I waited for Jason at a tiny table just outside the bistro he’d told me to meet him at. Only a few of the other tables were occupied this time of the afternoon. Sunglasses hid my eyes which drifted from the other tables to the people passing by. Thanks to a couple of years of high school French, I knew a few words, but nowhere near the level to pick up the mixed and murmured conversations around me.
In any normal situation, I kept my eyes open. As much as Mom overreacted, I always paid attention to my surroundings, especially when I was alone. They seemed extra flighty today. Mom’s fault. Either the human trafficking idea she’d put in my head, or the news about my father.
My eyes closed and I took a deep breath. As moments went to process something like this, now sucked. Jason expected the bubbly, carefree but oh-so-naïve Emma to gaze at him in wonder of his worldliness, not a girl moping about a father she barely knew. I’d taken advantage of the minibar in my suite already, trying to banish those thoughts.
When my eyes opened, they darted around the area in another sweep while I kept my head facing my phone. Nothing, as I expected. A couple walked past, their backs to me now. A mop of curly, sand-colored hair topped the man’s head.
Ian? I blinked and realized how wrong I was. He was shorter and thinner than Ian.
Maybe I shouldn’t have finished the champagne, or the little bottles of rum in the hotel. Now I was seeing things?
Another town car pulled up in front of the hotel and saved me from my spiraling thoughts. I plastered my innocent smile on thick and watched Jason step out of the back. He turned and peered over the car toward the bistro. I waved like a puppy greeting its master. A wide smile cracked his fleshy face and he offered a slight nod. A man of his station couldn’t be seen as undignified.
He threw his arm out, slapping his briefcase into the driver’s gut, almost bowling the reedy man over. After pointing to the hotel, he walked around the car and hurried across the street.
“Well, don’t you look pretty as a peach?” he said in a practiced Texas drawl. “I should have just walked out of the negotiations. You were all I could think about for the last hour.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I gushed wide eyed, forcing a deep breath. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come if I’m going to get in the way.”
“Nonsense, if I didn’t have you here waiting for me, I’d probably have let those Saudis talk my damn ear off.” He patted my arm.
I glanced at the contact and dropped my eyes, like the shy girl he wanted me to be. He took his hand away and smiled before sitting across from me. His head turned toward the inside of the cafe and moved to point, but a waiter was already rushing to help him. I was in the service industry myself and could spot a big-tipping whale.
Not in the physical sense. Jason had played college football when he was my age, Ivy League, but still football. Thirty-five years later he’d put on a few pounds, gone gray at the temples and was thinning at the back. I’d seen a lot worse.
“You guys know what I like,” he said to the waiter, “but two glasses today. We’ll order food when we have our wine.”
The man nodded and rushed back into the cafe. A loud engine roared from the street. We both turned to find it. A semi-trailer towing a shipping container crept down the street.
“He’s a little lost,” Jason chuckled. “We’re nowhere near the port or a motorway. Probably a new driver.”
The waiter returned while we had our eyes on the errant truck. Jason glanced back at his wine glass filling. My eyes remained on the truck. It had turned out of view at the end of the block before I looked to the glass of red in front of me.
The waiter turned away, bottle in hand. Jason held his arm out for it and stared at the man. The waiter had the same sandy curls that had sent my thoughts to Ian. He wasn’t the same waiter as before. He snatched a chair from a nearby table and he dropped into it.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jason demanded.
The waiter tipped back the bottle, gulping at the wine. When his clean-shaven face faced forward, his eyes found mine, a winning smile beaming. I blinked, expecting to see someone else, then blinked again before taking in Ian’s beardless features.
“Chateau Margaux, 2000,” Ian said before gulping from the bottle again. “Are those hints of cedar under the jammy overtones?”
“This is highly irregular,” Jason stammered like the hoity toity Yalie he was, no hint of the Texas drawl. “If you think I’m going to pay for that, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Drink up then.” Ian held the bottle up. “It’s on me.”
He motioned toward Jason’s glass until the older man picked it up. He sniffed the glass deeply, swirled it and took a sip. Despite himself, a contented sigh escaped his lips. He glared at the bottle Ian held.
“Don’t let the boys drink alone, Emma,” Ian said, pointing his bottle to my glass. “It’s a thousand-dollar bottle of wine.”
I gulped half my glass.
From the moment I’d realized it was Ian, I’d focused on salvaging the situation. I’d only just hooked Jason. A man who would buy a thousand-dollar bottle of wine for a small-town girl who couldn’t legally drink in that small town, had it to burn. He was good for another $20k at least. I could meet Ian later to get the £15k he owed me, but only if I got rid of him quickly.
“You know each other?” Jason finally caught up.
His eyes darted between us. He’d connect more dots soon. Already, his eyes had lost a bit of luster when they fell to me.
“We more than know each other.” Ian leaned back and held his arms out.
