PRESENT DAY
BRANDON
Idrag my hands down my black tie, making sure it’s sleek between the lapels of my black suit. The pretty restaurant hostess flicks her eyes to me again. After I showed up, I convinced her to seat me before the rest of my associates and gave her a generous tip. She quirked her tattooed eyebrows, smiled, then blatantly asked for my number. I turned her down.
But by the way she keeps scouting my table, I think she’s not getting the hint.
I glance around the fancy establishment that the Winthrops chose to meet at to discuss their donation. I’m still a few minutes early, but Kate promised to be too.
I crease my elbows along the crimson tablecloth and eye the menu. A fluffy tassel protrudes from the spine, the swirling script has no listed prices, and I’m increasingly grateful that the museum will be footing this bill.
Sure, I make enough as a single man living in the city, but I’d rather eat ten meals at Burger Grillz than one portion of the duck confit, whatever that is.
Movement catches in my periphery. I turn, half expecting to see the hostess again, but I suck in a fraction of a breath.
Kate Chen struts toward me in a strapless black dress. The longerhem cuts across her shins where the straps on her high heels seem intent on wrapping up her leg like some sexy mummy. Her bare shoulders look every bit as soft as the dress.
My legs involuntarily stand, but the table stunts my path of movement since my chair is tucked in. I’m stuck in a weird half squat right as Kate pins me with her gaze, so I’m forced to either sit or commit.
I slide on a cocky grin as my quads begin to burn. “Mr. Winthrop and his wife aren’t here yet. You look stunning, by the way.”
I don’t miss the way her eyes dip over me before skirting back up to my face.
“Thank you,” she says. “I’d say you look nice too, but you mainly look like you’re in pain.”
I didn’t realize the fire in my quads had pinched my face, but I admit defeat by plopping back down to my chair.
“Looks like I need to do more legwork,” I mutter.
“Why Brandon, I’m surprised to hear you say that.” Kate slinks into the chair beside me, and I catch a whiff of the familiar jasmine scent coming off her curled hair. She bats her lashes. “Didn’t you know that eighty percent of boxing is in the legwork?”
She smirks, and I cough a laugh.
“You’re gonna make me regret those boxing lessons, aren’t you?”
“Sure am.” She takes a lengthy sip of water.
I watch as she scans the restaurant. It’s been decorated for Valentine’s day, which is coming up next week. Her eyes narrow more with each passing second. We fall silent for a matter of minutes, each of us pretending to scrutinize the menu.
“Aren’t they supposed to be here by now?” she mumbles.
I glance at my gold wristwatch. “Yeah. I mean, it’s only ten past, but maybe they’re stuck in traffic?”
An audible gurgle rumbles from Kate’s stomach before she claps her hands against it.
“Pretend you didn’t hear that,” she whispers, eyes wide.
“Hear what?” I wink, then gesture at the menu. “We better order something for the table so you don’t rip Mr. Winthrop’s head off when he gets here.”
Kate lets out an affronted laugh.
“Am I wrong?” I lean back in my chair.
Kate buries her pink nose into the menu before muttering, “No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Ten minutes and half a plate of calamari later, the Winthrops still haven’t shown. But Kate’s body language is becoming looser, thanks to the deep fried calories.
