Up to Date Read online

  Up to Date

  by

  Susan Hatler

  Up to Date

  Copyright © 2014 by Susan Hatler

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  Cover Design by Elaina Lee, For The Muse Designs

  www.forthemusedesign.com

  Titles by Susan Hatler

  An Unexpected Date

  Better Date than Never Series

  Love at First Date (Book #1)

  Truth or Date (Book #2)

  My Last Blind Date (Book #3)

  Save the Date (Book #4)

  A Twist of Date (Book #5)

  License to Date (Book #6)

  Driven to Date (Book #7)

  Up to Date (Book #8)

  Déjà Date (Book #9)

  Date and Dash (Book #10)

  Teen Novels

  Shaken

  See Me

  Praise

  “Susan Hatler has a knack for writing books that draw me in from the very first page!”

  — Books Are Sanity!!! on Love at First Date

  “Ms. Hatler has a way of writing witty dialogue that makes you laugh-out-loud throughout her stories.”

  — Night Owl Reviews on Truth or Date

  “Seriously you guys, you have to pick this one up if you are a romantic at heart. Deliciously sweet.”

  — Getting Your Read On Reviews on My Last Blind Date

  “An Unexpected Date is a wonderful and perfect release to a stressful or crazy day.”

  — Cafè of Dreams Book Reviews

  “If you enjoy a YA Romance jam packed with adventure and the unknown. I would recommend this fantastic read.”

  — Tifferz Book Reviewz

  Up to Date

  by

  Susan Hatler

  Chapter One

  It took me eight years to graduate from college. Now, at twenty-seven, I just realized I’d picked the wrong major. Kind of a painful revelation since I have a gazillion student loans draining my checking account every month.

  My parents had assured me that a business degree would open up a wide range of job opportunities. And they were right. Plus, I couldn’t hope to work for a better employer than Woodward Systems Corporation. They had hired me as a receptionist, promoted me within months, and treated me with all the respect an office manager could ever want.

  If only I weren’t bored out of my mind.

  I glanced around my office, which I’d decorated with fervor. Bright colors. Personal photo collages. I’d even painted the artwork myself. Decorating my office had been my favorite part of the job. Not a good sign for my future.

  My gaze drifted to the framed abstract watercolor painting I’d made in my evening art class. I’d originally signed up to be an art major at my local junior college here in Sacramento. But my parents had told me that wasn’t practical and had encouraged me to switch to business. By “encouraged” I mean that they’d ragged on me until I finally gave in and switched majors.

  Big mistake.

  I dropped my chin on my fist, turned toward my computer screen, and my eyes blurred as I tried to concentrate on the office supplies order I’d been putting together online. Pens. Staples. Copy paper. Ho hum. . . .

  The phone on my desk rang and, call me a dreamer, but I couldn’t help wondering if the universe was throwing me a bone. Maybe it was a headhunter who was looking for a decorator with no applicable degree and no practical experience. Yeah, not near the realm of likely.

  With a sigh, I lifted the receiver to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Hi. Is this Ginger?” a male voice asked.

  Tingles rolled through me as Greg Shaffer’s handsome face popped into my head. Almond-brown eyes. Sandy-brown hair. And an easy smile that made me go boneless.

  I’d met Greg a month ago while at a dance club. He and I had clicked immediately and the sizzle between us had been H-O-T. Then I’d found out what he did for a living: emergency room doctor. My dad had been an E.R. doc and the stress of the job had turned him into a raging alcoholic. Plus, his demanding career had left him zero time for his kids. Not going down that road, thank you very much.

  Luckily, Greg lived in San Diego so I told him I wasn’t into long-distance relationships. Was he in town? If so, how did he get my work number?

  “Um, yes. This is Ginger.” My dad loved two things: Gilligan’s Island and Scotch. The TV show came first, which my mom found so adorable she’d agreed to name me Ginger and my little sister Mary Ann. But the Scotch? Not so amusing. It was a wonder they were still married. “Who is this?”

  “I’m not sure if you remember me . . .?”

  Greg’s easy smile flashed in my mind, giving me the strong urge to forget that he wanted a big family and that I didn’t want the responsibility of kids. I contemplated hanging up the phone—

  “This is Bob Seaver. I work with Jill Parnell over here at Founding Friendships. You donated your decorating services for our charity auction this Friday?”

  Bob? Not Greg? I squeezed my eyes shut as both relief and disappointment flooded through me. My good friend Jill had recently started Founding Friendships—a homeless outreach program which provided food, shelter, counseling, job training, etc., to help homeless people get back on their feet. “How are things going with the auction?”

  “Better than we could’ve imagined.” His voice bellowed enthusiasm. “This is Founding Friendships’s first big fundraiser and we’ve received over four hundred pre-purchased tickets already.”

  “That’s incredible.” Not that their success surprised me. Jill Parnell excelled at everything she did. Unlike me, who hadn’t even had the guts to take the major I’d wanted. Sigh.

  “It’s definitely a collaborative effort, and we really appreciate your contribution.” He paused. “In that regard, I’m putting together a booklet of the auction items and I’m wondering if you have a website you’d like me to include for your business.”

  My brows came together. “My business?”

  “Yes. Up to Date? Says here you’re donating your decorating services to bring the winner’s home up to date. First consultation to be scheduled with the winner immediately.” His monotone voice made it sound like he was reading off the description Jill had given to him (and made up herself). “I figured you’d want to include your website for advertising.”

  Decorating had always been a hobby of mine and Jill had prodded me to offer my “services” after a recent barbeque I’d hosted at my condo. She’d raved over my décor and couldn’t believe I’d done it all myself. For the auction, she’d apparently dubbed my non-existent business Up to Date. “Um, I don’t have a website.”

  “All right. Just thought I’d check.” His voice drawled out as if he were writing something down. “Thanks again for donating to the auction. I’ll see you Friday night.”

  “See you then.” I hung up the phone an
d twisted my long, dark hair around my finger—ideas percolating in my brain.

  I closed my eyes and imagined myself in a career where I could throw my creativity into my work every day. Colors and fabrics danced through my head. Splashes of paint on canvas. Complete and total heaven.

  The phone on my desk beeped, yanking me out of the happy daydream. “Ginger?”

  I recognized Kaitlin’s voice immediately. She was the human resources manager at Woodward Systems Corporation and also a good friend. I picked up the handset. “What’s up?”

  “Something’s brewing with Rich Woodward, and he’s adamant about cutting costs in all departments A.S.A.P.” Her voice sounded strained. “I need you to find a more economical janitorial staff for our company.”

  The spot right between my brows started to throb. Searching for a cheaper janitorial service sounded about as stimulating as refilling the ink cartridge in my printer. “No problem. I’ll get right on it.”

  “Thanks.” She blew out a breath. “On another note, Paul and I are going to dinner before Jill’s auction Friday night, and he has a friend who’s single. Want to double date?”

  I blinked. Dating had been the last thing on my mind. Unfortunately, my track record with men ranked right there with my career choice (aka depressing). But I shouldn’t judge the entire male species based on Victor. Or Tyler. Or Anthony. . . .

  “Ginger?”

  “I’m here.” I looped my dark hair around my finger. “Just trying to decide if I’m ready to endure the pain. I mean, date again.”

  Kaitlin burst out laughing. “Stop over-analyzing and say yes. Trenton Davis is very nice. We’ll make a reservation for six o’clock. Bye.”

  “Trenton is the capital of New Jersey,” I said, but she’d already hung up.

  I placed the phone back in its cradle, wondering what Trenton—the guy, not the town—would be like, and if he’d possibly be a fun date. Without warning, almond-brown eyes once again appeared in my mind—followed by an easy smile that belonged on a front porch swing. I shook my head, then swiveled in my chair and clicked my mouse to pull up a search engine. Even though my career didn’t require a shred of creativity, it paid the bills. So, I had a job to do: locate a budget-friendly janitorial service.

  I didn’t have time to waste thinking about a non-existent decorating business or some guy I’d met on a dance floor a month ago. I needed to forget pipe dreams of an exciting career and forget Greg Shaffer. Thank goodness he was far away in San Diego. It’s not like I’d ever see him again.

  ****

  I pumped my arms as I jogged along the sidewalk, mesmerized by the fading deep red colors from the last of the sunset. The lights from the lampposts flickered on, illuminating my path. My mind had cleared two miles back and all I felt was the soothing, rhythmic pounding of my feet against the ground as I inhaled and exhaled the warm evening air.

  Running was my happy escape.

  My condo complex came into view and I slowed my pace to a walk. Sweat trickled down my temples and behind my ears. I swiped my forehead with the back of my hand as I approached the “For Sale” post for my upstairs neighbor’s condo—a giant “SOLD” sign now hung beneath the realtor’s ad. Interesting. . . .

  The young guy who’d been renting the unit above me stomped around on footsteps resembling a cattle stampede. He also threw way too many loud parties to suit my quiet lifestyle. When the condo had gone on the market as a short sale, I made my friends send a message to the universe to give me a quiet neighbor. Hey, couldn’t hurt.

  I pulled the key for my rental unit out of the pouch on my shoe and inserted it into the lock, which didn’t click as I turned it. This told me my irresponsible sister (and roommate) had beaten me home. Twenty-six years old and she couldn’t be bothered with the responsibility of locking our front door. “Mary Ann?”

  Unfortunately, the booming beat spewing from our living room speakers drowned out my voice as I walked in and kicked off my running shoes. Mary Ann had the television set to a music station. My head pounded from the high volume and the spot between my brows tightened. So much for the relaxing afterglow of my nightly run. I pressed the OFF button on the TV and was greeted with blissful silence.

  “Hey!” Mary Ann charged out of her room wearing a black shirt that, in my opinion, stopped several inches too short. She waved the mascara wand she was holding. “I was listening to that.”

  I strode to the kitchen, opened the cupboard, and reached for a glass. “The entire complex doesn’t want to listen to Lady Gaga at nine o’clock at night. We just got rid of the noise-maker upstairs.”

  She threw her arms wide and made an exasperated sound. “I’m going out and it’s my getting-ready music.”

  “Well, you don’t have to blast it at that head-splitting volume. Have some consideration for your neighbors, squint.” Mary Ann had been dubbed “squint” at age five after the squinty expression complete with pout, which she made whenever she wasn’t getting her way. If I were to attempt that pretty pout, I’m fairly certain I’d scare people. I pressed my glass against the water dispenser on the refrigerator. “Speaking of neighbors . . . did you notice the sold sign for the condo upstairs?”

  Her pouty face lit up immediately. “He’s already moved in. I watched him carrying boxes all day and he has arm muscles that give new meaning to the word sinewy. Yum.”

  I tossed her a chastising glance, then placed my glass into the dishwasher. “I’m sure whoever-he-is has a brain, you know.” And hopefully the decency to tread lightly so I wouldn’t have to hear his footsteps pounding across my ceiling at all hours.

  She rolled her eyes, then trotted after me as I headed toward my bedroom. “All I’m saying is that if I didn’t already have a date tonight, I’d be running upstairs to borrow a cup of sugar—if you know what I mean.”

  “I’m afraid I do.” I turned back to study my little sister, whose eyes danced with excitement. Mary Ann wore a midriff-baring sparkly pink tank top that complimented her petite figure and her honey-blonde hair. My heart tugged. She and I were like night and day. What I wouldn’t give to be the adorable, carefree sister instead of the tall, plain, responsible one. I lifted my chin. “Actually, I have a date, too.”

  Her brows crimped, then she placed her hand on her hip. “With who?”

  I shrugged, then headed into my en-suite bathroom. “Kaitlin’s fiancé has a friend, so they’re setting me up.”

  She leaned against the doorjamb, eyeing me critically. “Hmm.”

  Although I desperately needed to shower, her tone stopped me short. I crossed my arms, swiveled to face her, and frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing.” Her brows came together, then she threw her hands up. “It’s just . . . you need to be more discriminating with men so you don’t get your heart broken again.”

  My jaw dropped. “You mean like what happened to you with your last boyfriend?”

  She looked insulted. “Grif was never my boyfriend. He was just my . . . flavor of the moment.”

  I reached down and tugged off a sweaty sock. “Nice to describe your ex like an ice-cream cone.”

  “You can’t make a man be something he’s not.” She shrugged. “If a guy doesn’t make me happy, he’s gone. I don’t let them walk all over me, unlike some people. Ahem, Victor.”

  “I broke up with Victor eventually, didn’t I?” I yanked off the other smelly sock and tossed it in her direction.

  She dodged the stink bomb, wrinkling her nose. “Ease up. I’m just trying to help.”

  “I know.” I sighed, leaned back against the counter, then rubbed a palm across my forehead. “You’re right. I didn’t want to give up on him.”

  Just like I didn’t want to give up on my dad. He’d promised to go to rehab thousands of times, but had never followed though. Lifting my eyes, I met my sister’s gaze, and we exchanged a knowing look I felt deep in my gut.

  “You can’t make someone change if he doesn’t want to,” she said, her tone uncharacteristicall
y sober. After a long pause, she finally pushed off the doorjamb with her hip. “Life’s short. You need to implement a one-strike-and-you’re-out dating policy. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Maybe Trenton won’t get a strike. Maybe he’ll be the perfect date.” I raised an eyebrow. “Ever think of that?”

  “Isn’t Trenton the capital of New Jersey?” She laughed, then sashayed away in her tiny black skirt.

  “Lock the front door when you leave!” I pushed the bathroom door closed, leaned back against it, then snickered. Mary Ann was such a goofball.

  She did have a good point about men, though. I needed to accept that no guy would change unless he wanted to. Yes, exactly. So, I’d utilize her one-strike-and-you’re-out policy. Starting with Trenton this Friday night.

  ****

  After my double date dinner on Friday night, I strode through the marble lobby of the Geoffries hotel, listening to Paul and Trenton debate the value of shorting stocks (yawn). I still had a hard time believing Kaitlin’s fiancé was Paul Geoffries, owner of the super ritzy Geoffries hotel chain. He’d donated their ballroom as a location for Founding Friendships’s charity auction tonight. How’s that for mega-generous? Crossing fingers that his friend turned out to be just as sweet.

  When the four of us entered the grand ballroom, we were greeted with upbeat music jetting from the giant speakers that surrounded the DJ’s station, which was set up next to the wooden stage across the room. I eyed the rest of my surroundings. White and gold drapery, a brilliant crystal chandelier above us, and long sets of tables against the sidewall for the silent auction.

  My stomach knotted as I adjusted the top of my emerald green, strapless dress. I laced my arm through Kaitlin’s. “What if nobody bids on my auction? I can’t believe I let Jill talk me into donating when I have zero credentials.”

  She turned to me, her eyes widening as she flipped her silky red hair over her shoulder. “You’re an incredible decorator. I should know since you help me out all the time with my remodel.”