“At two thousand calories a slice, I don’t indulge very often.”
He shoved a forkful in his mouth and spoke around his food. “You don’t look like you need to worry about your figure.” His gaze raked up and down her frame. Not exactly the desired response she wanted.
“Every woman worries about her figure.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve been told many times that skinny women don’t think about it much at all.”
“They’re lying.”
His brows turned up. “Really?”
“Really. Every woman would love to eat all the steak and pecan pie there is out there, but they know if they do they’ll be fighting the flab by the time they’re thirty.”
“Makes me wanna tempt you with my aunt Bea’s homemade pecan pie even more. It’s the best. This isn’t bad, but it has nothing on Aunt Bea’s pie.”
Jessie smiled despite herself. “And where is this Aunt Bea of yours?”
“Texas.”
“Does that mean you’ll be driving home for the long weekend?”
“You mean for Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah.” She poured him more coffee.
“Nope, not this time. Maybe for Christmas.”
“Do you go home often?”
He took his time answering. “Sometimes.”
Vague answer. Not that she should care.
Jack finished his pie while Jessie wrapped up two of her tables. Only a sprinkling of customers littered the restaurant when Jack suggested that Jessie sit and take a short break.
Instead, Jessie leaned against the counter and folded her arms over her chest. “Jack, listen, I’m flattered.”
“You said that last night.”
“And you obviously didn’t listen. I’m flattered, but I’m not going to go out with you.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
Her hands fell to her hips. “If you know, then why are you here?”
“I’m so glad you asked,” he said. He patted the seat next to him. “Sit, let me explain.”
Something in the way his eyes followed her around told her he wasn’t completely dispelled from the thoughts of dating her. If sitting would hurry him along, then she might as well get it over with. Jack distracting her all night would end with fewer tips than she needed.
When Jessie slid into the chair beside him, the scent of his cologne washed over her. Musk and spice, very masculine and very Jack.
Ignoring the fluttering in her stomach at sitting beside him, she said, “OK, explain.”
Tilting his hat back, Jack shifted in his seat to give his complete attention to her. “I’ve decided to help you.”
“Help me what?” She hadn’t asked for any help.
“Help you find the rich man of your dreams.”
Jessie’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“You said you only want to date rich men. Well, I know where you can find men like that, and I’m going to help you hook up with one.”
She’d never heard anything more ridiculous in her life. She didn’t even want to honor his words with a response. Jessie started to leave her seat when Jack stopped her by holding on to her arm. “I’m serious.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she snapped, doing her level best to ignore the heat of his touch.
“Just sit a minute and hear me out.”
Begrudgingly, Jessie sat back down and shook out of his hold.
“I realize you don’t want to date me. Which is a crying shame, since I think we’d get along great, but if I can’t convince you to go out with me, I can at least be a friend. Nothing wrong with having friends.”
“You and me…friends?”
“Friends. You have those, right?”
“Of course I have friends.” She wasn’t a complete loser. Yet when she thought about it, outside of her sister and a few waitresses at the diner, she didn’t know whom she’d call a friend. Most of her school friends had all gone off to college or somewhere new mothers didn’t. Sadly, Jessie’s friendship pool was rather shallow.
“Great. Friends help friends.”
“And you want to help me?”
“Yep. Do you know where The Morrison is, over by the airport?”
“The hotel?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, I know where it is.”
“Well, this Saturday night there’s a big Christmas cocktail party taking place. I happen to know plenty of deep pockets are going to be attending.”
She shook her head. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’ll get you in and point out the men who fit your wish list.”
The Morrison was a top-notch hotel that Jessie had never had the pleasure of visiting. She’d be lucky to afford a Motel 6. “Wait a minute. Let’s say you could get me in—not that I’d have anything to wear to a cocktail party at some fancy hotel, but let’s say you could. Why would a guy who admits to wanting to date me hand me over to a different guy?”
“I told you…I’m deeply wounded you don’t want to date me, but I get it.”
Deeply wounded. Talk about overkill.
“I’m not your type,” he continued. “The least I can do is determine if there’s someone I can help hook you up with to make you happy.”
That all sounded well and good, but something wasn’t right about the proposition. “How exactly are you going to ‘get me in’?”