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“No worries. I’m just glad you weren’t really calling me a dickhead.” He smiles, and my knees turn to rubber. Leaning forward on the counter, I brace my elbows on the granite and hold my phone in one hand. “Can we please start over?” I ask.
“Sure.” He shifts his position and I notice he’s outside.
“It’s great to meet you, Ryder.”
“And you, Calista.” My name sounds like a dirty promise coming from his masculine lips.
I sweep a dangling strand of brown hair away from my eyes. “I assume you’re calling about the auction prize you won.”
“Yes, I am. But I realize it might take some time before you can fit me into your schedule.”
“I actually had a last-minute cancellation for this weekend,” I say, lying. In reality, I purposely kept the two days open so I could have a little staycation and hang out with a couple of my friends. But now, that’ll have to wait. Cooking for a high-profile client like Ryder is an unbelievable opportunity that could bring more business my way. “Does that work for you?”
He smiles. “Absolutely. What time should I expect you?”
“That depends on what your schedule looks like. I’m going to text you a link for a questionnaire. If you could fill it out as soon as possible that would be helpful. Once I read through your answers, I’ll text to let you know what time I’ll arrive and what meals I’ll be preparing. That way if you’d like to make any changes to the menu, you can.”
“Don’t worry about letting me know what you’re making. I’ll eat anything. Oh man, I can’t wait. I’m sick of take out.” He grins, showing off perfect teeth, and I find myself smiling back at him.
“So, you don’t do a lot of cooking?”
“Not if I can help it. I know how to make the basics, but it’s not something I enjoy doing. Especially during the hockey season.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I know you’re busy, so I won’t keep you any longer,” he says.
“As soon as we’re done, I’m going to send you the questionnaire. Is this the number I should use?”
“Yep.”
“Okay. It was great talking with you. I appreciate how forgiving you were when I yelled insults at you.”
He laughs. “No problem. Besides, I’ve been called worse.”
“Well, you were very nice about it all. I look forward to meeting you in person.”
“Me too, Calista.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
“Bye.” His brown eyes lock with mine and then the screen goes dark.
Setting my phone down, I cross my arms on the counter and lie my head down on top of them, groaning. “Just kill me now, God.” Never in my life have I been so humiliated by something I’ve done. I lift my head and send Ryder the form link. “Oh well.” I push off the counter. “It’s not the end of the world.”
I make my way to the bathroom, and when I flip on the light, I get a good look at my appearance. “Fuck me.” Shaking my head, I stare at my disheveled reflection. My long, brown locks are in a haphazard knot on top of my head with loose strands hanging around my makeup-free face. There’s a smudge of flour on one of my cheeks and a streak of smeared chocolate on the other. And if that’s not enough, I’m wearing a tank top that saysWhisk Takeracross my chest.
I’m dead.
He must think I’m a hot mess. No, make that a crazy hot mess.
How will I ever face him?
* * *
My stomach dips and whirls like I’m on an amusement park ride instead of driving my mini van along South Carolina Highway 162. I’m a nervous wreck, and no amount of deep breathing can calm me down. Not even the fact that I’m well prepared seems to make a difference.
Before I left my home, I triple checked my list to make sure I have everything I need, but the irrational side of me is convinced I forgot something.
