Page 12 of Bastard In A Suit

Chapter 5

ALINEA is not onlythe most expensive restaurant in Chicago, it’s one of the most famous in North America, and as the limo pulls up to the building, my breath hitches.

This place has been on my foodie bucket list since I moved to the city, but with its recent multi-million-dollar renovation and world-famous menu, I thought I’d never have the chance to come here. One reviewer claims he spent more than two hundred bucks per plate. That’s almost a third of my rent!

The chauffer opens my door and I step out onto the sidewalk like some kind of movie starlet. It’s surreal how the exterior lights turn the brick sidewalk yellow—like they’re leading me straight to Oz.

I resist the urge to kick up my heel.

“Just ask the hostess for Mr. Kingston’s table,” the driver says. “Enjoy your evening.”

I nod, unable to speak. He winks at me, like he can read my mind, but it doesn’t do anything for my nerves.

My phone pings.

I glance at my texts. There are two—one from Jake, the other from Forrest. For a brief second, I consider sending them a picture of the building—they’ll never believe I’m about to dine at ALINEA—but they’re already jealous that they weren’t invited. I flick off the phone instead, vowing to text the second anything significant happens, and open the door.

The scent of herbs and spices and things I can’t name greets me as I enter, making my mouth instantly water.

Music and the white noise of animated chatter floats through the simple, clean lobby that’s accented by cherry wood floors and cream-colored furniture. A blonde hostess smiles at me. “Do you have a reservation?”

My voice turns soapy. “I’m here for Duke.” My face goes so hot I’m sure it’s on fire. “Shit…um…I mean, I’m meeting Duke Kingston.”

The words don’t sound right coming out of my mouth. Like I’m some kind of imposter. A wanna-be in a too-tight, too-sexy dress made for a body that isn’t mine. But if the hostess is perplexed about my connection to Duke, she pulls off an award-winning performance. She probably sees this kind of thing all the time.

“Of course,” she says. “Right this way.”

I follow her through a labyrinth of long tables where people gather in awe of foods that sizzle, smoke, and smell like sin. My mouth waters. I’m so caught up in the sights and sounds and atmosphere that I don’t realize until it’s too late that the hostess has stopped at a private table tucked in the far corner of the room.

And then I’m in front of his table—he’s sitting there, looking elegant and strong and powerful and for a moment I feel so small before him.

Duke lifts his gaze and I’m dumbstruck.

Speechless.

His eyes, those dark, glorious eyes, penetrate my soul. I am suddenly naked and on display. I should feel cold, nervous.

But then I am somehow empowered instead, basking in his undivided attention.

He lifts his wine glass, as if in salute, and raises it to his lips.

My throat goes dry.

No matter how many times I tell myself this isn’t a date, that a man like Duke could never be interested in a girl like me, I can’t seem to quash the underlying hope that maybe this dinner is more than a business meeting.

No matter how wrong it might be for me to hope for it.

“Please,” Duke says, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. His voice is velvet, like warm brandy. “I took the liberty of ordering.”

I nod and sit, my entire body trembling.

As he pours wine, I try to find my voice. “Thank you,” I whisper. Clearing my throat, I add, “This restaurant is lovely.”

“It’s the best.”

I’m out of my element here and I suddenly have no idea how I’m going to pull off this pitch. Waiters pass with fancy dishes that plume with smoke and scents that churn inside my stomach. I breathe deep.

Soft candlelight flickers on Duke’s rugged face. He’s trimmed his beard and changed his suit—this one a deep navy that complements his burgundy tie. A pale blue shirt molds to his chest. I’m desperate to slip my hands underneath it and run my fingertips along his muscles. Jesus. I need a drink.