There was one thing Emilie would never admit to another soul. Clothes scared her. Hayden would never believe it, choosing instead to accept the carefully crafted image Emilie had created. If her best friend didn’t understand this intimate detail about her, then Emilie knew she was destined to be misunderstood.
Strangely, that idea didn’t bother her, except today.
Now that she needed to dress for an evening with Jordan, she felt ill equipped. He was far wealthier than her family, and if she were honest, that intimidated her. She also felt weird about accepting his invitation. He’d caught her on the phone at Reid’s, and rather than get into an awkward conversation Reid could hear, she’d said yes. Now she had to honor that promise, even though she wanted nothing more than a night at home in yoga pants and a tee. Muscles in her arms and back ached from her full afternoon of painting the day before.
Her phone beeped an alert. She had fifteen minutes to get ready for a “mystery date.” Jordan had been oblique about plans, telling her to be hungry and ready for entertainment.
She chewed her lower lip as she considered her wardrobe. Without knowing more, she could opt for overdressed or not. Her mother insisted one should strive to be the best dressed woman in a room. The advice usually served her well, so she flicked through her closet, bypassing dress after dress until her gaze landed on a black number she’d picked up at a Nordstrom Rack sale at least a year ago. She tugged it out and grinned.
Black silk with a hint of lace along the bodice, with a full skirt that hit above her knee in a flow of fabric. It was perfectly feminine, summery, and with a pashmina scarf would work about anywhere he took her. And if he took her canoeing, he deserved to paddle away all by his lonesome.
Her phone dinged at her again, and she jumped. She’d wasted ten minutes trying to decide what to wear. She flew through changing, teasing her hair into loose beach waves and swiping on enough makeup to give her eyes a sultry look.
She was slipping on her Kate Spade polka dot kitten heels when she heard a sharp knock at the front door. She grabbed her silver shawl and hurried up the stairs across the floor to open the door, stopping in her tracks when she spotted the black Lincoln Town Car waiting at the curb. It was a good thing she could slip out without Hayden seeing and teasing her about the ride.
One of the bodyguards from the basketball game stood outside the car, dressed in a black shirt and slacks. He opened the back door, and she peered into the interior.
Jordan grinned at her from the backseat, looking like an excited boy band singer. There was an enthusiasm in his expression that tugged an answering smile from her. He reached toward her, and she let him pull her lightly down beside him. “You look stunning.”
Warmth traveled up Emilie’s neck, and she wished the sunlight didn’t reveal everything. “Thank you.”
“I hope you’re ready for a night that will live up to you.”
“Where are you taking me?” Maybe she was beyond crazy to get into a car with a man she barely knew. No, he was the crazy one for chasing her.
“Some things are more enjoyable as surprises.”
“Hmm.” She settled back against the cool black leather, tugging the shawl around her shoulders to protect her skin from the shock.
He tugged the shawl down along her left arm, and she fought the shiver he’d released. “John, can you turn up the temperature? The princess is cold.” There was a teasing quality to his voice, teasing yet . . .
No, she was crazy. She couldn’t see a stalker behind every man, every shadow.
Dinner was an intimate corner table at Georgia Brown’s, the gold art scrolling along the ceiling twinkling in the light of the tea lights that matched the gold velvet of their booth. Emilie felt a tad overdressed, but kept her chin up as Jordan ordered for her, an act that left her wanting to protest she was more than up to the task.
However, as the fried green tomatoes arrived, followed by entrées of low-country shrimp for her and ribs for him, she couldn’t complain. Her companion kept up a charming stream of conversation, leaving small pauses for eating.
“Dessert?” The waiter stood expectantly, as if sure she couldn’t turn down any of the delectable offerings.
She placed a hand on her stomach and shook her head with a smile. “Not tonight. It was all so good, I forgot to save room.” She glanced at Jordan and was surprised to find a scowl on his face. “I’m happy to wait while you have something.”
He glared at her, then scrubbed the expression from his face and turned a charming smile on the young waitress. “I’ll take the check. We’ll return another time for your cobbler and homemade ice cream.”
“All right, sir.” The waitress scurried off, and five minutes later they stood on the sidewalk as the Town Car pulled to the curb. Soon they were gliding along Vermont Avenue and then, after a couple turns, on 15th Street. The Washington Monument pointed above the trees, and to the right the grass and park area led to the White House.
“Where are we headed?” There was something about the way Jordan was releasing information that struck Emilie as controlling rather than romantic. If it had been Reid, it would have seemed different, and she wondered if she was being fair. Maybe Jordan was one of those wealthy men who had created their fortune but didn’t have all the social graces to accompany it.
“To an experience I doubt you’ve had before.”
“Oh?” She slipped toward the door and angled toward him to cover the motion. “I’ve lived in the DC area for years.”
“True, but there’s a reason we say people are never tourists in their own backyard.”
The car turned along Constitution in the direction of Georgetown, slowly passing the monuments as it went. The sight of them reminded her how privileged she was to live in this great city. The monuments anchored her to the experience and reminded her that many issues bigger than those she managed were decided here.
“Do you remember the first time we met?”
“You mean at the Haven?”
“No, that’s not where I first saw you.”
His dark eyes held her gaze with an intensity that made her want to blink, but she couldn’t. It was like he mesmerized her, and she didn’t understand that hold on her.
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember.”
“Now I do.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, feeling silly and coquettish, but relieved the car was slowing to a stop at the drop-off point. “You must mean the fund-raiser.”
“You were stunning, though not as beautiful as you are tonight. The emerald cocktail dress you wore made your eyes come alive. And your hair.” He reached up to touch a wave, and she refused to flinch. “It was up, but loose. Elegant and casual at the same time.”
She smiled but looked away. The weight of his gaze was heavy on her in the silence. “It was an amazing night.” She’d been focused on the clients who had come to share their stories. It had taken true courage for those women to stand in front of strangers and recount their stories and admit the fairy tale had been a nightmare. “What did you think of the event?”
“The Haven wasn’t a clear fit with my funding goals at that time.”
“That’s too bad, because those women’s stories touched many.”
He shrugged as he sank against the leather seat. “Just not me.” He frowned. “Looks like we’re here.”
Emilie nodded, uncomfortable both with the knowledge he’d paid such attention to her back then and that he still wouldn’t tell her what the night’s agenda was. In another setting the surprise might be romantic, but right now it unsettled her.
That feeling built as he guided her through the crowds inside the Kennedy Center, his hand firm on her back. She had to resist the urge to shiver and step away.
They strolled through the Hall of States with its flags soaring overhead as they hung in order of admission to the Union and then through the Grand Foyer, where the view of the river across the terrace was peaceful yet compelling. They wove through those chatting in small groups or flipping through program bills. “Are we on display?”
“It’s always good to be seen.” Jordan nodded to several people as they passed, but didn’t stop at any group.
He pulled two slim tickets from his jacket pocket and handed them to the attendant at the entrance to the Hall of Nations.
The young woman scanned the tickets. “Do you need help finding your box, sir?”
“Not tonight.”
“We’re in a box?”
“Of course. You’re with me.” He took the program the woman offered and then led Emilie to a staircase. A minute later he led her into a box that overlooked the Concert Hall from the back of the stage.
The red cushions contrasted with the gold and warm wood tones. Emilie couldn’t resist leaning over the edge of the box. “I’ve never watched a performance from this side.”
“You’ll enjoy it.” No question, simply a statement of fact.