He Hurt Me, Now He Wants Me Back novel Chapter 14

Imogene Scott

The following night is a Friday night and I’m in my room, getting dressed for something that’s more like a date. I haven’t gone on one since Damien and I got divorced so Elinor is seated at the edge of my bed, judging me with those penetrating eyes of hers.

I’m meeting Keith Jordan tonight. More for Elinor’s sake than mine because she kept on insisting after she figured out who Keith is. I’m impressed, although I don’t intend to rely on any man to pay my bills.

I had texted Keith earlier this evening and told him to wait in his car in the parking lot for me. I don’t want people from the building to see us together since that’s where the gossip starts. Most of all, this is just a one time thing. Either it goes well or not, I’ll tell Elinor it didn’t and he never wants to see me again and that chapter becomes officially closed.

“So, how do I look?” I say, as I turn to face Elinor.

I’m standing in front of a mirror in a sleeveless black corset mini dress that stops mid thigh with a pair of heels. I don’t feel like myself but I manage to put on a warm smile for Elinor.

“You’re gorgeous, Imogene.” she says as she sits me down on a chair in front of the mirror. “Now let’s do a little make up.”

She ties my hair into a neat bun and skewers it. Then put a little bit of concealer on my face. The mascara, finishing powder, and lipstick. By the time I look at myself in the mirror, I’m surprised how well she’s done it. The makeup is perfect and it doesn’t look like I have any makeup on.

I grab my silver purse. I’m good to go.

“I’ll make sure to take care of Lily.” Elinor says before I can say anything. I try to hug her but she steps back. “Don’t smudge your makeup.”

She’s being dramatic but I still hug her anyway and then take a quick trip to the other room to check on Lily. She’s already asleep. Then I walk out of the apartment.

All through the elevator ride, I think of an excuse to go back home and just be with Lily instead of this fancy date. I can’t think of any so I just reassure myself that it’s just one date. It doesn’t seem to help though.

I get to the parking lot and I notice a car with its headlights on. I start to walk towards it, then open the door and slip into the passenger seat. I’m immediately greeted by Keith’s mouth watering scent—some kind of hot, sexy male pheromone that makes a shiver run down my spine. But in a good way.

“You look amazing, Imogene.” Keith is in a grey suit and his dark blonde hair is neatly styled.

I guess we’re calling each other by our last names now. Come to think of it, I’m a year older than him. “You don’t look bad…” I force myself to say his name. “Keith.”

“Well, we should be on our way.”

He starts the car and as he drives out of the parking lot, I find myself muttering to myself, “just one date.”

The drive is in awkward silence and twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of a Japanese restaurant. Japanese restaurants cost a fortune per meal, especially in LA. If he’s trying to impress me with an overpriced meal, then he’s got the wrong person.

As I step out of the car, I’m immediately enveloped by the cool air against my skin. I didn’t bring a coat. I shouldn’t have worn this dress in the first place. I make a mental note not to listen to Elinor ever again.

Halfway into the restaurant, Keith stops. Silently, he takes his coat and holds it out for me to put on. I want to protest, but a dark look crosses his face and I sigh. Turning around, I push my arms into the coat, turning back when his arm guides me before him.

A smiling maître d’ takes us to a table by the glass wall so we can get the view and the meal. The light is set low, the interior dark and sleek. There’s a hint of wine and rich sauces in the air. The center of the restaurant is a gigantic teppan station with a huge metal cooking surface and a counter with seats that wraps around it.

I text Elinor. [He brought me to a Japanese restaurant downtown.]

I drop my phone on the table and take in my surroundings. A chef in a uniform preps meat, seafood and vegetables at the station. Our server hands us our menus, but I leave mine on the table without opening it. I can’t read it anyway because it’s probably in Japanese.

Keith opens his and studies each page, his brow furrowed. “Can you read the language?” I ask him.

“Yes,” Keith says. “Do you already know what you want?”

“I’ll order whatever you’re getting, since I can’t read the menu anyway.”

He gives me a look. “It’s in English, French and Japanese.”

“What?” I open the menu. Sure enough, he’s right. There doesn’t seem to be a point in studying them, since all the offerings seem to be in “courses,” which I understand are set and cannot be changed. “I’ll still have whatever you’re having. I’m pretty sure everything’s good.”

He nods and drops his menu on the table. Our server appears immediately. Keith orders in Japanese, then the server confirms and leaves. His Japanese is good, and I’m afraid I’m too impressed not to ask him about it.

“Okay, so when did you learn Japanese?” I ask.

“When I was younger.”