“Bawk.”
“You’re a child?—”
“Bawk. Bawk.”
“And—”
“Bawk.”
“Ugh!” She tosses her hands up. “Fine. You really want to torture yourself by sitting across a table from me and buying me a meal? Great!”
“Great,” I repeat. “Dean’s. Seven o’clock tomorrow night.”
“I’ll order the most expensive shit on the menu,” she warns.
I shrug. “I have plenty of money.”
“I’ll—”
“Don’t go back to finding excuses and chickening out now, cookie.”
Her mouth drops open and I take advantage, stealing a short, hot kiss.
Then I take my victory and get the hell out of there.
Though, I can’t resist calling, “Seven. Dean’s,” just before the door shuts behind me.
I don’t miss thethunkthat tells me something very heavy was thrown at it a mere heartbeat after my exit.
I’m grinning as I walk down the hall to my condo.
And I dream of brown curls, soft smiles, and emerald eyes.
Mine.
Twenty-Five
Marie
I’ve beena wreck all day long.
Jumpy. Off-kilter.
Forgetful.
The only good thing is that Jean-Michel is out of town.
So, he wasn’t there to witness my failings…and then press me into spilling my guts.
I’m sure he’ll hear about it.
Attie had sure looked at me sideways during our brief meeting—I’d pulled together some additional material for her and her team—but the case with Angela was heating up so rapidly that, luckily for me, she was too busy to really interrogate me.
Likely, that will come soon enough.
And likely, none of those will come soon enough to get me out of this date.
I thought about blowing it off, disappearing to a hotel again, maybe scheduling an emergency business trip to take care of something extraneous and unimportant…but something that needed to be taken care of in a time zone far, far away.
