This is a ridiculous reaction to be having to the biggest dork I’ve ever known.
Why does he get under my skin like this? I can handle every other person in this restaurant with ease, but the nerd I grew up with is making my knees shake. All because he’s rich and handsome now? Hell. No.
“I always have a valid passport handy in case I get recruited by the Royal Ballet,” I deadpan.
He blinks, and after a beat, he asks, “Has that happened?”
“Not yet,” I say. “Which is why I’m here. Taking your order. And not dancing in London. But fingers crossed.” He still takeswords at face value. It’s comforting. “Why on earth would you ask me that?”
“You’ll see.” He hands me the menu and, without any kind of transition, says, “I’ll have a Caesar salad with grilled chicken and as little garlic powder as possible. And I want the Parmesan cheese to be shredded. Not shaved or powdered. Iced tea with no sugar or fruit flavoring, and a hot coffee, black. But only if the coffee here is good—is it good?”
“Yes. We do Ritual Coffee. The drip today is from Costa Rica. Tasting notes are cacao, tangerine, and oolong tea. It’s my favorite.”
“Yes, I’ll have that.”
“Okay. That’s it?” I huff. Now I remember why he drives me nuts. “You really aren’t going to ask me anything else—like how I’ve been for the many years since you last saw me, for instance?”
He nods once and picks up his phone. “That’s it for now. When do you get off? Three o’clock?”
“Or so.”
“I’ll wait for you. I’d like to hear about how you’ve been, Olivia,” he says. “After three o’clock.”
And blammo. I’m in the excitement phase of the sexual-response cycle. Hearing him say my name like that, it’s…unusual.
“If you don’t have plans immediately after work,” he continues, “there’s something I’d like to discuss with you. It’s important. And urgent.”
“Is everything all right?”
But alas, he does not appear to hear me. He has already disappeared into his phone and back up his own asshole. At the sound of my dramatic exhale, he remembers I’m standing here. “What? Yes. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you about things.”
“Ahh. Things. Well, I look forward to that, then. Be right back with your drink order,sir.”
He nods and stares at his phone without reacting to being called sir, because he’s probably used to it. He’s probably used to ordering people around and having them at his beck and call. Well. Not me. Except while I’m waiting on him in this restaurant.
I retreat to the POS in a daze to put in John’s order. It feels like every cell in my body is running around screaming. This is exactly the kind of low-grade torture my body remembers and the high-level torture my brain can’t seem to forget. I thought it was just teen-girl hormones, but nope. It’s Johnny. Being physically attracted to someone who makes you want to bang your head against the wall is the least exquisite kind of agony.
Milo comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. “I hate you,” he mutters into my ear. “Tell me everything. Was he mean? His smile is gorgeous. Fuck me silly and call me Daddy, who is he? What did he say to you?”
How can I explain what it’s like to see John Brandt and then to experience having an actual conversation with him?
It’s like getting into a beautiful, brand-new, shiny, black BMW, and then as soon as you’re strapped in, you realize that it will only play “Rock Me Amadeus”over and over again and you can’t turn it off or turn down the volume.
It’s like diving into a crystal-clear, sparkling infinity pool at a luxury hotel and feeling the shocking sting of ice water on your skin.
It’s like being served a gourmet meal on the house at a three-star Michelin restaurant and then finding out you’re allergic to every single ingredient.
He is quite possibly a high-functioning sociopath trapped in the body of a male model. Or he may be a low-functioning playertrapped in the brain of a nerd. Either way, he has driven me nuts for as long as I’ve known him, and it seems I can’t get enough.
Remember that list of attributes I possess that are necessary for surviving the life of a ballet dancer? I firmly believe that they’re also the reason I’ve managed to put up with Johnny Brandt without punching him in the face or setting my own hair on fire. So far.
CHAPTER 2
JOHN
That went well. Things are going according to plan so far. I think.
When I finished the chicken Caesar salad, I handed Olivia a fifty-dollar tip and told her I’d wait for her in front of the restaurant while she cashes out. She stared down at the fifty-dollar bill for several seconds before glancing back up at me and nodding wordlessly. I should have given her more. The coffeewasgood.
