I flush at his words, heat slithering up my throat. “Thank you. Have you been to this restaurant before?” I ask, changing the subject.
“No, it only opened a few weeks ago. I’ve heard good things, though.”
We cruise through the city streets, arriving within twenty minutes. Ivan looks so calm and confident navigating London traffic. Other vehicles appear to move out of his way as if by magic. I hate driving in the city; it stresses me out. Normally, even being a passenger feels like a chore, but tonight I feel safe. He’s so in control.
We stop in front of the restaurant,Dancing Thaiger.The full frontage is glass with an ornate orange sign displaying the name. I can see straight into the colorful space. A man approaches us dressed all in black and opens my door, offering me his hand as I step out onto the pavement. Ivan joins me within moments.
“Good evening, Mr. Harley,” the man says, holding out his palm. Ivan drops the keys into it. “Just message me, sir, when you want the car brought back around.”
“Thank you, David,” he replies, obviously reading the man’s name badge, then he turns to me. “Shall we?” He gestures toward the restaurant, and we walk in together.
Inside, every wall is decorated with elaborate paintings of Thailand. Some depict the streets of Bangkok, others the stunning beaches of Pa Tong. Lanterns hang from the ceiling, each one illuminated with soft light. Dozens of glass tables and chairs are scattered around the room, laid with exquisite crockery which glints under the lights.
“Wow,” I murmur, almost speechless. “It’s beautiful.” Ivan looks around the restaurant as we stand at the reception desk, waiting to be seen. He nods subtly but says nothing.
“Mr. Harley,” a woman says, walking toward us. She’s older, perfectly groomed. The kind of hostess who smiles with practiced warmth. “I’m so glad you could join us this evening.” She extends her hand, and Ivan takes it, raising it to his lips in greeting. I see her wilt under his touch.
“Cassandra, darling,” he drawls, “it’s so good to see you. I didn’t realize you were working here.” There’s a small inflection in the way he says her name. A familiarity I don’t like.
“Yes, they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. It feels like forever since I’ve seen you, Ivan. You never come to The Park now.” He shakes his head. I notice the swift change from the use of his surname to his first name, and my skin prickles.
“My last experience wasn’t the best,” he answers. “They need to improve their customer service.”
“Yes, things are going downhill,” she agrees with a smile. “Please follow me. I’ll show you to your table.” As if remembering my presence for the first time since she appeared, he turns and signals for me to follow behind her.
We weave through the restaurant until we reach the back wall. A plain blue door stands before us. She pushes it open, and we step through into a small private dining space. The room is a mini version of the main restaurant with a single table set for two at the center. Ivan looks at me, searching my face for a reaction.
“It’s stunning,” I stammer. He smiles, and my heart beats slightly faster.
“I prefer privacy. There are too many eyes in London. People often interrupt at inappropriate moments.” He turns to Cassandra and thanks her, then orders a bottle of wine. She scurries off in the direction of the main restaurant. He pulls out a chair for me to sit then takes his own seat.
We sit directly across from each other, our gazes locked in a silent battle. My heart drops with a feeling like a stone, sinking under the weight of something unseen. I find him attractive, and this wasn’t part of the plan. To escape the moment, I pretend to study the menu, my eyes moving over the words without focus.
He does the same. We peek over the top of the rectangles of cardstock at each other occasionally. When his focus lands on me, my stomach flutters.
Cassandra appears again and fills our wine glasses. “Are you ready to order?” she asks.
“Can we have a few minutes?” Ivan responds. She dips her head and leaves again. “What do you like the look of?”
“Um…” I bite my lip, trying to organize my incoherent thoughts.You.Hell, Amy, focus. “I’ll have the green chicken curry, I think,” I reply, swiftly picking something at random.
“Good choice,” he says, continuing to look at his own menu.
For the next two hours, we sit, drink wine, and eat delicious Thai food. Conversation flows easily between us, completely surprising me. He goes over his time managing the Harley’s Gym in London and his plans for expansion over the years.
He’s animated and passionate about his work, and I can see he genuinely loves the business he’s in. Every time he laughs, deep and genuine, it hits somewhere I don’t want it to. I find myself softening to him as the minutes pass.
“That’s why I wantBex’s New You,”he says, and my eyes spring open. “I want to turn it into a high-end private fitness studio.”
“I won’t sell, Ivan,” I snap, annoyed. The subject hadn’t arisen until now, after I’d been plied with alcohol. “It will never be for sale.”
He chuckles. “Everything is for sale. Everything and everyone.” He raises an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you don’t need the money?” I swallow audibly. “Divorce is a messy business.”
He said the same thing to me a year ago in my office, and it’s so fucking true, but hell, I’m not admitting that.
“Is this a business or personal meeting?” I say harshly.
“Business,” he answers. “It’s always business.”
