Her confused gaze meets mine and I smile wide. I tuck my phone inside my inner pocket and approach her.
“I think the producers booked me on the wrong date,” I say.
“Wrong date? What do you mean?” she asks.
Someone’s on edge.
I give her a deliberate onceover. “I didn’t realize today’s show was about Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue cover models,” I smile.
“Hmph,” she pulls up her lips in an unimpressed curve. Most women would blush. Some would giggle. At least, laugh. Not her. “Cute, but don’t you think it’s a little overused?” the blonde asks.
I distinctly pick up on a bit of sarcasm.
Okay, perhaps not my best line, but what’s up with the hostility?
“It was meant as a compliment,” I say.
“Thanks, but not very original.” Ouch. “Just like, ‘Heaven must be missing an angel’.”
Okay. This one is going to be a tough nut to crack.
“Let me start over,” I say. “My name is Jace Halsey,” I extend my hand. “And you must be the lovely Eliana Pomeroy––the other guest.”
She looks surprised.
“You know my name?” she asks, shaking my hand.
“Of course. My publicist sent me a dossier––”
“That sounds top secret, don’t you think? It’s just little ol’ me… it’s not like I’m an undercover agent of a covert operation.”
Down, woman.
This conversation started on the wrong foot.
“I’m sorry. It feels like we have history together. Have we met before? I apologize in advance if I don’t remember.”
“Wow, you must meet a lot of women.”
I ignore the insinuation.
“I do. Just like I meet a lot of men. It’s part of the profession.”
“I bet,” she sneers. “We’ve never met. Not that you’d know who I was without that dossier.”
“On the contrary. I know exactly who you are,” I say.
She crosses her arms over her chest and adopts a defiant stance. In doing so, the lapel of her jacket opens slightly, revealing her best assets.
Very. Nice.
“My eyes are up here, buddy!” she snaps.
My gaze bounces to her narrow hazel green eyes.
She’s shooting daggers at me.
This woman went from stranger to enemy in a New York minute.