Trillion(81)

“Not long at all.” I lift my martini glass and give him a gracious smile. I don’t tell him that if it were any other night, I’d be putting in a few more hours at the office. I find that sometimes men get put off by a driven woman. If he likes me enough to stick around after the first date, he’ll figure it out on his own anyway. “So sorry it’s taken this long for us to get together. My travel schedule has been crazy.”

“You fly a lot for work?” He flags down a server and orders a beer.

“At least once a month, lately it’s been more often than that. They’ve been sending me to our HQ in Hoboken and sometimes into one of our satellites in Manhattan, which I don’t mind.”

“Grew up in Jersey City,” Grant says. “Not far from there.”

He’s handsome.

More handsome than I remember.

Broad-shouldered. Tall. Dark eyes. Darker hair. Deep-set eyes. Even deeper dimples.

A flash of a smile that plays on his lips when our eyes catch.

I’m no expert in menswear, but I’m willing to wager that his suit cost a pretty penny.

Also, I saw him pull up to the valet stand in a freshly-washed silver Maserati.

Not that any of those things matter.

They don’t.

I do just fine on my own, and material things have never impressed me.

But if a girl’s going to be approached by a stranger and asked on a date, it isn’t the worst thing in the world if he’s dashing, confident, and clearly unafraid to work his ass off for the things he wants.

The last guy I dated was respectably average in all areas, and I was beginning to think about introducing him to my family … but eight dates in, he dropped a bombshell that sent me packing. Not only was he in the middle of a messy divorce, he was living with his mother and paying for our dates with funds from his weekly unemployment checks—which were about to run out (hence the confession).

Crazy enough, he was a step above the guy who came before him—a man who claimed he was a doctor when he was actually a “holistic animal chiropractor” and got bent out of shape when I would refer to him as “Liam” and not as “Dr. Jeppesen” in conversation.

I’d resigned myself to a much-needed dating sabbatical in the months leading up to my chance encounter with Grant.

“What brought you all the way out here?” I ask. Seems like anymore, Phoenix contains more transplants than locals, and everyone has a story. Most of them are along the lines of wanting to trade gray midwestern winters for sunshine and palm trees or ‘just wanting a change,’ but every once in a while, someone throws a curveball of a story my way.

“A job.”

I don’t love the vagueness, but I give him a chance to elaborate before lobbing questions at him like darts. I do that to people. I fact-gather. I can’t help it. I’ve always been curious, always wanted to have all the information possible before I make my assessment.

He continues, “I graduated from Montclair State with a degree in Finance. My uncle knew a guy who wanted to hire someone fresh out of college, someone he could shape into the right fit for his company. Jumped at the chance and haven’t looked back since. Best decision of my life. Bar none.”

“You don’t miss the hustle and bustle of the East Coast? Or the seasons?”

Grant shakes his head and makes a face.

“Think you’ll ever move back?” I stir my drink with a skinny metal straw.

“Not a chance.” His beer arrives and he takes a sip, eyes locked on me. “The views out here are … breathtaking.”

I don’t think his comment was a double entendre directed at me, but for some insane reason, my cheeks flush with heat and my heartbeat reverberates in my ear. Maybe it's the way he’s looking at me—like he’s two seconds from devouring me. Like I’m the only woman he sees in this room full of distracting, prattling strangers.

It’s not something I’m used to.

I tend to intimidate men, I think. Or I attract the kind of men who are easily intimidated, men who expect me to make the first move or throw myself at them like a sex-starved damsel in distress.

Something tells me Grant can hold his own in the sexual prowess department. But I’m not a sleep-with-a-guy-on-the-first-date kind of girl, so my assumption will remain unproven.

For now.

“I never had a chance to ask you about your friend,” I say. “The one who had the accident … is he okay?”

“Funny you should ask,” Grant says. “His sister called me earlier today. They brought him out of the coma.”

I lift a brow. “He was in a coma?”

“Medically induced. They were trying to get the swelling down on his brain or something like that. I didn’t ask for details. Medical stuff makes me … yeah.” He offers a humble chuckle and sips his beer before peering around the crowded restaurant. “Anyway, Claire said he was talking, asking questions, getting his bearings. He was a little confused, but she said his prognosis so far is good.”

I clasp a hand over my chest and exhale. “Oh, that’s amazing. I’m so relieved to hear that.”

“Yeah, same.”

“My sister was in an accident several years ago …” I say. “Unfortunately she didn’t make it, but I’m happy for your friend.”