Rory.
I grimace and send it to voicemail. It’s already vibrating again in my hand as I flick the button to turn it onto silent.
“You know what? That sounds great.” I shove my phone back inside my clutch. “Let’s go and have that drink.”
I manage half a block before goosebumps win over, popping up over my arms and causing my teeth to chatter.
Sterling slides his tuxedo jacket off. He moves in front of me and wraps it around my shoulders, bringing the lapels together. The smooth lining of the jacket brushes over my puckered nipples which makes heat bloom in my cheeks.
“Thank you.” I look at him, but his attention is fixed above my head like he doesn’t want to look at me.
I breathe in his scent, already feeling my goosebumps disappearing. He glances at his jacket, his shoulders softening at the way it swamps me, keeping me warm.
“Of course. I should have offered the moment we stepped out of the car. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize. It’s not your fault I didn’t plan ahead and bring a jacket.”
“Ah, but you weren’t expecting to be walking around Manhattan on a Thursday night to go for a drink with an old man.”
“Fifty isn’t old. I mean, look at you.” I tip my head toward his broad chest in his crisp white shirt. The fabric is snug across his biceps, and I rip my eyes away from them before I lose myself to thoughts of how they’d look without the shirt. “You’re a fox,” I add.
He tucks both hands in his pant pockets, his lips twitching as he glances to his feet and then back up in a way that’s full of a boyish charm that makes him look younger.
“A fox?” He arches a brow.
“You know? A silver fox. A hot and sexy older guy? One women would kill to be with. I met enough willing candidates this evening.” I smirk and bump his shoulder with mine as we start to walk again.
“This is the part you tell me you’re setting me up on another date, isn’t it?” He sighs.
“You could try sounding even less thrilled about it?” I tease, but he remains silent.
“Sinclair got home okay. She texted me,” I say, eager to break the sudden tension that’s rolling off him.
He exhales, his jaw loosening. “She did. Denver came for her.”
“Your head of security?”
“That, and a good friend. He’s worked with our family for years now. Since before we lost…”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
I pray he knows he isn’t alone. That I’ll walk beside him whenever he needs me to.
“Being a parent,” he continues, “it makes you vulnerable. Opens you up to the possibility of the worst pain imaginable.”
A lump thickens in my throat as my mind flits to Mum and Dad in those first months after we lost Jenny.
Before I can respond, we arrive at a large black door beneath a green awning. It’s flanked by two doormen in black suits.
“Boss. Ma’am,” they both acknowledge as one opens the door for us.
Sterling tips his chin in greeting and places his hand on my lower back as we walk inside. He leads me down a low-lit hallway. The sound of piano music, accompanied by sultry singing floats toward us.
He opens a large ornate door for me, and we walk into the main bar of Seasons.
My senses are immediately flooded.
The space is sumptuous. It smells of rich cognac and wood. Green velvet seats, candlelit booths and intimate tables are spread around the room, beneath crystal chandeliers. All of them face toward a small, raised stage where a grand piano sits, being played beautifully by a young man as an older woman in a glittery dress sits on a tall stool and sings.
