that work?” She sits, giving up the act.

“It might not. But if he likes you enough to cut his meeting short, then you’re one step closer to sealing the deal with him.” She won’t, though. Not as long as I have anything to say about it.

“Chez Chandon at six.” She lifts her purse from the back of the chair she previously inhabited and lowers her voice to a sensual husk. “I’ll be the one in the short, tight, red dress. Don’t keep me waiting.”

I’m transfixed. Jackie has morphed before my eyes yet again.

“Six,” I repeat. “I’ll be there.”

She leans forward and I think she’s coming in for a kiss goodbye. Instead she whispers, “Now what?”

I snag her purse strap and pull her closer. “Now we get back to work, and I’ll see you tonight at six.” I release her without taking the kiss her eyes promised.

“What do you mean you’ll see me at six? Are you pretending to be J.T., or are you you?”

“Chez Chandon, Butler.” I stand and walk to the door, holding it open for her when she follows. “You invited me. I accept.”

A smile tickles the side of her lips. I like that look on her a lot, and if my calculations add up, I secured date number two.

Damn.

Davis was right.