He flashed me a triumphant smile. “And why areyouhere?”
I wanted to kiss that smile right off his face. Wipe it off! Wipe, not kiss!
Focus, Emersyn!
“For your information, I’ve got a good lead.” I let a hint of smugness creep into my voice. “I’ve got a connection to the owner of this pub, which means there’s a good chance I’ll get to look at the security footage and maybe even get a photo of our mystery man.”
Wyatt nodded, as if seriously pondering my words. “By the owner of this pub, you mean Mike?”
I gaped at him. “How do you know his name?”
“We had a chat a few minutes ago. And we took a look at thefootage. He emailed me the relevant clips, and he’s printing out a few stills for me as we speak.”
A waitress appeared at our table, bearing a plate of food, which she set in front of Wyatt with a smile. The delicious aromas wafted across the table to me, and my stomach growled like an angry crocodile.
“Oh,” the waitress said, only then noticing me. “Can I get you anything?”
I looked at the menu and had to bite back a groan of disappointment when I saw the prices listed next to the appetizers. I dug deep into my reservoir of willpower and set the menu aside.
“Just ice water, please.” I eyed Wyatt’s clubhouse sandwich and fries and nearly whimpered.
The waitress frowned with disapproval. “Nothing to eat?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
She shot daggers at me with her eyes before turning a beaming smile on Wyatt. “Let me know if you need anything.”
She winked—seriously winked!—at him before flouncing off, her ponytail swinging behind her.
I felt a flicker of satisfaction when Wyatt didn’t watch her walk away, despite the way she was swinging her hips in her tight black skirt.
“So, what other leads have you got?” he asked as he picked up half of his sandwich.
I glared at him, irrationally annoyed that he’d asked me that question since, of course, I had zero other leads.
I grabbed a fry off his plate and chomped on it.
Wyatt stopped eating to take a sip of his drink. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”
I made short work of the fry and then sat back, crossing my arms. “I’m not.”
My stomach chose that moment to let out a thunderous growl.
From the amusement on Wyatt’s face, I could tell he’d heard it.
My cheeks flushed.
“Why don’t you order some food?” he suggested.
“I’m fine,” I grumbled.
As the son of a supermodel, he’d most likely never had to worry about the price of anything. I wasn’t about to share my financial difficulties with him. He wouldn’t understand and would probably judge me. I was doing enough of that on my own and really didn’t need any assistance.
“Are you annoyed with me?” Wyatt asked before finishing off the first half of his clubhouse sandwich.
That was probably sourdough bread. My favorite.
My fingers twitched, longing to reach across the table and grab the remaining half of the sandwich.
