Meet me at Restaurant Saint Germaine at seven on Friday.
I glanced at my text to Evie once more just to confirm the time and then checked my watch. Five after. She was always punctual, if not early, and I was starting to think I was about to get the blow-off.
The week at work had gone by at a snail’s pace. Once I’d smoothed over the whole c**k-up with Arabella, largely helped by the fact that Evie had indeed hit the ad campaign out of the park, there had only been mundane number-crunching to focus on. That left way too much brain space for me to think about Evie. The kiss in the copy room, and most of all, our date tonight.
I settled into my seat at a corner booth of the famed restaurant and glanced at the door again.
If there was even going to be a date.
She’d said yes when I texted
