Not Quite Perfect
Page 43

“Oh, that’s bad.”
“It was awful. In the end I didn’t end up with either guy and didn’t date for close to a year.” She shivered. “Ugh!”
“I take it Modern Lit thought you were an item.”
“Yeah.”
“And Mr. College was . . . you were too much trouble for his time.”
“That about nails it.”
“So how is it you still like surprises after that?”
Good question. “I drank the Starbucks. It wasn’t the coffee’s fault I got caught in the walk of shame.”
Mary was not wearing a coat suitable for an early spring night in New York. Glen kept his arm around her as they quickly walked back to the hotel.
The minute they reached the room, he took the phone and ordered room service. “Red or white?” he asked her.
“Stick with red.”
“Chocolate, fruit, cheesecake, or ice cream?”
Mary shook her head. “I’ll have a bite of yours.”
She didn’t pay attention to his glare and didn’t answer his question. When room service answered his call, he ordered a bottle of merlot and then started ordering dessert. “We’d also like a slice of that triple chocolate cake and your chocolate covered strawberries . . . you have cheesecake, right?”
“Of course, Mr. Fairchild. Plain or with a fruit topping?”
“Plain . . . and do you have ice cream?”
“What are you doing?” Mary stepped in front of him, hands on her hips.
Glen simply smiled. “You didn’t tell me what you wanted so I’ll order it all.”
Mary snagged the phone from his hand. “We’ll take the chocolate covered strawberries. Only the strawberries.”
“And the chocolate cake,” Glen told her.
“And the cake,” she told the attendant. “No, we don’t need the cheesecake or the ice cream. The wine and two desserts will be plenty. Thank you.”
He really did like getting his way.
“You’re a brat.”
“I am,” he admitted. “And you’re stubborn.”
She grabbed her purse, muttered something under her breath, and walked into her bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”
Glen opened the blinds to take in the New York skyline.
When Mary returned from her room, she had twisted her hair back in one of those twists women do and shed her shoes. The fact she was relaxed enough to dress down in front of him had him smiling on the inside. A woman working hard to impress would have left the room to put on more makeup or slip into something sexy. If he was being honest with himself, he’d say he wouldn’t mind the sexy on Mary.
“You do know you’re staring,” she said.
He’d be doing more than staring if he wasn’t worried about blowing it. “You’re easy to stare at.” And Mary was surprisingly easy to fluster.
She moved to the window and turned her back to his stare. “This doesn’t get old.”
His gaze lingered on her before turning to the view beyond the room. “It makes the long elevator rides to the top floors worth it.”
“Sounds like such a hardship,” she teased.
“It is when the elevators break down.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “And how often does that really happen?”
He couldn’t remember . . . “It could happen.”
Mary turned back to the view. “I’ll take my chances for the view.”
A knock on the door brought with it their nightcap and dessert.
A middle-aged balding man wearing a crisp white jacket and a smile delivered room service. After removing the lids from the food, he asked, “Would you like me to open the wine, Mr. Fairchild?”
“I’ll take care of it.” Glen tipped the man and thanked him.
He watched Mary from the corner of his eye. She was already checking out the food. Glen couldn’t wait for her to dig in so he could tease the crap out of her.
“Those strawberries look good,” he said as he twisted the cork out of the bottle of wine.
She snapped her gaze back to the lights outside. “Do they?”
He bit his lip to keep from laughing. Instead of taking the wine to her, he brought the open bottle and two glasses to the sofa before he poured. “How are Dakota and Walt doing with parenthood?”
His question brought her attention back into the room.
“They’re a good team.” She sat and accepted the glass of wine.
“When does she get that cast off?”
“Another couple of weeks. Poor thing.” Mary sipped her wine and sat back. “Leo is adorable.”
“Sounds like someone’s clock is ticking.”
Mary nearly choked on her wine. She leaned forward and coughed, holding the wine away from her to avoid spilling it. “God, no.”
That was not the reaction he’d expected. “You okay?”
Mary ran her thumb under her lips and licked the end of it. “You obviously know little if you think my clock is ticking.”
Now this he needed to hear. He’d yet to meet a woman pushing thirty who didn’t have a ticking biological clock.
He took the plate of strawberries sitting on the table and set it between them before handing her a napkin. “Enlighten me.”
Mary set her wine down and busied her hands with the napkin. “I don’t plan on having kids.”
“I don’t think Dakota and Walt planned anything.”