Page 4 of Choosing Samantha

“The women at this brunch are going to be wearing designer clothes. My cotton dress is going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Probably.” There’s that shrug of hers again.

“I’m wearing a fourteen-dollar dress.” I run my hands over the soft fabric of my favorite dress.

“Then Archibald Whatever-the-Third can appreciate your talent for finding bargains.”

“His name is Arch.”

“That’s better—Arch sounds hot.”

“Kendra.”

“Sorry.” She hands me my small purse. “Your car is downstairs.”

My palms start to sweat. “Already?”

She hugs me before I can change my mind about the assignment. “Remember, you’re smart, funny, and worth knowing. You aren’t auditioning for him. He’s lucky you accepted.”

I hold on to those words as I walk downstairs. Unfortunately, they vanish when I see the black town car waiting at the curb—I am definitely underdressed.

three

Arch

Isee Samantha before she sees me. She gets out of the car and stops under Provisions' white awning, holding the strap of her small purse. Her flowered dress shifts around her knees in the early-autumn breeze.

Sure, Miles sent me her profile, but it hadn't prepared me for the real thing. Her photo showed a beautiful young woman with brown eyes and long chestnut hair. But the woman walking toward the restaurant is even more striking. She seems warm and real in a way that pictures seldom capture.

A few strands of hair slip from her braid. I watch in fascination as she tucks them behind her ear and glances around, revealing a small silver hoop and a light blush on her cheeks.

All my protective instincts kick in at once. That should alarm me—instead, I cross the sidewalk toward her. “Samantha?”

Her gaze meets mine. She stops breathing—or perhaps I do. Up close, I notice gold flecks in her eyes. She looks at me with open nerves and curiosity, not the careful distance I’d expected from a hired date.

“Mr. Jamison?” Her soft voice fills the air between us, and I feel the urge to hear her say my first name.

“Arch.”

Her lips curve. “Samantha.”

“I know.” Her smile widens at my reply. I want to see her smile at me again. “You look lovely.”

She lowers her head for a moment before meeting my gaze as her fingers brush the skirt of her dress. “I may have misunderstood the dress code.”

“You didn’t.” If anyone says otherwise, I’ll rip their tongue out.

“I saw a woman go inside wearing shoes that probably cost more than my tuition.” Her playful tone surprises me. I had expected a professional escort to be cool and aloof—but my Samantha is like a breath of fresh air.

“She’s overdressed,” I shrug, taking a step closer to Samantha.

“She was wearing diamonds.” She raises an eyebrow, as if daring me to argue with her.

“Still overdressed.”

Samantha laughs, and the tension I’d carried in my shoulders all week melts.

I offer her my arm, and she pauses for a moment before resting her hand on it. The contact is innocent, but my reaction is not. I feel warmth through my suit, pooling in my groin. I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anyone the way I want her—the feeling surprises me.