“Miss Quinn?” he asks.
“That’s me.”
“Right this way. He’s waiting for you outside.” The host gestures with a menu, then leads me upstairs to the restaurant’s second floor. Outside of some glass doors is a quaint, brick patio, lined with flower boxes.
Reed is the only one out here, and I feel a sudden rush of relief when I realize that he’s rented out the patio. Even though I know we won’t be alone—the goal is forsomeoneto snap a picture of us—it’s nice to at least have the illusion.
Reed waves as I approach, then leans forward to plant a chaste kiss on my lips. He’s good at this.
“You look lovely, as always,” he tells me, then nods to the host. “Thank you.”
“Your waiter will be out to take your order shortly.” With that, he disappears, leaving the two of us to our date.
As I get settled at the table, I can’t help my cynical, cursory glance at our surroundings. I’m trying to locate the paparazzi’s nests. We’re on a balcony, so they can’t get us from the street, but there are plenty of other options. The PR guys wouldn’t have chosen this spot if there weren’t.
Just next to us, there’s a low-roofed building that I could imagine them camped out on. There’s another balcony across the street, and of course, plenty of windows in the adjacent high-rises?—
“You ever been here?” Reed asks, derailing my train of thought.
I give him a look, stopping myself just short of rolling my eyes. “To Off-Fifth? Are you kidding me?”
“Is that a yes?”
“Of course not,” I scoff. “You have to be, like, at least a B-lister to get a foot in the door.”
“That’s not true,” Reed protests. “Would you callmea B-lister? I’m just a corporate heir. I’m practically invisible.”
I lean forward, glancing around to make sure no one will overhear me. “You’ve slept with enough celebrities to qualify as one yourself. I’ve seen your face at enough grocery store checkouts.”
He chuckles, seeming genuinely delighted. He’s so animated, rocking back with the force of his own laughter. It takes me off-guard. He knows we’re being watched, just like I do; how can he be so casual?
After a few seconds of watching him, my mind starts to wander away from my discomfort. I stop glancing at the windows of neighboring buildings, too focused on the way the sun lights up his eyes, drawing my attention to the flecks of amber within the brown irises.
“Let’s get a bottle of something,” he suggests, picking up the menu. “Something light. It’s Saturday; we might as well enjoy ourselves.”
I nod in assent. The waiter comes back and takes our orders—a bottle of prosecco, and two sandwiches that Reed promises me are “to die for.” When the waiter leaves again, Reed reaches across the table to take my hand, gazing at me with soft eyes.
“How was the shopping trip?”
I exhale, smiling despite myself. “Intimidating.”
“What do you mean,intimidating?”
“Well, I didn’t know everyone was going to give me the VIP treatment,” I admit. “And the car… not to mention the price tags on everything…”
“Hey,” he says. “This is your world now, okay?”
I bite my lip, nodding.
“You can get used to it, right?”
“The other girls gave me some advice while we were out shopping,” I say with a shrug. “And I guess it won’t be too hard to get used to. After all—” I brush a hand against the bodice of my new dress—”I don’t think I’ve ever worn anything this nice.”
“It looks great on you,” he says warmly.
The compliment is so genuine that it catches me off guard, and for a moment, the thought of the paparazzi in their nests slips from my mind.
Reed takes a sip of his drink, a chilled glass of rose-colored wine. “You should try this,” he says, offering it to me. “It’s the perfect lunch wine.”
