The Mistletoe Promise by Richard Paul Evans Page B

called, unless you called to cancel lunch,in which case, I’m pleased to hear your voice, but not that you called.”
    I smiled. “No, I’m not calling to cancel. I just wanted to see if you would do something for me.”
    “Name it.”
    “Would you mind coming to my office today to get me for lunch?”
    “I would love to.”
    “I’m in office 322.”
    “I know.”
    Of course he did.
    “Thank you for the mirror,” I said. “It’s pretty.”
    “Like you,” he replied. “I’ll see you at twelve-thirty. Bye.”
    I hung up the phone. “Fat and bald with ear hair,” I said.
    Then I realized what I had done. He was going to meet perfect Zoey.

    Nicholas was punctual. I heard Zoey greeting him with her come-hither voice. “Hi. May I help you?”
    I waited inside my office, listening to the exchange. “I’m here for Elise,” he said.
    “May I tell her who’s calling?”
    “Nicholas,” he said.
    Long pause. “You’re Nicholas?”
    “You must be Zoey.”
    “Yes. I am.” I had never heard her sound so awkward.
    “It’s a pleasure meeting you,” he said.
    “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Zoey said.
    “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “I assumed that I was just one of Elise’s many men.”
    Zoey said nothing as I walked out. Nicholas looked over at me and smiled. He couldn’t have dressed better for his appearance. He looked gorgeous in an Armani suit with a crisp white silk shirt and crimson tie. “And there she is,” he said. He walked up to me and kissed me on the cheek. “I hope it’s okay I came by early.”
    “It’s fine,” I said.
    “Great. I was hoping you’d have time for me to take you to lunch. The owner of the New Yorker is a friend of mine, and he has a special table waiting for us. If you have time, that is.”
    Just then Cathy walked out of her office. She stopped when she saw Nicholas. She didn’t have to say what she was thinking. “Hi.”
    Nicholas stepped forward, offering his hand. “Hi, I’m Nicholas.”
    “Cathy,” she said, sounding unsure of herself. “It’s nice to meet you.”
    “Likewise,” he said. He turned back to me. “So the New Yorker is okay?”
    “Of course,” I said, doing my best to sound magnanimous. “Let me get my coat.”
    As I returned to my office I heard Nicholas say, “The table I can get with a phone call, but Elise, I have to pray she can fit me in.”
    I walked back into the room, and he reached out his hand to me. “Come on, gorgeous.”
    “Bye,” I said to Zoey. “I might be a few minutes late.”
    “Take your time,” she said meekly.
    As we walked out into the hallway, I just looked at him. He was smiling.
    “Thank you,” I said.
    “Is that what you wanted?”
    “That was perfect. Are we really going to the New Yorker for lunch?”
    “Of course. I told you I’d broaden your culinary horizons.”

    The New Yorker was just a few blocks from the mall. The restaurant didn’t have a formal dress code, but everyone inside was professionally attired. It was the kind of place where movers and shakers met and business deals were made. Needless to say, I had never been there before.
    After the hostess had seated us at a table for two, Nicholas leaned forward. “So tell me what that was all about.”
    “The girls in the office have been intrigued by the gifts you’ve been sending. I overheard them talking this morning. Zoey said, and I quote, ‘the amount of money a guy spends on a woman is in inverse ratio to his looks. He’s probably some fat, bald guy with ear hair.’ ”
    “Did I dispel any of that?”
    “I think you left them speechless.”
    “Good,” he said. “Fortunately I plucked my ear hairs this morning.”
    “That’s just wrong.” I laughed. “Can I tell you something honest?”
    “Of course.”
    “I didn’t want you to meet Zoey.”
    “Why is that?”
    “I was afraid you might want to trade up.”
    “No disrespect, but that would be like trading champagne for Kool-Aid.”
    I grinned.