Especiallythen.
“Too late.” Leah handed her a folded napkin with an address scribbled on it. “Chambre séparée. Quirky little place in the Gaslamp. He chose it himself.” She gave an innocent shrug. “Just a casual lunch.”
“Casual . . . are you kidding me? Seriously, Leah. No.”
Leah’s expression softened. She tucked an escaping lock of hair away from Emma’s face. “He’s already on his way, sweetheart.”
Emma stared at the napkin, incredulous.
Then at Leah.
Then back at the napkin.
If she was trying to get over her fangirl crush, this was probably the worst idea in the world. Like handing an alcoholic the keys to a bar and telling them to go nuts.
She ran a hand through her hair, trying to process the thought. What if he actually was interested in the role? The possibility of Darren Cole playing Lucen—wouldn’t she have sold her future firstborn for a chance at that a few days ago?
And now here it was. Right in front of her.
Leah was still watching her, calm and patient, as if simply waiting for the inevitable.
“Fine,” Emma said, making sure there was bite in her tone, just for good measure. “I’ll do it. What’s the name on the reservation?”
Leah’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, from what I understand about this place, that won’t be necessary.”
Chapter 15
Hidden restaurant. Private table. Darren Cole.
“Casual lunch?” Debatable.
The restaurant didn’t have a sign.
Just a heavy arched door tucked between a jazz club and a tattoo parlor, marked only by a small brass plaque:Auberge.
Emma looked up at the narrow red brick building. She had an uncanny feeling no one but her could see it—like it only appeared to those invited. ARestaurant of Requirement.
Her hand hovered over the sun-warmed handle. This time, it wasn’t Leah throwing her at Darren on a rooftop. Not a last-minute replacement forcing them together on stage. This was her own choice.
Her pulse was racing way too fast, clearly ignoring the memo.
Enough. Emma straightened, smoothing her hands over her blouse. This was a work meeting. Nothing more. And she’d already made up her mind to come.
The heavy door opened without a sound.
Inside, amber light flickered from sconces. No restaurant tables in the small room, just a few couches and an empty bar in the corner, bottles gleaming softly. It looked like a speakeasy.
A hostess appeared, greeting her discreetly. “Welcome, Ms. Whitehart. Mr. Cole has already arrived. Follow me, please.”
Emma swallowed. Leah had been right about not needing her name.
She followed the hostess down a narrow hallway, past a velvet curtain. Worn carpet muted their footsteps. The cherry-paneled walls seemed to have absorbed secrets for decades.
The hallway ended at a set of ornate double doors. The hostess pushed a button, and the doors slid open to reveal an old-fashioned lift with a brass gate.
“Fifth floor,” the hostess said, pulling the gate open with practiced grace.
The elevator creaked eerily as Emma stepped inside. She would’ve felt better if the hostess had joined her, but the woman just shut the gate with an echoing metallic clank. Emma pressed the button, and as the vault doors closed her in, the lift shuddered to life.
