Page 7 of Faking It
I hold her eyes and try to figure out why she intrigues me so much when normally, any woman who gives me this much grief would lead me to move onto the next one.
But what am I moving on from when I don’t want anything from her? Hell, I never even intended to drive here and talk to her.
And yet here I am.
“Here.” I thrust the box out to her like some fumbling teenager not sure what to do when their mother tells them to get a girl flowers.
Harlow looks down at the box and then back up to me. “What’s that?”
“Your shoes.” I bite back my smile when she eyes me cautiously.
“My shoes?”
“I had them fixed. It was the least I could do since Smudge was part of the reason they broke.” She shifts on her hip as if she’s wondering if she wants to accept them or not, but after a beat takes the box and holds it under her arm. “It wouldn’t kill you to say thank you.”
“And that’s where this conversation will end.” She shakes her head and starts to walk away.
“Wait! What is it that you do?”
She pauses and angles her head to the side as she debates whether she wants to respond or not. I half expect the flirty twirl of the finger in the hair and bat of her lashes as she tells me she’s a model, a move so many other women perfect.
Then again, Harlow Nicks is nothing like any other woman I’ve met before so unpredictability suits her just fine.
“What do you mean?”
“For a job? You were going to an interview . . .”
“Bookkeeping. Waitressing. Birthday clown.” She shrugs and blushes again. “Whatever it takes to pay the bills.”
No telling me she’s waiting for her big break. No, “my last campaign was for Victoria’s Secret and you can find me in their ads.” No, “I’m in between jobs and can you help me since you’re such a successful man?”
Nope. Not a mention, even in a town full of people trying to throw their names around and make a spot for themselves.
She averts those multicolored eyes of hers and shakes her head. “You know what? Thanks for bringing these back. I should get inside.”
“I have connections.” Brilliant, Zane. Fucking brilliant. That’s how you get her to not run away from you? By giving her a sleazy line? “Maybe I could help you find something.”
“I couldn’t care less about your connections.” She hangs her head and when she lifts it, I watch her reign in the pride I feel like a dick for bruising. ?
?I’m sorry. That was rude. Like I said, thank you.” She holds up the papers and offers a reticent smile.
“Look . . .” I take a step toward her, more than aware that I don’t want her to go just yet and questioning why I’m even bringing this up. “I have an event I’m holding at the end of the week. You should come. I could introduce you to some people. There might be some job opportunities there.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not that kind of girl.” The roll of her eyes has me realizing how she took my comment.
My laugh makes Lula lift her head. “That’s not exactly what I meant, Harlow. I run a matchmaking website, not an escort service.”
“Good to know. So basically that means you cherry pick the women you want to date after you scope out all their information. I assure you now I can sleep better at night knowing this.”
“You’re exhausting.” And she is, but in the most fascinating of ways.
“You’re one to talk.” She crosses her arms over her chest and lifts her eyebrows.
I hold my hands up. “All I was trying to say is connections matter in this town. You and I both know that. My event . . . there is going to be a lot of people there. Industry people,” I say more than aware I just let it slip that I looked her up and know she works in the industry.
“Good. Great. Can you go now?”
But there’s a crack of a smile on her face. A chink in her defensive armor that tells me I’m getting somewhere.
