Dating Mr. Darcy - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,5

flies to the back of my head. The dress! It’s still hanging from my hair in a deeply unflattering way. Not that a dress can ever hang from your hair in a flattering way, but you get the picture.

“You can give it a shot, dude, but it’s really wedged in there.” I turn and the man unhooks the dress from my hair with ease. “How did you do that?” I ask.

“It was very easy, actually.”

Is there judgment in that tone?

I shift from the blinding lights to get a proper look at him for the first time. He’s a good-looking guy, there’s no denying it. He’s tall with dark brown hair. His eyes are brown and flecked with tiny chunks of gold that make them appear to sparkle in an unworldly way. Dressed in a perfectly-fitted tux, he positively radiates masculinity in a way I’m sure has made many a woman weak at the knees. The similarities between him and James Bond are not lost on me, particularly with that pompous English accent of his.

He holds the dress out to me. “Yours, I believe.”

And then the penny drops. I don’t even have the excuse of being slow on the uptake because I bumped my head.

He’s Mr. Darcy! This guy. The one with the smooth as silk, aristocratic voice, dressed to kill.

The guy who scooped me off the ground in a state of relative undress is the star of the show.

Humiliation seeps through me and my cheeks flame.

“What I would like to know is why you chose to make your entrance tonight wearing a dress in that most unorthodox fashion? Most women wear them on their bodies, I’ve found. Not attached to their hair.” His lips quirk into a smile, his eyes trained on me.

I narrow my own eyes. He’s mocking me, and by the look on his face, he’s having a good old time doing it, too.

I lift my chin and grasp at what dignity I have left. Which is not a lot, let’s face it. “It was a mistake. A wardrobe malfunction, if you will.” I attempt to smooth out what I know must be a bird’s nest of a hairstyle and try to salvage the situation. Which is a pretty tall order, I know. I lift my lips into a brave smile as my humiliation reaches all the way down to the tips of my toes.

He cocks an eyebrow. “That was less of a malfunction and more of a complete disaster, as far as I can see.”

Mockery does not look good on you, Fake Mr. Darcy.

“Thank you for the dress, even if my ego is a little dented right now.”

“As long as nothing else is dented?” he asks, a concerned look on his face.

Faking concern for the cameras after mocking the crap out of me? Oooh, this guy is good. He’s reveling in my humiliation, I can tell. As if an aristocratic, publicity-hungry snob like him would be interested in my well-being.

“Nope. Nothing dented. All good.” I lean in a little closer to him and do my level best to ignore his scent, a heady mixture of vanilla and musk with woody undertones. He might be a jerk, but he’s a jerk I need right now. “Look, dude. I know you’ve got some sway here.” I nod my head in the direction of the production crew, who are standing around us with cameras and notebooks. “Do you think I could get a do-over?”

“A what?”

“You know, a do-over.”

“Simply repeating the expression won’t help,” he replies condescendingly.

Oh, he is so enjoying this.

I decide to spell it out in no uncertain terms. “What I’d like is to get another chance at exiting the limo. You’re the big guy around here, right? I’m sure you can pull that off for me if you want to.”

“You would like the opportunity to step out of the limousine and meet me at the end of the red carpet, the way the other ladies have this evening? The ones who managed to actually wear their dresses?”

I ignore the jibe. “That’s right.”

“Uh, we don’t do that,” one of the people standing by the camera operators says.

“Why not?” I ask.

“I dunno,” the guy replies with a shrug.

“Because we want to see Mr. Darcy’s natural reaction as he meets each of the contestants,” a familiar voice says.

Awesome. It’s Mrs. Freaking Watson.

“I understand perfectly,” Fake Mr. Darcy replies.

I’m sure he does.

“Look, I don’t want to be seen falling out of a limo on national television,” I say to both of them.