Page 11 of Break My Heart

“They’re curly fries,” she corrects. “Which means they’re elevated.”

I bark out a laugh.

She tilts her head and says, “You’ve got a British accent.”

“Observant, aren’t you?”

She nods definitively. “You’re welcome to keep arguing with me.”

I blink. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I like the sound of your voice insulting my food choices more than his.” She jerks her thumb at the bartender, who just snaps a towel in her direction.

I nearly choke on the sip I just took.

She grins then—quick, amused, and entirely unaffected by me.

No widening eyes. No fumbling for a phone. No, “Aren’t you—” Just enjoyment because I have a British accent. “Do you always engage strangers in bars?” I ask, now completely caught in her snare.

Her brow wings up. “Only attractive ones.”

She reaches into the clutch resting on the counter and pulls out a blue business card with stars embossed on it. I unobtrusively scan it, concerned I’ve just sat next to some kind of social media influencer. But what I find is impressive. All the card has on it is her name, title, phone, and email address: Christin Gage, Senior Security and Software Engineer.

Christ. Smart, funny, beautiful. My heart skips a beat as I hold out a hand. “Leo.”

When she takes my hand, I find myself impressed by the confidence in her grip. “Christin. Nice to meet you, Leo.”

She gestures to the stool beside hers. I slide over a few spaces. “So, what do you do, Mr. British Accent?”

I look at her over the rim of my glass. “What do you think I do?”

Her eyes narrow thoughtfully. “You’ve got strong shoulders, but your hands are too clean for manual labor.” Her gaze drops briefly to my wrist. “And you’re wearing a watch that costs more than my first laptop.”

“That’s rather detailed.”

She nods at the card still in my hand. “I work in tech. Observing comes with the territory.”

“And?”

“And…” She leans back dramatically. “You either work in finance or your family owns something ridiculous.”

I laugh again. “Sorry. Not finance.”

“Pity.”

“Why?”

“Then I could hate you based on the sheer number of controls that I had to recode for the HMRC.”

Rolling her card between my fingers, I remark, “So, you develop software?”

She bobs her head back and forth before offering me a small smile. “You could say that.”

“So, now that you know I’m not in finance, what’s your next guess?”

Her eyes meet mine directly. “I’ll let you know after you buy me a drink.”

I should’ve walked away then. Instead, I stayed until closing. We talked about everything except who I actually was. Her work. My travels. The way she loved New York because no one cared who you are as long as you could keep pace.