Her Coworkers Sent Her to a Millionaire’s Blind Date as a Cruel Joke, but He Was the One Left Speechless When She Walked In

Emma Collins knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into the restaurant and saw three of her coworkers hiding behind the enormous flower arrangement near the bar.

They were supposed to be twenty minutes away.

Instead, Tessa Reed ducked behind a vase so quickly that she nearly knocked over a champagne glass.

Emma stopped beneath the crystal chandelier, rain still glistening on the shoulders of the navy dress she had borrowed from her upstairs neighbor. Around her, waiters moved silently between white linen tables while men in tailored jackets discussed business over bottles of wine that probably cost more than Emma earned in a week.

Then she understood.

The blind date was the joke.

And she was the punch line.

Emma could have turned around.

Every instinct told her to.

Then the man seated alone at the corner table looked up.

For the first time in years, Caleb Whitmore forgot what he had been about to say.

Emma wasn't polished like the women his grandmother usually introduced him to. She didn't enter as though the room belonged to her. She stood near the host station clutching an inexpensive purse with both hands, clearly deciding whether to stay or disappear.

Her dress was simple.

Her hair had gone slightly wavy from the rain.

Her eyes looked terrified.

And somehow, Caleb couldn't look away.

He rose from his chair.

"Emma?"

She swallowed.

"Caleb?"

A smile touched his mouth. "Unless we've both been lied to."

Emma glanced toward the bar.

Tessa's face vanished behind the flowers again.

"Oh," Emma whispered. "I've definitely been lied to."

Caleb heard the change in her voice.

"What happened?"

Emma forced a smile. She had been doing that most of her life.

"Nothing."

It was the answer she gave when customers at Maple & Rye Bakery snapped their fingers at her.

The answer she gave when the landlord raised her rent.

The answer she gave when she skipped dinner so Mrs. Evelyn Brooks, the elderly woman she helped four nights a week, wouldn't realize Emma had spent her grocery money picking up Mrs. Brooks's prescription.

Nothing.

She had learned that people became uncomfortable when poor women told the truth about how exhausting survival could be.

So Emma pulled out the chair.

"I apologize for being late."

"You're four minutes late."

"I know."

Caleb glanced at his watch. "I was considering filing a formal complaint."

Emma stared at him.

Then she realized he was joking.

A small laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Across the restaurant, three women who had expected a disaster exchanged irritated looks.

The evening was already going wrong.

Emma had worked at Maple & Rye for nearly four years. At twenty-seven, she was the person who arrived before sunrise when the baker called in sick, stayed late when someone else's child had a fever, and remembered that Mr. Franklin at table six wanted his coffee half regular and half decaf because his cardiologist had frightened him into reducing caffeine.

That reliability had earned her affection from customers.

It had not earned her much respect from Tessa, Brooke Ellis, or Marcy Lane.

They called Emma "Saint Emma" whenever she gave leftovers to the homeless shelter.

They made jokes about her thrift-store coats.

When Emma admitted during a slow afternoon that she hadn't been on a date in almost three years, Tessa had smiled.

"We can fix that."

Emma should have recognized the smile.

Tessa told her a customer had mentioned a successful grandson who was "painfully awkward with women."

Brooke added that he was probably short.

Marcy insisted he was desperate.

When the reservation card arrived at the bakery, they practically pushed Emma out the door.

They even helped choose the borrowed dress.