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Grandma puts down her glass and picks up a folded piece of paper. “Write down Rhonda’s number.”

“I can find it.”

“Write it down, Rachel.”

I pull a pen from the cup on my desk and write the number on a fresh page as Grandma reads it out.

“Rhonda agrees that a hotel that size could hurt the whole boulevard,” Grandma says. “The society is ready to support us in public. Call her today and work out the protest.”

“I’ll call her.”

“And if Eric Voss comes back, you call me.”

“I can handle Eric.”

She studies me through the screen. Apparently satisfied, she blows me a kiss and ends the call.

I lower my phone and stare at the floor. If Grandma knew I’d agreed to have dinner with the parasite tonight, she might call the police herself.

Still, one date doesn’t mean anything. Eric understands the pressure of running a hotel, and our attraction keeps leading us behind closed doors. But understanding the job and wanting each other doesn’t mean we fit. Tonight, we’ll sit across from each other and finally prove there’s nothing more to this.

Two hours should be enough.

23

RACHEL

At seven sharp, a black Bentley is waiting outside my apartment. Eric stands beside it, while an older man with neat silver hair waits near the open rear door.

Eric is wearing a midnight-blue suit, a crisp white shirt, and a dark silk tie. The knot is perfect, his shoes shine, and not a single hair is out of place. Judging by how he’s dressed, he’s taking me somewhere very nice.

Eric wouldn’t tell me where we were going, so I chose a simple black dress because it felt safe. Now I’m relieved I did. It fits close at the waist, with a modest neckline and a hem just above my knees.

When I step outside, Eric’s gaze moves slowly over me before returning to my face.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I study him in return. “Nice suit.”

He laughs. “You’re allowed to call me handsome.”

“You already think it often enough for both of us.”

Eric grins and closes the space between us. One hand settles lightly at my waist, sending a quick current through me as he leans in to kiss my cheek.

“Ready?” he asks.

“I suppose.” I lift one shoulder, pretending that brief touch didn’t make my heart race.

“That’s the level of excitement I was hoping for.”

He leads me toward the Bentley. The silver-haired man gives me a warm smile.

“Rachel, this is Arthur,” Eric says. “He’s been driving my family for thirty-two years.”

A family driver. That’s completely normal.

“Thirty-four,” Arthur corrects. “Good evening, Miss Hartwell. It’s a pleasure.”