Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101264 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Pan is a short man with light-brown skin and a riot of short dark curls. He’s got a wicked sense of humor and an infectious grin, which he’s pointing our way right now. “Apollo.” He excuses himself from the hostess and rounds the stand with arms outstretched. “It’s been too long.”
“Pan. You look well.” I allow myself to be pulled into a quick hug. I don’t know that Pan and I are what could be termed friends. I enjoy his company and we’ve shared more than a few top-shelf bottles of liquor after hours, but we don’t see each other outside his place of business.
I turn him to face Cassandra. Here’s our first test. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Cassandra.”
She doesn’t flinch, but she does give Pan a dismissive once-over. “Nice place.”
He bursts out laughing, the joyful sound filling the entranceway. “You seem suitably impressed. I’ve never seen you in here before.” He takes her hand and presses a kiss to her knuckles. It should be a ridiculous move, but a blush steals across Cassandra’s cheeks, and I have the completely irrational urge to throw Pan into the koi pond. He glances at me, dark eyes alight with amusement. “She seems fun.”
“She is standing right here.”
“Indeed.” His grin widens. “I have the best seat in the house set up for you. Have fun, kids.” He clasps me on the shoulder and then he’s gone, striding down a side hallway that leads to the offices and kitchen.
The hostess, a petite white woman with pale-blond hair, smiles warmly at us. “This way, please.”
The Dryad is set up in a very interesting way, and I’m curious to see Cassandra’s reaction. I watch her closely as the hostess leads us up the tall staircase and into the main restaurant. It leaves quite the impression from above, the room comprised of three descending rings with a circular stage in the very center. The lower the circle, the better the seat is considered.
Personally, I prefer the higher ring. I like people-watching, and spending time in the Dryad is a good way to see where alliances stand with the various power players in the city. Naturally, tonight we’re led down to the very bottom ring. I press my hand to the small of Cassandra’s back as we descend, a thrill going through me at the casual touch. She’s so damn soft, I have to concentrate to keep my touch light and not let my hand stray.
Gods, I’m acting like an absolute cad.
I pull out the chair for Cassandra, moving too quickly and jerkily. She raises her brows but sinks into the seat. I can feel eyes on us as I move to sit next to her. An unconventional choice, maybe, but it will allow us to speak in softer voices. The walls have ears in this place.
Yes, that’s all. It’s certainly not because I want to be close to her, to have her thigh pressed to mine and her citrusy perfume teasing my senses, letting her presence distract me…
I realize my mistake the moment I sit down, but it’s too late. If I move, our audience might take it as a slight or use it as an excuse to gossip in a direction I don’t want them to go. I truly am acting like an unforgivable fool.
For once, Cassandra doesn’t appear to notice. She’s surveying the stage with a strange look on her face. “How can you stand this? Don’t you feel like a bear in a cage?”
“I prefer the upper ring.” I pick up the menu, mostly for something to do. “The tables up there are less sought out—comparably—but it’s a more…relaxing…eating experience.”
Her gaze tracks up. “Yeah, I get that.” She sighs and picks up the menu. “I’m going to be frank. I’m starving and you’re paying, so I’m going to order the most delicious thing I can find, and it’s not going to be a salad. If you are one of those people who feels the need to critique my food choices because I’m fat, I’m going to dump wine on your head and leave.”
I blink, trying to process the onslaught of information—and the implications. A slow anger flares to life in my stomach. “Do you make a habit of dating people who comment on your eating habits?”
“Not anymore.” She doesn’t look at me, but her hands shake a little where she holds the menu. “But I find it easier to state my intentions up front and avoid any bullshit. Or, more accurately, get the bullshit over with before it has a chance to ruin my meal.”
“Cassandra.” I cover her wrist with my hand, guiding the menu to the table. “Order what you want.” I should leave it at that, but the strange anger steals my best intentions. “And to be perfectly frank, fuck anyone who acts like you need to change your body to fit some bullshit beauty standard. You’re stunning.”