He said she would recognize him by his flag. Now, before entering the establishment, she swept the area with her eyes. Men in business suits crowded the seats. But not one wore a lapel pin.
Erika headed for the entry door.
“Miss Washington.” The voice had that down-home, Southern drawl.
She stopped to hunt faces. Maybe, she had neglected to spot someone she knew. Next, she thought, I don’t know anyone whose voice conjures up such intrigue.
Drifting back a step, she searched the shady areas of the courtyard. Instantly, Erika spotted the speaker. She laughed. The American flag was emblazoned across the chest of a mysterious-looking man in a black tee. He had that five-o’clock shadow, Gerard Butler thing going on and watched her from behind his dark glasses. How could I have missed that flag?
“Mr. Templet?” He snatched his head back in answer.
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.” He stood once she reached his table, shortening her five feet, two inches even more. “And my name’s Booker.”
Too familiar. Too soon. She wanted to be his web designer, not his friend. “You’re early.”
“Do I get points for that?” The seat he withdrew for her scraped the concrete.
As Erika reached for the chair, her satchel tangled in the seatback, throwing her off-balance. Fear consumed her. Her hands clutched her stomach. She squealed in distress as a firm yet comforting grip saved her from the fall.
“Thank you.” Erika’s heart pounded.
He sat her in the chair before he took his own. “Watch yourself, Miss Washington.”
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