Velvet Devil

CAMILA

I'm ninety nine percent sure this is the worst date in history.

"You said you studied literature?" Reggie asks in the voice of a man who wasn't aware that women can in fact read. "Isn't that pretty useless? Did you just dream of being a McDonald's cashier, or what?"

Make that one hundred percent sure.

Since we sat down, Reggie's eyes have spent roughly equal time divided between my cleavage and the ass of the girl refreshing our water glasses. I heave a bitter sigh. I shouldn't have listened to Brianna when she told me to go with the little black dress.

I shouldn't have listened to her about the choice of venue, either. This restaurant is fancy, which means the service is slow, which means I'm stuck here for way longer than I'd like with Prince Not-So-Charming. Strike two for my dear sister.

"There are plenty of good jobs out there," I say to Reggie. "Teaching, for one-"

"Yeah, but who in their right mind wants to be a teacher?"

I bristle instantly. "Well, I do."

He laughs out loud. At least he has the decency to realize-a few seconds late, but better late than never-that I'm actually being serious. And also that laughing in the face of someone's hopes and dreams is a pretty dickish thing to do.

I glance at my fingernails and sigh again. Thirty-five bucks plus tip wasted on a manicure for a guy who pronounces "Françoise" the same way you say "Boise, Idaho." My life is a cosmic joke.

"You look really sexy tonight," Reggie says, changing the subject abruptly. He grins with wine-stained teeth. "No, seriously. That dress is, y'know... God fuckin' damn!"

The older woman with the pearl necklace at the next table over snaps a disapproving glance in our direction. I duck her eye contact-and as I do, I catch sight of someone reclining in the corner booth over her shoulder.

Instantly, it's like being hit by a lightning bolt. A head-to-toe jolt of crackling heat.

Even though the man is sitting down, he's obviously tall. And that face-all angular and cruel, with sharp cheekbones like a fashion model, plus a Superman jaw. His suit moves fluidly with his languid motions. It's not hard to tell that the fabric is ludicrously expensive. He has the gleaming watch to match.

I can't look away. That is, until he glances over at me and catches me gawking.

Shit-shit-shit! Turning away a little too fast, I feel like a complete moron. I can only hope that the blush on my cheeks isn't too obvious.

"You okay?" Reggie asks.

"I'm fine!" I screech, way louder than I mean to. Luckily, I'm saved when the waiter comes over with our meals.

He sets the plates down in front of us. I stare down at my squid ink ravioli with no appetite and the strange inkling that someone is watching me.

"Smells great, eh?" Reggie asks, digging into his steak immediately. He saws off a big