I fucking hated ties.
Tonight I was meeting Jonathan for dinner at some swanky restaurant that required more formal attire than I liked. He’d set this up under the guise that we were ‘catching up,’ but I knew better. This was our old song and dance. Going out to dinner meant that there was something about the company we needed to discuss. Doing it in a public space forced us to keep our cool. When large sums of money were involved and jobs were on the line, things could get a little intense.
I straightened my tie, combed my hands through my curls, and hopped out of my truck. The valet gave me a look of distaste as I dropped the heavy ring of keys in his palm. In a parking lot full of expensive sports cars, my truck would stick out like a sore thumb.
Buttoning my suit jacket, I strutted into the restaurant with my horns held high. The sooner I got this over with, the sooner I could call Pam. If anyone could soothe my nerves after butting heads with Jonathan, it was her.
Pamela Jean Rollins.
Gods, I missed her.
Some things just weren’t the same over video chat, like the way she snorted when she laughed or the little lines that crinkled around the corners of her eyes when she smiled. I couldn’t wait to hold her in my arms again. I just wasn’t sure when the opportunity to do that would present itself. It was a major bummer that she was afraid of flying.
Pulling out my phone, I sent her a quick text before I reached the hostess station.
Me: Just got to the restaurant. Can I call you after dinner?
I tapped a hoof on the polished tile, anxiously awaiting her response.
Pam: Of course. I’m having a little movie marathon with Remi so I’ll be up for a while. Try to stay calm and remember: In every moment, peace is a choice.
Shit.
What I wouldn’t give to be cuddled on the couch with her and that cat. For now, a phone call would have to suffice.
Me: Will do, babe. Enjoy the movie!
I tucked my phone into my jacket pocket and approached the hostess. She was a naga who looked to be around Chai’s age and greeted me with a fanged smile.
“Hi,” I said and tugged at my tie again. “I’m meeting my business partner for dinner. The reservation should be under Jonathan Milliard.”
The hostess tapped on the tablet in front of her, her face illuminated by the screen’s glow in the otherwise dim lighting. I was thankful I had tucked a pair of readers in my pocket; otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to read the menu.
“Ah yesss,” she said, drawing out the word with a hiss . “Mr. Milliard has already arrived. I’ll show you to your table.”
She grabbed a menu and slithered across the restaurant, leading me through a maze of tables covered with pristine white table clothes. Smooth jazz music accompanied by hushed conversation echoed across the dining room, giving me total elevator vibes—not an elevated dining experience.
We came to a stop where Jonathan was seated at a table for two.
“Alistair,” he said with a forced smile and a curt nod.
The prick didn’t even get up for a handshake or hug. This had to be serious.
“Here we are,” she said, setting my menu down on the table. “Your waiter will be around to take your drink order shortly. Enjoy your meal.”
“Thank you.” I unbuttoned my jacket and slipped into my seat. “Have you been waiting long?”
“No, not long at all.” He took a drink from the rocks glass filled with amber liquor in front of him.
If I had to guess, it was likely whiskey. When we first met, we’d bonded over our shared love for horticulture and our taste for rare whiskeys. Sitting across from him now, we felt more like strangers than business partners.
I leaned back in my chair and ran my thumbs over the tablecloth. “So, how’s the family?”
“They’re good. Delilah is still getting used to the new baby, but she’ll get there. Lauren is absolutely killing it as a mother of two. They really aren’t lying when they say it’s easier with the second.” The corners of his mouth tilted up in a smile, just like they did at every mention of his family.
Gods.
A new baby.
