Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129084 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“A double on the rocks. Thank you.”
“Noah?” Liv’s lips are parted as she stares at me.
Pointing at her almost empty glass, I add, “Another wine for the lady.”
“Yes, sir.” He disappears just as she scoffs.
“I wasn’t asking for another glass of wine. You shouldn’t be drinking a double before a work meeting.”
A chuckle escapes. “You’re literally drinking wine, and you’re going to lecture me?” I’m lost how she doesn’t see the hypocrisy.
“I was nervous . . .” She glances around the room, keeping me on pins and needles, but all she shares is an exasperated huff.
“You’re not the first to have a drink to calm their nerves. And,” I say, leaning closer, “we’re in the social hours of the evening. It wouldn’t be unheard of to have a drink during dinner with clients.”
Her gaze lengthens, not seeming to set on one particular thing. She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It was judgmental, and I didn’t mean. I just . . .” God, her eyes are gorgeous, especially when they’re staring into mine. “I don’t care that you’re having a double. Not to make excuses, but here’s one from me: my ex used to get wasted at events, so it was a trigger for me, but you’re not my ex.”
There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s referring to Chip. “I’m not your ex,” I say, keeping my voice low and intimate between us. I don’t want her on edge. I want her to enjoy herself, especially if it’s true that she never gets out.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. People have a way of fucking us up long after they’re gone.”
With her hands clasped in her lap, she nods. “You shouldn’t always be so understanding, Noah.”
“Will it make you feel better if I get mad? That kind of stuff doesn’t get a rise out of me. Even barely knowing each other, you already know I’m nothing like Chip.”
Her body bristles, her gaze falling.
The drinks are delivered, but I stop the server. “I’ll pay for this, but do you mind making it a single?”
“I’ll take care of it, sir.”
Reaching over, she touches my arm as it rests on the table. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. I wanted to. I had a bad day, but liquor isn’t going to fix it.” My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to read a text from Mr. Torres. My thoughts start to race because we haven’t gotten to the first course. If I tell her the news now, she’ll leave, and selfishly, I don’t want her to. I want her to stay.
“Is everything alright?”
I reread the message before replying to him. Tucking my phone back in my pocket, I lead with the truth. It’s the only way to keep things on the right path with her. “The Torreses had an emergency in London. Their jet awaits their arrival, so our meeting is off the table tonight.”
She sits forward with worry running through her expression. “Are you serious? What’s going on?”
“He didn’t go into detail. He’ll contact me when he has a chance to reschedule.”
“I hope they’re okay.” Troubling her lip, she shifts in the chair while looking around the restaurant.
“I think they’re okay. They have an office in London, so I’m sure it’s work-related.”
Taking a breath that fills her chest, she gets comfortable again. “It really is a beautiful restaurant.”
“It is.” I don’t want this chance with her to slip away, so I say, “What if we stay?”
“What if we have dinner together?” she says at the same time.
Laughing together releases some of the pent-up tension hanging in the air. This feels real, like I’m seeing the woman I met on the beach in the Hamptons again. “Gotta love when fate intervenes.”
She giggles, letting it trail off. “I didn’t take you as a romantic, Westcott.”
“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Bancroft.”
Her bare shoulders rise along with a devilish grin. The vixen. “We’ve got some time.”
“We sure do.”
12
Noah
“My stomach hurts from laughing so hard.” With her arms wrapped around her middle, she laughs to herself. She finishes her wine and tilts her head so sweetly to the side to watch me. “Why do I feel like you have stories lined up and ready for any situation?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“This comes so easy for you. You’re entertaining and funny. You have a million stories to share. Attractive,” she says with her first roll of the eyes this evening.
“So what you’re saying is I’m the full package?”
A giggle bubbles up, and she leans back, the most relaxed I’ve seen her since the Hamptons, maybe even more than then. That night wasn’t about this—talking, getting to know each other better, telling stories about dates gone wrong or most embarrassing moments. That night had a purpose, and I suppose I served it.