My phone buzzes.
Unknown Number:
7 pm.
La Maison.
I’ll see you there.
J
My stomach hits the floor.
“He texted,” I whisper.
Ava squeals. Sienna claps. Trey shouts, “HE FOUND YOUR NUMBER THROUGH CORPORATE, DIDN’T HE?? KING BEHAVIOR.”
I stare at the screen.
I am not going.
I am absolutely going.
I am so completely, stupidly, horribly done.
CHAPTER 11
Ruby
Ispend the entire taxi ride clutching my bag like it’s emotional support therapy. My heart is beating too fast, my palms are sweating, and my brain is on a loop of:
This is not a date. This is not a date. THIS IS NOT A DATE, RUBY, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER.
The taxi stops.
I look out the window.
Oh. Oh no.
La Maison isn’t a restaurant. It’s astatement.
Tall arched windows. Soft golden lighting. White tablecloths so crisp they probably have their own security detail. A host in a suit worth more than my rent.
I’m going to die here.
I step out, and the cold air hits my skin. A second later, my body warms again because…
He’s there.
Jaxon stands just inside the entrance, speaking with the maître d’. He’s in a dark suit tailored within an inch of its life, the kind of fit that makes muscles look like they were hand-carved for the specific purpose of ruining me.
His hair is slightly tousled, like he ran a hand through it one too many times. His sleeves are rolled just enough to show a hint of forearm, which should be illegal. And he’s wearing a watch I’m pretty sure could buy me a house.
He turns.
Our eyes meet.
And the entire world goes quiet.
