“Right. I’m supposed to look at it and close my eyes and imagine what that’s going to be like, what kind of man he is… You know.”
“Maybe I can help you visualize.” He extends a hand, palm up, holding the ring between his thumb and index finger.
“Oh, okay.” I place my left hand on his. His skin and warm and dry. He smoothly slides the ring back onto my finger. Watching the masculine hand pushing the band up along my slim feminine finger makes my heart squeeze with longing for the future I’ve always dreamed of.
“Did you visualize your future?”
I nod, then smile. “Kind of.”
“How does it feel?”
“Incredible.” I laugh a little, then look up when I sense somebody approaching, thinking it must be our waiter checking up on us.
Instead, there’s a quick peck on my cheek that causes me to start.
“You look lovely, my light.”
Noah? Again?What the hell is he doing here? Stalking me?
He’s looking down at me with a charming smile, but—stalker or not—his eyes are screaming,What the fuck?It gives me quite a bit of perverse satisfaction, even though he’s completely misunderstood the situation.
That’s right, buster, eat your heart out. I’ve moved on.
Eugene glances at Noah, then turns to me. “Do you know this man?”
“No,” I say, at the same time Noah declares loudly enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear, “I’m her fiancé!”
Chapter Fifteen
Noah
“Not that I have anything against spending a Saturday evening with you, but why are we here?” Huxley sips his merlot, his cool, wary eyes scanning the high-end restaurant that smells of well-grilled beef and freshly baked crack—I mean, bread.
“I just feel like having steak with my favorite brother.” Actually, I brought him here so he canjust happento see his grandmother dining with Andreas Webber. I couldn’t come up with a smooth way to let him know his family is trying to fuck him over. I don’t want to tip him off that I’m keeping an eye on him and our other brothers, but I can’t in good conscience let him get ambushed. Especially by a bunch of conniving lawyers.
Plus, I might be able to pick his brain a little. Hux could convince an Arab to pay for sand. He must know a few good ways to lay siege—successfully—to a woman’s heart. Or, in this case, at least convince her I’m not the shithead she thinks I am.
Bobbi apparently hates white calla lilies now. I sent a bouquet every day of the week and she tossed each one into the trash, as witnessed by the delivery guy. Delivery confirmation with a note the last day:I think she has a pollen allergy. Her face turns red so fast.
What she has is a Noah allergy, which I plan to take care of before she proposes to some loser in a misguided attempt to “manifest a husband.” Thankfully, she doesn’t have anybody she can pop the question to at the moment. The only decent person with a penis in her life right now is her employee Victor, but he doesn’t fit the bill—too young and not her type.
And now that I’ve wrapped up an intelligence report Mom said she needed last year—I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my brain—I have plenty of free time to devote to Bobbi.
“I mean, why are wehere?” Huxley gestures around.
“Here? At this restaurant?” Damn it. If he won’t let me get away with a bullshit excuse, I might have to abort my plan to alert him to his family’s incipient betrayal. “Because it has the best bread…?”
“It does, but I feel like we’re being disloyal to Grant and Aspen.”
I hear you, brother. “Well, they don’t need to know,” I grumble, then try to ignore the weird prickling sensation I’ve had since we entered the steakhouse. It’s probably guilt telling me I’m going to go to hell for giving money to this establishment.
My brothers and I used to come here regularly for our dinners because it has fabulous steaks and excellent bread—not as good as Bobbi’s, of course, but still amazing. But then the hostess disrespected Aspen and her grandfather one time and we quit coming. There are plenty of great steakhouses in the city. We don’t have to give our business to an establishment that mistreated one of the Lasker wives.
But Catalina Huxley and Andreas Webber don’t know about the incident, and even if they did, they wouldn’t care. So they’re meeting here and I had no choice but to bring Hux.
But I’m not drinking anything other than the free water and have selected the cheapest cut of steak, no sides. I’ll just devour the complimentary bread instead, even though Huxley is drinking merlot and ordered surf-and-turf with his favorite lobster mac and cheese and grilled asparagus. He doesn’t believe in denying himself.
“Are we talkingherebecause Bobbi’s cut you off?” He slices into his steak while eyeing my plate. He knows something’s up just from how little I’ve ordered.
