A Sketch Away from Perfect

Double Trouble

Harper

“You slept with him?!” McKenzy’s jaw goes slack. It’s the next morning, and we’ve finally gotten a chance to talk. When I got home the night before, I took a shower and crashed. Hard.

“Announce it to the whole apartment complex, why don’t you?” I hiss. “And yes. I slept with him. It was amazing.”

“Amazing? It says on the website you don’t have to do the whole escort thing!” she says. “Did we forget the website?”

I snort. “I didn’t do it because I thought I had to. I wanted to. We really hit it off.”

“I’ll say. You slept with him on the first date. And it wasn’t even a proper date!” She all but wails.

“Dramatic much? You’ve done it before,” I remind her.

“Yeah, but you’re not me.” McKenzy paces around me, looking me up and down. She pinches my arm.

“Hey!” I gripe.

She nods. “Okay, so I’m not dreaming.”

“You’re supposed to pinch yourself!” I pinch her back.

“Ouch! Fine, fine, okay. We can be super sluts together then. But honestly, Harper, you need to stop copying me. I’m sure your parents would agree, I’m a bad influence.” She grins.

My parents. “Oh, fuck.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to tell them or anything. Calm down.” McKenzy rubs my back as I sink into a chair. “They can’t still think you’re a virgin or anything like that.”

I look up at her.

She blinks. “Okay, so maybe they can.”

“They’re very religious,” I remind her. “If they knew I’d kissed a man on the first date, they’d lose their shit.”

“We’ll just say you held hands, if they ask—”

My phone dings the particular sound the At a Loose End app makes.

We both look at it. “You did give him your phone number, right?” McKenzy asks.

“Yeah, I did.” I unlock my phone and stare at the screen. “It’s another date.”

“Well, yeah, if he wants another date, he doesn’t have to buy it. You’re not a sugar baby.”

“It’s not him. It’s someone named Damien,” I reply, scrolling through the request. “He needs a date for an art gallery opening tonight.”

“That’s short notice.” McKenzy leans over me, sounding affronted on my behalf.

“It is,” I agree. I hover my finger over the ‘Reject’ button.

She grabs my wrist. “What are you doing?”

“I’m rejecting the request. I mean, I’m dating Scott now. I should probably take my whole profile down, actually,” I muse.

“So, Scott’s going to pay your rent now?” she asks.

I frown. “What do you mean? Of course not!”

“That still leaves you with the money problem, honey,” McKenzy points out. “If you’re not getting it from Scott, where’s it going to come from if not another date?”

Oh. f**k.

“But what’s Scott going to think?”

“Did he ask you not to take any more dates?” She folds her arms under her chest.

I rub the back of my neck. “No. But I thought he’d assume…”

“Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. Besides, look at what this Damien guy is offering for the late notice. Get on it, girl!” McKenzy encourages me.

“I’ll message him,” I say after a beat. “If it all seems fine, then maybe, maybe I’ll accept the date.”

She grins. “There’s the spirit!”

“I said maybe,” I remind her.

“Yeah, yeah, get to your messaging.” She waves a hand.

I go to my message center and start typing.

ArtIsMyLife33: Hi! I’m Harper. I see you sent me a date request.

Damien4: Yes. Is there a problem?

Ah. Right to the point then.

ArtIsMyLife33: No, no problem! It’s just short notice and I like to feel a guy out before I go on a date with him. You know, ax murders, stranglers, kidnappers…

Damien4: I am none of those things. Every client on this site is vetted. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m very busy. You can accept the date or reject the date and I’ll find someone else.

I look at the zeros after Damien’s offer and ponder the brusqueness of his response. My jaw hits the floor. This guy is loaded. Well, it’s not like I’ll be physically attracted to him. I may as well make some cash.

ArtIsMyLife33: I’ll take the date.

Damien4: Good. I’ll see you at 7:00 PM. Please text me your address so I know where to pick you up.

I hesitate. Do I want any of these guys to have my home address? We do have good security at my building, so I send it to him.

The message is received, and then Damien signs off, abruptly cutting off our communication.

“Okay…” I mumble. I go up to my profile and accept the date.

“There, see? That’s this month’s rent and groceries taken care of!” McKenzy crows.

I jump. I’d forgotten she was here. She didn’t see how much money it was, so she has no idea–it’s a lot more than one month’s rent.

She laughs. “Now we just need to find you something to wear. A gallery opening? How fun!”

“Right. A dress, I’m sure.” I Google the gallery and realize I have absolutely nothing to wear and McKenzy doesn’t either. This gallery is far too high-end for any dress that comes off the rack. Any rack.

“I’m screwed.” I groan, thinking of just how much money it’s going to take to get a decent-looking dress. It’ll be more than Scott paid me, for sure, and that’s all I have in my account at the moment.

My cell rings. I look down and see it’s the front office.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Harper. This is Trish in the office. We just received a couriered package for you. The courier said it was urgent,” Trish tells me.

I look at McKenzy, who shrugs, just as bewildered as I am. “Okay. I’ll be right down.”

McKenzy joins me as I go downstairs. “Gotta see what this is!” she remarks.

When we arrive in the office, Trish is holding out a big, flat, white box. “This just came for you,” she repeats as though she didn’t just tell me over the phone.

“Thanks,” I say, taking the box.

“Let’s go find out what it is!” McKenzy whispers excitedly.

We go back up to the apartment, set the box on the table, and I take off the lid.

There, nestled among soft tissue paper, is a gorgeous red dress.

“Holy s**t,” I mumble while McKenzy pulls the dress out.

“Oh, my God, where did this come from?” she asks, holding it in front of herself. “It looks like it’s just your size too!” She dangles it in front of my body, looking at it critically.

I see a flat card at the bottom of the box and pick it up. In bold handwriting, it reads:

Miss Ward,

I knew you would need appropriate attire for tonight.

Please forgive my intrusiveness in procuring your address.

Sincerely,

Damien Blackwood.

McKenzy chokes on her tongue. “D-Damien Blackwood?!”

“What?” I ask. “Who’s that?” I’m still trying to decide if I’m touched or creeped out by his gesture.

“Only one of the richest men in the United States!” she shouts.

I suddenly feel my stomach drop out. “Excuse me?”

“Ugh, Harper, you are so out of touch! Blackwood Enterprises? They just bought a chain of banks for like a couple billion dollars?” McKenzy takes my hands and starts dancing in a circle. “Girl, you have finally arrived!”

“But I really like Scott,” I remind her.

“Screw Scott! He’s a little fish in a little pond. Honey, you need to land this whale! All your troubles will be over,” she says gleefully.

I pull my hands away. “McKenzy, I don’t care that much about money. I’m not going to get myself a sugar daddy to pay my rent.”

“You need a sugar daddy to pay your rent,” she sniffs. “By the way, when he buys you a penthouse, you remember the little people like your best friend McKenzy, right?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s one dress and one date. What’s the most that could happen?”

“Just keep your options open, that’s all I’m saying.” She smiles mischievously.

Shaking my head, I take the dress into my bedroom and slip it on. It fits perfectly. Was he searching dates by their measurements so he could have the girl fit the dress? Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I put on my best jewelry, Grandma Ward’s diamond earrings and matching pendant, then realize I still don’t have proper shoes.

I swing my door open to find McKenzy standing there, holding the perfect pair of Stewart Weitzmans. “Thank God you’re a shoe junkie.”

“I know. You love me for it.” She sets them on the concrete floor, and I slip them on. “And thank God we’re the same shoe size.”

“Agreed,” I reply.

“Okay, do the little twirl. I know you want to.” McKenzy grins at me.

Despite my nervousness over the date with one of the richest men in the country, I have to laugh. I turn in a circle for her. She primps and fluffs and finally stands back, satisfied.

“Go get ’em, girl!” she says.

“It’s just a date!” I reiterate. I glance at my phone. “And I’ve got hours. I’m going to go change and catch up on some artwork.”

“All right, but when it’s time to go, you’re going to knock him dead!”

I roll my eyes and go back to my room to take the dress off before I ruin it. I lay everything out for later and then get to work. I’m lost in my artwork when my phone dings. I look down, hoping it’s Scott.

It’s not. It’s from an unknown number.

“Forgive the intrusion, but I wanted to let you know I’ll be there to pick you up in thirty minutes.”

Oh, f**k! What time is it? I barely shoot off an answer that I’ll be ready and then rush to get back in the dress and fix my makeup. Smokey eyes are never easy!

My phone dings again. “I’m downstairs and hoping you’re ready early. I like to get to these things on time.”

Fashionably late. Right. I add his number to my contacts.

Harper Ward: As a matter of fact, I am ready. I will be right down.”

Damien Blackwood: Excellent, thank you.

I turn to McKenzy. “He’s here.”

“What? He texted you? How the f**k did he get your number?!” she gapes.

“I don’t know. Rich guy access?” I speculate.

“Huh. Okay, don’t let him do anything weird to you,” she says, suddenly suspicious.

“Oh, so what happened to ‘landing the whale’?” I ask cheekily.

“That was before I knew he had a stalking fetish,” McKenzy grumbles. “Be safe. Text me before he goes all Christian Grey.”

I dump what I need from my silver clutch into my black one. “Yeah, right. Honestly, McKenzy, it’s just one date and it’s for pay. I don’t see myself ending up in a playroom with a ball gag in my mouth.”

“Uh-huh.” She looks skeptical but still shoves me out the door. “Good luck!”

“I’m not going to need luck,” I scoff, heading to the elevator. No way I’m taking the stairs in these shoes.

I walk out the front door and stop in my tracks. There's a stretch limo with an honest-to-God uniformed driver, hat and all, holding the door to the back seat open.

“Holy s**t,” I whisper under my breath.

I start toward the limo, but instead of me just sliding inside, Damien Blackwood himself steps out. He looks a bit grumpy for a moment, like that’s his usual disposition. Then his frown fades, and he gives me a smile. “Miss Ward,” he greets me in a deep, velvety voice.

My jaw is on the sidewalk. I have to remind myself to close my mouth. Damien Blackwood is hot. Tall, dark, and handsome hot.

“Uh, H-Harper, Mr. Blackwood. Harper’s just fine,” I manage. His green eyes are sharp, intelligent and hungry. He has the eyes of predator–or a man who has the skills to make billions in the boardroom.

“Damien, please,” he responds. He takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “You’re even more breathtaking in person.”

My knees go weak when his lips brush against my skin. “Thanks,” I murmur. “You aren’t so bad yourself.”

Damien gestures to the open limo door and helps me inside. “We’re ready to go, Frederick,” he tells the driver once he’s settled in beside me.

He smells like some undefinable high-end cologne. Every time I breathe it in, I want to swoon.

“I’m sorry about the late invitation and contacting you directly by phone. I was able to locate your number through my… associates,” Damien says, though he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

I know I’m not. “That’s okay. I was having a dress dilemma right when you sent the package anyway.”

“I confess, I was going to send that dress to a young woman I was dating, but we had a rather messy break-up last night. I looked you up by your measurements,” Damien confirms. He looks me up and down and my skin positively sizzles. “You wear it better than she could.”

“Thanks,” I reply awkwardly. We pass a tan sedan I think I recognize, but I’m too flustered to give it much thought.

“And that’s the last I’m going to say about any other woman tonight.” Damien smirks. He rests his hand on mine on the seat between us.

I swallow. Lord, am I in trouble!