I pull my Lambo to the curb in front of the bistro. At least one thing is working in my favor today. I got an extremely convenient parking spot—something unheard of in the middle of Manhattan.
The other Merged partners have drivers and rarely drive in the middle of the day. I guess it allows them tocatch up on work while they commute. I like to take my cars for a daily spin. Driving has always calmed me down. It’s my thinking time.
Usually, I don’t even mind the horrendous traffic jams. My best ideas and most prolific phone calls have happened in the midst of a gridlock.
I step out of the car and stroll into the bistro. I’ve never been here before, and I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
It’s small. Quiet. The kind of place that doesn’t try to impress. And yet it’s welcoming.
A handful of patrons linger at plain, rectangular tables placed haphazardly around the floor. Or perhaps with intention—I’m not sure.
To my right, a raised platform runs along the wall—a built-in booth upholstered in beige. Three round coffee tables break the space. Cozy but communal.
Across the room, a long counter anchors the place. It’s not flashy, but the mismatched mugs on a rail and a chalkboard menu give it character.
The whole place is warm, personal but somehow feels unfinished. Like it hasn’t reached its potential yet.
A halo of red curls catches my attention. I shift my gaze to the swinging door behind the counter. Fuck. I haven’t seen her since the gala, and the sight hits me right in my solar plexus.
A headband holds her hair out of her face, barelytaming the mane. She’s wearing a green apron, and if it isn’t the sexiest thing ever, I don’t know what is.
The only improvement would be if she were naked underneath. But then I would have to claw everyone’s eyes out, so I guess the dress is okay.
With minimal makeup, her face is flushed, glistening with a film of sweat. She juts her hip to keep the door open and hands something to the guy behind the counter.
Too distracted by the curve of her breast, and that sexy-as-fuck swing of her hip, I don’t realize she’s spotted me.
When I snap out of my ogling, my gaze collides with hers. Her mouth forms an O, her eyebrows lift. I walk over, my lips curling up.
Not because I’m used to dazzling women with my dimples. It’s not the automated grin I use to manipulate. I’m actually smiling, without forcing it.
“Isn’t this a bit far from your beaten path, Stone?” Cora grins and steps to the counter.
“And how would you know my beaten path? Have you been researching me?”
She snorts. “Researching you? Who does that?”
You would be surprised. How would I know where you work, for example?
I ignore her question. “I came to invite you to acharity luncheon. You proved quite a suitable plus-one last time.”
She laughs. “That’s one enticing invitation. I’m flattered,” she mocks, her hand on her chest for dramatic effect. “When is the event?”
I glance at my watch. “In forty minutes.”
She raises her eyebrows, her eyes twinkling with mirth, but then she frowns. “You are serious?”
“Okay, I recognize it’s kind of short notice, but in my defense, I forgot about the event.” I shrug, taking my smile up a notch.
She folds her arms across her chest. “Are you for real?”
“Always.” That’s a lie, but well, it’s a harmless one.
She studies me, half-smiling, half-frowning, like she is entertained but at the same time not sure what’s going on. That makes two of us. Why am I even here?
I guess she would be a safe and refreshing option to win my bet with Cal.
“And there isn’t a bored socialite who would be happy to join you?”
