Getting Sassy by D C Brod Page B

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CHAPTER 7
    As the hour of Mick’s arrival approached, my nerves were thrumming at high pitch. I didn’t have much experience at subterfuge, so I didn’t know if I had a knack for it.
    Mick was good at what he did. With my modest savings, he had helped me build a respectable portfolio. Although he had this “I’m just one of the guys” air to him, I suspected he was smarter than most of “the guys,” and I cautioned myself to remember that.
    The fact that I hadn’t been out on anything resembling a date in almost a year added to the jangling nerves. That ill-fated venture turned out to be my first and last attempt at internet dating, which left me leery of mixing my personal life with the computer’s. Not an awful experience, but the man and I had disagreed on so many issues that we spent most of the evening discussing the breadsticks.
    Tonight I spent a long time staring at the contents of my closet. I considered a black and white halter dress, but decided that was best worn when I was feeling less ambivalent. I finally decided to face Mick in a pair of black slacks, a turquoise cami and a black and white silk shirt I tied at the waist. I wore my silver raven necklace, which I’ve always considered lucky. After a moment’s indecision, I slipped into a pair of black sandals without a heel. I doubted that Mick had issues with height—he had more than enough self-confidence to compensate—but I wanted to be safe.
    I assaulted my hair with a curling iron in an attempt to subdue its locks, which have a tendency to go all wild and frizzy when theweather is humid. Failing, I pinned it all up and hooked on a pair of silver, dangly earrings. As I examined my image in the mirror, wiping a smudge of mascara from the corner of one eye, the door buzzed.
    Bix charged up to it, as is his habit, barking and prancing around, looking back over his shoulder at me, who he expects to open the door.
    “Hush up, little man,” I said.
    I’m not sure what I imagined Mick would be wearing, or how I expected him to look on a date. But, seeing him standing there in a shortsleeved shirt over dress khakis gave me an entirely different image than the one of him in his office. It was as though he’d left his sleaze at that office when he’d discarded the professionally laundered shirt and the knotted tie.
    Bix, indiscriminate charmer that he is, wriggled in ecstasy as Mick bent over to scratch behind his little pointed ears. “Cool dog.”
    “He’s good company.” There was something in the texture of the pale green print shirt he wore that made me want to touch it—to see if it was as soft as it looked. But I restrained myself.
    Bix leaned against Mick’s leg, soaking up the attention.
    “Do you have a dog?” I asked.
    “Nah. I’ve got a ferret.”
    I waited for him to say he was kidding—Mick didn’t seem a pet kind of guy let alone a ferret man—and when he didn’t, I shifted to my other hip and said, “I hear ferrets are good pets.” This was only for the sake of conversation, because there was no way I believed a weasel would lick your chin.
    “Name’s Fredo.” He gave Bix a final pat and slipped his hands into his pockets as he righted himself.
    It was the first time I’d stood beside Mick, and while I didn’t tower over him—at five-five I had about two inches on him—I had to resist a temptation to slouch.
    “He’s okay,” Mick added. “Old girlfriend gave him to me.” He paused. “She wasn’t old. It was just a while ago.”
    “I get it,” I said, and realized, again to my surprise, that Mick wasn’t totally at ease. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. I am not the intimidating type.
    “So,” he made a show of glancing at his watch, “we’d better get going. Got seven-thirty reservations.”
    “I’ll grab my purse.”

    On the way to the restaurant, Mick explained how I could get a quick five thousand out of my savings without accruing any penalties. It was complicated but legal. I