"So you don't like it? WhenIdo the first move?"
"I didn't say that."
We don't need to say more. There's a line we crossed yesterday, and now we're in uncharted territory.
The light turns green. Cole reluctantly returns his hand to the wheel, but I feel the ghost of his touch on my skin for the next ten blocks.
When we pull up to the restaurant, Cole circles around to open my door. This time, when his hand settles on the small of my back, it lingers. Heat radiates through my blouse, and I not so subtly lean into it.
"Ready?" he asks.
I nod, though I'm anything but. Aunt Patricia's lectures are the last thing I want to deal with today, especially when all I can think about is Cole's mouth, Cole's hands, Cole's?—
"I think that's her," Cole says, nodding toward the restaurant entrance.
I scan the crowd but don't see her. "Where?"
"Table by the window. She's not—" Cole stops abruptly, his entire body tensing beside me.
That's when I see him. Not Aunt Patricia.
Brian Percy.
What the hell?
My stomach plummets. He's sitting alone at a table near the window, scrolling through his phone with a bored expression. His hair is slicked back, probably with so many styling products that it won't budge even if the ceiling caved in and fell on his head. He's wearing designer from head to toe, and it's absurdly tacky. Mismatched.
"She set me up," I tell Cole through gritted teeth.
Cole's hand tightens on my back. "We can leave. Right now."
For a moment, I'm tempted. But if I run now, what will happen tomorrow? And the day after that? How long before they wear me down?
They won't stop … not until I tell them to.
"No," I say, squaring my shoulders. "Let's get this over with."
"You're stronger than you think. You know that, right?"
"But if he pisses me off?"
"I could clock his jaw … or you could do the honors."
As we approach, Brian looks up and spots me. His face transforms into a practiced smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He stands, buttoning his tailored jacket with a flourish.
Everything he does is dramatic, and his entire personality (at least the public one) is fabricated.
"Meredith! Finally. Your aunt said you might be a bit nervous, but don't worry, I'm here to help."
His tone makes my skin crawl. Like he's doing me a favor by being here. Like I should be grateful for his attention.
God, he thinks so much of himself.
Brian's eyes slide right past Cole as if he doesn't exist. He pulls out my chair with a theatrical gesture and waits for me to sit. I do, because it's what I've always done—follow the social script, always being polite even when I want to scream.
Cole positions himself a few feet away, back to the wall, face impassive. But I can see a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"You look..." Brian pauses, eyes skimming over me with barely concealed disappointment. "...nice. That blouse is a bit matronly, but we can work on your style."
