Sage Advice Read online

  She snapped her fingers. He was an archaeologist looking for a priceless gold statue. When he removed the statue from the dark cave where it was hidden, all sorts of booby traps went off. He barely escaped the cave with the statue, only to have it taken from him by his archenemy, a snotty French archaeologist. With an entire tribe of hunter-gatherers on his trail, he makes it to the seaplane just in time.

  Oh crap, that was the plot to the first Indiana Jones movie.

  Okay, so her fiancé wasn’t an archaeologist. Maybe he was with Doctors without Borders, and he was in some South American country vaccinating children against something terrible sounding but not lethal. Yes, Dr. um … she really needed to give him a name. It needed to be something distinguished, like Reginald. She glanced around the room, and her eyes landed on a birthday card she’d bought for her mother but hadn’t mailed yet. Yes, Reginald Card … Van Card. Yes, Dr. Reginald Van Card, champion of human rights and healer of the sick.

  Unfortunately, Dr. Van Card’s truck broke down on the way to some remote village, and he walked into the jungle and never made it out. Okay, but presumably she would be in South America looking for him right now.

  What did it say about her that she was here worrying about her book launch when her poor selfless fiancé was wandering around the jungle starving and dehydrated? Maybe she could cancel the launch pending the return of her fiancé. Surely, her publisher and her agent would understand that she needed to go to South America to find Reginald. What if they contacted Doctors without Borders? Someone with the organization was bound to notice that they didn’t have a doctor named Reginald Van Card.

  Oh hell, would she actually have to go to South America to look for him?

  What if he were eaten by cannibals? Were there still any groups practicing cannibalism in South America?

  She grabbed her phone off of her nightstand and Googled “cannibals in South America.”

  Her doorbell rang.

  She froze.

  Here she was feeding Dr. Reginald to the locals when she should have been getting ready for her date.

  She smoothed down her little black dress—the one her mother had bought her that she said showed off her curves—and grabbed her black clutch and shoved her phone into it. She glanced into the dresser mirror. Her red hair fell artfully down her back, and her makeup was minimal. She stepped into her tallest black heels, grabbed her wrap, and marched to the door. Well, she tried to march, but she didn’t wear heels often, so there was more than a little stumbling.

  It was just a date. If it didn’t work out, there was always cannibalized Reginald.

  She rolled her shoulders, took a deep breath, and opened the front door.

  Taking up most of her doorway was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. His dark hair was just unruly enough to be charming, and his swimming-pool-blue eyes were framed by thick, black lashes. He had a good six inches on her and appeared to be all muscle. He looked like he’d just walked off of an Armani photo shoot.

  Great, just what she needed. Handsome men made her nervous. Now she was anxious and nervous. If only she could add nausea, she’d have the Holy Trinity of blind date terror.

  His eyes swept down her body, and then he sighed like this was going to be a long night. He forced a smile—at least, she suspected it was forced. He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Pierce Rogan. Nice to meet you.”

  She copied his forced smile. “Chloe Caldwell. Nice to meet you too.” She glanced down as she shook his hand. “Why is my name written on the back of your hand?”

  He dropped her hand and shrugged. “Sweet Louise. I have a problem remembering names, so she wrote yours on the back of my hand.”

  Wow. He couldn’t remember her name? Jerk much? There was confidence and then there was asshole-ness. It was up in the air which one he was.

  All anxiety and nervousness disappeared just like pieces of poor Reginald at a cannibal’s all-you-can-eat buffet.

  This evening was going to go absolutely nowhere, and there was some comfort in that. At least she didn’t have to pretend to like him. All of the pressure of him being her potential fake fiancé was gone. This would be a one-time deal. She had the distinct impression that he felt the same way. This was going to be a long evening. She had half a mind to cancel the date, but she’d made a commitment, and she always honored her commitments.

  Now, if he wanted to cancel it, that would be fine by her.

  On the bright side, she wasn’t all that good at walking in heels, so she might just fall and break her neck. Then the date would be over.

  “Are you ready?” He already sounded bored.

  “Yes.” She closed and locked her front door.

  They walked down the four steps of her front porch and out into the April night. It was in the seventies. She opened her mouth to mention the weather and then shut it. She didn’t like him enough to even try to make small talk.

  She glanced at his car. Of course he drove a sports car. It was yellow and black and about an inch off the ground. She half expected it to turn into Bumblebee.

  He opened the passenger-side door for her. The car was so low to the ground and her heels were so high that it took several tries of squatting down for her to get the angle right. Also, the hem of her dress kept riding up. Finally, she managed a sort of crouch-roll and was able to make it into the passenger’s seat without letting her hem ride up to her waist. The seat was about as comfortable as a center coach seat at the back of the plane. The dashboard did resemble a cockpit. Maybe this car was a plane.

  He climbed behind the wheel and closed his door. “It’s a little early for dinner. I know a great place where we can get a drink.”

  “Sure.” It hadn’t been a question, but she wanted to feel like she had an opinion anyway.

  Twenty minutes of near-complete silence later, they pulled up to the valet parking that serviced several clubs on Sixth Street. When he’d said a drink, she’d thought he had meant a bar. She kinda wanted to point out that he was a little old to be club-hopping, but that would have been rude. She waited for anxiety to swallow her whole at the thought of a crowded club, but all she felt was bored. It looked like the answer to her social anxiety was to hang out with people she really didn’t like.

  Pierce handed his keys to the valet while another valet opened the door for her. After several tries, she finally was able to roll out of the car. The thought of having to roll back in was almost enough for her to walk away from the date, but she couldn’t do that.

  Pierce ushered her to the front of the line and high-fived the bouncer. Techno music pumped out of the open doorway. He waited for her to step through the doorway first. If she thought the music was loud outside, it was deafening inside the club.

  He waved to the bartender on his way to a roped-off VIP area. Chloe did her best to keep up with him, but her shoes crunched up her pinky toes. He stopped along the way to shake hands and hug various people. It was so easy for him. Everyone loved him. Sweet Louise had said something about Pierce being a professional football player just like her son. Chloe hadn’t really thought about him being famous until now.

  Several men and even more women sought him out. Finally, she got tired of waiting for him to greet every single person in the club, and her feet hurt and she really wanted to take off these stupid shoes. She headed to a roped-off table with a sign saying “Reserved for Rogan Party.”

  God, she hoped he wasn’t having a party.

  Chloe unhooked the red velvet rope and stepped behind it and went to latch it back.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this table is reserved for Pierce Rogan and his party.” The man was a good six inches shorter than her five-seven, but he still managed to look down his nose at her. “If you’re looking for the actuary’s office party, it’s upstairs in our blues bar.”

  First she was a ma’am, and now she was an actuary? She glanced down at her LBD. Apparently, it didn’t make her curvy enough to pass for anything but an actuary.

  She yelled
over the thumping music, “I know you may find this hard to believe, God knows I do, but I actually came here with Pierce.”

  She looked around, trying to find him, and she noticed that at thirty-one she was a good five to ten years older than most of the women in here.

  The man looked completely dumbfounded. He glanced at Pierce, who was at the bar, and then back to her, and then back to the bar. He took a step back and touched a small black wire that went to some sort of earbud. He held a bump in the wire close to his mouth. She couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  He nodded and stepped by her side. He gestured toward the table. “My apologies. I’m sure your brother will join you soon.”

  “My brother?” To her knowledge, she didn’t have a brother.

  “Yes, Mr. Rogan.” He smiled kindly.

  Oh, right, sure, because the only reason she’d be here with Pierce was because they were related. She wanted to use her horribly uncomfortable heels to stab Snotty Small-Man Syndrome through the heart. Instead, she plastered on a smile. “Thank you.” It sounded a lot like “fuck you.”

  “If you need anything, my name is Reginald.”

  Great. Fantastic. Now she had to rename Dr. Reginald Van Card.

  She stepped around the small, mirrored coffee table and sat down in the middle of the semicircular booth. The velvet of the booth and whatever her dress was made out of didn’t play well together and her dress stuck to the booth. She had to pry it up so she had enough wiggle room to cross her legs. She slipped out of her shoes, and her feet sighed in relief. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes passed, and then ten.

  She opened her purse, pulled out her phone, and brought up Word Cookies. She made as many words as she could out of the word “secreted” and moved up a level. She finished the next puzzle and the next. Another ten minutes and five puzzles later, and Pierce sat down beside her.

  “Sorry.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket. “It’s really crowed tonight.”

  Chloe slid her phone back into her purse and looked around. Women all over the dance floor and at the bar were eyeing him like they wanted to give him a very private lap dance. She glanced back at him. To his credit, he didn’t seem to notice.

  Reginald strolled up and placed a bucket full of ice and three bottles of champagne on the coffee table. “I assumed you’d want your usual, Mr. Rogan.”

  Three bottles of champagne, really? Either he was planning on entertaining more people, or she needed to stage an intervention.

  Pierce smiled and slipped the man a couple of folded bills. “Thanks, Reginald, and thanks for showing Chloe to our table.”

  Reginald’s smile didn’t waver. “You’re welcome. I’m sure you and your sister will have a wonderful evening.”

  “Oh, no, she’s not—”

  “Thank you, Reginald, my big brother and I are having a wonderful time.” Chloe busted out laughing. This was slightly more fun than face-planting in her lasagna.

  “Now that I look at you side by side, I can see the resemblance.” Reginald backed away and disappeared.

  “I’m sorry about that—”

  “Don’t be.” Chloe smiled up at him. “We both know this isn’t going anywhere. Believe it or not, this isn’t my worst blind date.” She pointed to the dance floor. “This really isn’t me, and the music’s too loud. Why don’t we call it quits now?”

  She’d agreed to a date. He’d picked her up, they’d ridden together in his car, and they’d entered a club together. She was calling that a date. That satisfied her obligation. She’d had enough.

  His mouth dropped open. “Um … I don’t …” He swallowed. “We can leave if you want.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ve already called an Uber. You stay. Have a great time.” She slid her feet back into her shoes, unstuck her dress from the booth and skooched forward so she could roll up onto her too-high-for-her heels, and grabbed her purse.

  “But … um …” He looked a little lost. “You’re just going to leave me here?” He sounded more confused than angry.

  “Yes.” She’d given it a try, and this was a complete fail.

  “But … I have no idea what I’m supposed to do now.” He looked around like the answer would be on the dance floor. Judging from the number of women there, maybe it was.

  “Oh … no one’s ever walked out on a date with you before?” She sat on the edge of the booth and patted his knee. “Tell you what, I’ll help you find Miss Right now before I go.”

  She pointed to a lanky blonde with impossibly large breasts wearing an impossibly tight, short, red dress. “She’s been eyeing you since we walked in. Judging by the designer dress and expensive shoes, she’s going to be high maintenance. Just FYI.”

  Chloe looked around the room and then pointed to a short curvy brunette who smiled and waved at him. “She’s cute.” She watched the woman’s shy smile. “On second thought, you don’t want her. She’d have your children named and your wedding flowers picked out before you got her home.”

  A redhead in a tight blue dress shot daggers at him. “What did you do to the redhead in the corner? She really hates you.”

  His eyes went to the redhead. “We went out once.” He sat up. “How do you know she hates me?”

  “Body language. It’s kind of my superpower.” Chloe zeroed in on a blonde at the bar. “What did you do to the blonde four stools to the left of the bartender?”

  He squinted as if to get a better look. “We also went out.”

  “And let me guess, you went out with the brunette in the black dress standing by the bathrooms and the strawberry blonde in the gold jumpsuit who just walked in?” Wow, he really got around.

  He glanced at the door and then toward the bathrooms. “Yes.”

  “I mean this in a totally nonjudgmental way, but you should think about changing clubs soon. This club is on the small side. Pretty soon, you’re going to run out of potential partners.” She searched the room for more possibilities for him.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do here.” Pierce looked uncomfortable.

  “You don’t need to do anything.” She scanned the bar area and then patted his knee again. “Okay, I think we have a winner. See the blonde in the purple dress who’s doing her best to not look at you? She’s definitely one-night-stand material.” Chloe thought about it. “Unless you’re looking for more than just sex.” She glanced around the dance floor. “Maybe the black-haired girl dancing with her friends? She’s in the blue shorts and the white shirt. She’s pretty and she doesn’t give off a needy vibe.” She stood and looked down at him. “Want me to send her over here on my way out?”

  Pierce looked like he was trying to process what she’d just said.

  “Okay then. I’ll leave you to it. Good luck.” She used the coffee table to help her roll onto her feet. She unhooked the red velvet rope and made her way to the exit.

  This was not the way she’d expected the evening to end, but she didn’t have any hard feelings. If anything, she wished him well.

  Now that Reginald couldn’t be Reginald anymore, he needed a new name. Dr. Jamison Van Card. No, that didn’t sound right. Terrence Van Card? No, Terrence wasn’t right either. Jamison Van Card? That wasn’t half bad.

  Poor Dr. Van Card. He was about to make the ultimate sacrifice to save her from serious embarrassment.

  Chapter 4

  Pierce just sat there. He’d never had a date walk out on him before. Yes, there had been a girl or two who had threatened it when he hadn’t been totally attentive, but no one had ever done it. Usually, they just wanted attention. Chloe hadn’t wanted attention, and she hadn’t been teary-eyed or angry. She just wasn’t into him.

  How could she not be into him? He was a nice-ish guy, and he had money, and he was famous. How could she not like him? It didn’t make sense. Not that he was narcissistic, but he’d never had someone not like him. He hadn’t been all that into her either, but still.

  He needed to find what he’d done
wrong.

  He stood and dodged people wanting autographs and photos with him. He finally made it out the door.

  She was talking to two men at the valet stand. She pointed to his car.

  Why was she pointing to his car?

  “What’s up?” he called from the doorway to the club.

  “I left my wrap in your car. I was hoping one of the valets could get it for me.” Chloe shifted her body weight from foot to foot. It was almost like her feet hurt.

  The valet on the left turned to him. “Mr. Rogan, is it okay if I get your sister’s wrap?”

  Pierce pulled out a folded twenty and handed it to the kid. “No worries, I’ll get it for her and we’ll be leaving now.”

  “Sure, man, whatever you want.” The kid smiled and handed Pierce his keys.

  Pierce stepped beside Chloe. “Let me take you home.”

  “No, I’m fine.” She checked her phone. “Jim with Uber should be here in five minutes.” She glanced at his car. “I would like my wrap, though.”

  He put his hand in the small of her back and gently nudged her toward his car. “I’m happy to take you home. Really, I want to.”

  “It’s fine. You stay and hang out some more. Loud clubs really aren’t my thing.” She stepped away from him.

  “No, I insist.” He returned his hand to the small of her back. “Please let me take you home. It’s the least I can do.”

  She hesitated for a few seconds and then seemed to make up her mind. “Okay, let me cancel the Uber.” She typed something on her phone.

  He waited for her to finish and then led her to the car. He opened her door for her and waited for her to climb into the seat. He was willing to admit that he should have brought the Navigator, because it really was more comfortable and easier to get in and out of. Finally, she made it into the seat. He closed the door and then went around to the driver’s side and slid behind the wheel. He fired up the engine and stepped on the clutch.