Fury was the bane of my existence.
So were men.
That’s why being here was a bad idea.
I had five seconds to reel in my anger before unlikely candidate number ten sat down.
“Hi,” he said, staring. “Wow. You are fucking beautiful. I can only clearly envision how you’d look writhing underneath me.”
“I beg your pardon?” This had to be a joke, a prop sent over by Donatello to make his point. He was watching, his stare as close to a leer as the dangerous man could offer. Some people within the family organization said the man had no conscience, no ability to feel guilt of any kind. While I’d never seen him hunt, capture, and kill a man, I’d heard stories that should make my blood curdle.
Not this girl. I’d thought his acts of loyalty and bravery were delicious.
What was I doing? Being silly. The man was annoying on any day of the week.
“A decent icebreaker. I’m certain you’re heard every other line. I just wanted to be different.”
I glanced at the contestant’s nametag and sighed. There was something annoying about the name Bartholomew and I wasn’t certain why. “Well, you did that. Tell me, Bartholomew, what do you do for a living?”
“Surgeon.”
“Oh, saving lives must feel incredible.”
“Cosmetic surgeon.” Now I understood why he was scrutinizing my face. He was checking to see how much money he could make from working on me.
Evidently, I touched myself because he laughed.
“Don’t worry, Emmeline, you are perfect.”
A few seconds later, I realized he’d used my entire first name, not Emme that was on the nametag. My instincts were to grab my purse, which I did. After that, I yanked the sheathed Japanese dagger into my hand, finding the handle. “How did you know my name?”
My voice was gritty, threatening and the poor guy opened his eyes wide.
“I’m sorry. I just assumed. My sister’s little girl is named Emmeline and we call her Emme.”
Damn it. With rage in my mind, I threw Donatello a very nasty look. His crazed insistence I was in danger had made me an instant fucking maniac. That had obviously been his intention. “Ah, yes. A natural assumption.”
Poor Bartholomew was obviously a little freaked out. Maybe he even sensed I had a weapon in my hand. However, the guy made the cardinal mistake of reaching across the table and gripping my forearm.
A split second didn’t have time to pass before Donatello pushed his way off the wall, unbuttoning his jacket and preparing to reach for his weapon.
I shook my head so violently my speed date’s eyes opened wide. Bartholomew’s fingers curled and he jerked away as if burned to a crisp, even shoving back the seat the moment he’d thrown his head over his shoulder in Donatello’s direction.
The closest tables were suddenly paying attention to the mild ruckus. I always knew when someone noticed a weapon by the deer-in-the-headlights wide eyes they presented. Great. At this point, I would get Kylie and myself tossed out.
With exaggerated lip movements, I mimed ‘get out.’ Even for the handsome but annoying Italian, he should easily be able to read my lips. If not, I’d be happy to provide a more personal experience.
At least Donatello got the message, backing off. Like a vampire disappearing into the night. Maybe he could use his bat wings to fly away.
“I can tell we’re not suited. It was lovely to meet you.” Bartholomew backed away quickly, fading into the shadows of the bar. The poor guy would need tequila after the experience.
So would I.
Donatello was still on edge and once again, I shook my head, snarling even as the final date slipped onto the seat.
“Well, hello there,” I purred. Why not try to be nice?
The four minutes went by quickly and I was a free woman. Jerking up from the table, I was the first to drop off my score cards to be tallied then immediately headed for the bar.