If she were more easily riled up, Melissa might have taken offense to that. But there was a certain game politicians and so forth play that always seems to drag their children in. Barbs formed by words were hurled at each other with sweet smiles over glasses of whatever expensive drink was being served that evening, and whoever cracked first was the loser. So it was with a slight, tinkling laugh that Melissa looked over him again and shook out blonde curls. “Only being honest, darling, not rude. The fact you can’t tell a cocktail dress from a staff uniform only cements my idea that you walked into the wrong bar.”
His stare remained steady or else his eyes would’ve rolled until they unscrewed themselves from their sockets. But that type of rudeness had no class, and no merits. His smile grew tight around the edges at the word “darling.” God. What was with women and calling strangers pet names? “Oh,” he chuckled, tilting his head to get a better look at her dress. “That’s so last season. I thought the manager decided to use passé fashion as aprons or something. Now I know. Thanks for correcting me.”
