Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“I won’t bite.”
Somehow my cheeks flame even hotter, and I do as he says. I slide around the circular table, and he pulls me in close. I stare at my hands in my lap, my fingers twisting around each other. I just need to calm down.
Soft classical music spills from the speakers above us and being so far in the back, it’s slightly darker here, cozier.
He only wants to feed me.
The thought makes me roll my eyes, but at least it puts me at ease.
“I like the privacy,” Derek says, breaking the silence. I don’t have a moment to respond.
“Good evening Mr. Wade, my name is Peter and I’ll be your waiter for the evening,” a young man says as he approaches the table. He gives me a small, polite smile as he places a bread basket in front of us before turning his attention to Derek.
The waiter has a bit of an accent, and it takes me a moment to realize he called Derek, “Mr. Wade.” He can’t be any older than twenty. I’d be shocked if he is. He pulls out his pad and a pen to take our orders. His stubble is spotty. He’s definitely still just a kid.
“Could you bring us a bottle of Montoya Cabernet? Scampi for our appetizer, but don’t wait on our entrees to bring it out. And we’ll split the penne and the risotto.” Derek looks across the table at me, handing the menus on the table to the young waiter. “You’re gonna love it.” He smiles a sweet, reassuring grin as he adds, “Trust me.”
God help me, I do trust him.
“Of course, Mr. Wade. I’ll be right back with your wine,” Peter says as he bows his head and turns toward the kitchen.
I finally look up at Derek, and I’m shaken up by how at ease he seems. I still can’t get over the fact that he owns this place. That he took me here. I didn’t expect this. Ever. No man has ever held a candle to Derek, but I hadn’t ever pictured him back in my life. Now I don’t know how to handle this.
If only he’d stop being a dumbass and quit dealing. I grab my white cloth napkin and shake it out, laying it on my lap. It pisses me off.
I don’t understand why he’d settle on something like dealing when he has legitimate businesses like this. I wish he’d just stop. I would cave to him the moment he did. I’d be his in a fucking heartbeat.
“Tell me why,” I say once the waiter is out of earshot.
“Why what?” he asks, grabbing a small slice of bread from the basket the waiter left on the table. He rips it off rather than cutting it all the way through.
Before I can answer him, Peter returns with our wine, setting the wine glasses down gently and pouring the dark red liquid into the glasses easily. Derek has him pour some wine in each of our glasses, the rich aroma filling the private space between us.
“Your meals will be out shortly, sir,” Peter says before heading back down the row of tables.
I turn to face Derek with my shoulders squared. My knee hits his by accident, but that gets his attention. “Tell me why you do it.”
He puts his glass down after taking a long sip, and sighs, looking away from me. I can tell he’s not happy I’m asking, but I need to know. His brow is pinched, and he taps his knuckles on the table a few times before looking back at me.
“Emma, you need to stop,” he says forcefully. The stern look he gives me would have scared me if it were anyone else. I’m not going to give up though. He should know me better than that.
"Just answer me first, please. I need to understand," I plead softly. I hold his piercing gaze, ignoring the chill in his eyes.
He sighs again, tossing his white cloth napkin on the table in front of him and setting his elbows on the table. He steeples his fingers and leans his forehead against them. My heart thuds in my chest. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t. But I can’t say yes.
Finally, he looks at me. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Emma. I made a choice when I was a kid.” He leans back, his lips set in a firm line. “I got involved with men who held it over me. They threatened me, so I stayed in line," he answers, exasperated.
"D-do they still?" I ask, afraid to hear the answer. My blood heats with anxiety.
“They’re dead.” His words are soft, but they fall hard. “Where they belong," he adds and waits for my reaction. His eyes have never looked so cold. So empty. Devoid of the other side of him that I know so well.