The Twelve Dates of Christmas. SUSAN MEIER
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The next five minutes passed in silence. Finally, unable to bear her misery anymore, he said, “I really was as poor as you when I moved to the city. I don’t mind taking you home. This isn’t an imposition. It isn’t charity. It’s a happy coincidence that we were leaving at the same time. Please, stop feeling bad.”
To his surprise, she turned on him. “Feeling bad? I don’t feel bad! I’m mad. I’m sick of people pitying me when all I want is a decent job. I’m educated enough to get one, but no one seems to want me.”
“What’s your degree in?”
“Human resources.”
“Ouch. You know human resources functions can be folded into administration or accounting. And that’s exactly what happens in a recession.”
“I know. Lucky me.”
She had enough pride to fill an ocean. But she also had a weird sense of humor about it. Enough that he’d almost laughed again. Twice. In one night. Both times because of her.
“Now, don’t get snooty. Surely, there are other things you can do.”
“I’ve waitressed, and apparently a degree can also get you a lot of temporary secretarial work because right now I’m in a six-week gig at a law firm.”
“That’s something.”
She sighed tiredly. “Actually, it is. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I know others have it a lot worse.”
He was one of those people who had it worse than she did. But he didn’t share that—not even with people who almost made him laugh. She’d go from treating him normally to feeling sorry for him. And for once, just once, he wanted to be with somebody who didn’t feel sorry for him.
He glanced at the floor and was nearly struck blind by the glitter of her shoes. His gazed traveled up her trim legs to the black cape she wore. Her shiny gold dress peeked above the coat’s collar.
For a struggling woman, she dressed very well. Of course, her clothes could be old. Or she could have gotten them from a secondhand store.
But even if she’d gotten them from a thrift store, she’d known what to choose and how to wear it. Actually, if he thought about it, she had the look of every socialite he’d been introduced to in the past year.
Except she wasn’t one. She didn’t have any money.
“What Laura Beth and I really need is another roommate.”
He spared her a glance. “That shouldn’t be too hard to find.”
“Huh! We’ve tried. We never seem to pick someone who fits with us.”
He turned on the seat. “Really? Why?”
“The first girl we let in had a record we didn’t know about until her parole officer called.”
He chuckled, amazed that she’d done it again. So easily, so effortlessly, she could make him laugh. “I dated somebody like that once. Turned out abysmally.”
“Yeah, well, Judy took my coffeemaker when she left.”
“Ouch.”
“The references for the second one were faked.”
“You need Jason Jones.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s the search engine I created. Well, I came up with the idea. Elias Greene actually wrote the programs. It investigates people.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s great. It’ll tell you things you never even realized you wanted to know.” He smiled politely. “I’d let you use it for free.”
She squeezed her eyes shut in distress. “I don’t want your handouts. I don’t want anybody’s handouts!”
Yeah. He could see that. He didn’t know where she’d come from, but she had guts and grit. She wanted to make it on her own.
“We could bargain for it.”
She gasped and scrambled away from him. “Not on your life.”
He laughed. Again. Fourth time. “I’m not talking about sex.”
She relaxed but gave him a strange look. “I don’t have anything to bargain.” She petted her coat. “Unless you’re into vintage women’s clothes.”
“Nope. But you do have something I want.”
Her gazed strolled over to his cautiously, wary. “What?”
“Time.”
“Time?”
“Yeah. I have ten Christmas parties, a wedding and a fraternity reunion coming up. I need a date.”
ELOISE STARED AT Ricky Whatever. “I don’t even know your last name.”
“It’s Langley.” He smiled at her. Those silky brown eyes held her prisoner. “And yours?”
“Vaughn.”
He reached out and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Eloise Vaughn.”
“So you have twelve places to go for Christmas and you want me to go out with you?”
“No. I want you to be my date. Big difference.”
She eyed him askance. “I’m not sure how.”
“There’d be nothing romantic between us.” He winced. “Except to pretend that there is. I need space. A reason to bow out of conversations. Bringing a date to parties has a way of giving a guy options.”
She studied him, realized he was serious and said the thing he was dancing around but wouldn’t quite say. “And you want people to stop fixing you up all the time. With someone at your side, they’d leave you alone.”
“It’s more complicated than that. Really what it comes down to is easing myself back into the world and into my social circle. A date at my side would be like a living symbol to my friends that I’m fine, and they can all stop worrying about me.”
Eloise got comfortable against the supple leather seat. He talked like a guy coming off a bad relationship. Nobody wanted to have to go to parties when they were smarting from a breakup. He probably didn’t want to have to explain where his ex was. Or, worse, have to flirt or be flirted with.
“So you’re looking for ways to be able to go to parties without being social.”
“I don’t mind being social. I just don’t want to have to be too social. Look, I’m not in the market for something romantic, so you’d be perfectly safe. You might even enjoy yourself. Meet some new people. Make some work contacts.”
Yep. Anybody who wasn’t in the market for something romantic was still hurting over a bad breakup. But he’d also said the magic words. Work contacts. The employment market was so tight she couldn’t even get interviews. But if she could meet the higher-ups of some companies, she might impress them and maybe open a door for herself.
“And I don’t have to do anything but smile and be polite?”
“And pretend to like me.”
She already sort of liked him. He was handsome and just a little bit scruffy, the way a man was when there was no woman in his life. And he was honest. So pretending to like him wouldn’t be hard.
“We’d need a story.”
“A story?”
“How we met. Why we’re dating.”
“Why don’t we just say we met at