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Chapter Fourteen
Cohen
Looking over my shoulder from the bar, I study her sitting in the booth, staring straight ahead and lost in her thoughts. I didn’t expect to bump into her. I knew it was a possibility, but it wasn’t premediated this time. No stalking, no bump and spill. My stomach suddenly drops at the thought. If she knew about all the times before, she wouldn’t be sitting in my booth with that dreamy look in her eyes. She’d be running far, far away from me. Instead of focusing on the things I’ve done, I think about the things I want to do. Sitting across from her and having a drink is at the top of that list, among other things.
After the day I had today confronting James, she’s just what I need.
I place her order and make my way back to the booth, feeling her eyes on me every step of the way.
“How have you been?” I ask, sliding back into the booth, careful to avoid bringing up the incident from this past weekend. For now. Although, I have some news about Alan Anderson she might be relieved to hear.
“Okay. Thank you, and yourself?” she answers, her eyes never leaving mine.
“Pretty good.” I drum my fingers on the table, finding her eyes have left mine in favor of staring at my hands tapping on the nicked wood.
“How’s work?” I inquire, and she lifts those gorgeous violet eyes back to me.
“Busy. We’re preparing for this annual event, the London Lost Foundation Gala. Have you heard of it?” Excitement laces her tone. This must be important to her.
“I actually have, but I’m afraid I don’t know a great deal about it, since I’m not from here,” I add.
“Oh, I just assumed you were. From here, I mean,” she says softly, dare I say disappointed.
“I was born near here, but I’m actually from all over,” I offer a vague response, and she continues.
“Well, it’s a corporation founded by my business partner and friend, Piers Nichols, our other childhood friend, Theodore Stone, and myself. It helps inner-city kids in London who otherwise wouldn’t have safe childcare, weekend meals, or after school programs, and its main focus is to provide a safe place and educational opportunities to kids who live in poverty or on the streets. The forgotten and lost.” I hear the sadness in her tone.
“Wow. What an incredible thing you’re doing.”
“This charity isn’t just about looking good in the public.” She blushes. “It’s about giving the silenced a voice.”
“I didn’t mean—” I start.
“Oh, I know. It’s just so many assume it’s an event for the wealthy to dress up and parade in front of the Paps. But it’s more than that. This event is everything. It helps fund the majority of our the operating expenses for the entire year. We supplement the difference, but this is a major part.”
The barman calls out her order, and I step away to grab the food and a fresh round of drinks for us.
“This looks amazing.” She takes a deep breath, leaning her head back with a tiny moan. My body hardens in response to the sound escaping her heart-shaped lips as she takes a bite.
“That good?” I chuckle, glad to see a woman who enjoys her food as much as I do.
“Better.” She licks a tiny drop of stray tartar from her fingertip before picking up another piece and holding it out to me.
Leaning forward, I blow on the steaming bite before taking the crispy golden fish into my mouth. Delicious. My lips brush her fingertips, careful to take every single morsel of what she’s offering.
Our eyes lock, and before she can pull her hand away, I grab it with my own and place a quick kiss to the backs of her fingers before releasing it back to her. “Delicious, indeed. Thank you.”
Her mouth parts ever so slightly, watching me curiously before curling into a wicked smile. “Well, I hope you enjoyed it, because that’s all you’re getting.” Her words are laced with double meaning, of that I’m sure. So, I play along.
“It’s probably for the best, I have a very large appetite, and I’m afraid I’m not very good at sharing.” I leave her to think on that while I wash down the flakey, buttery fish with a drink.
Since I’ve seemed to leave her at a loss for words, I attempt to cool things down and continue the conversation while she sips on her own lager.
“So, it sounds like this organization is something very close to your heart?” I ask, encouraging her to elaborates a little more.
“Subtle,” she teases, wiping the foam from her lip with the back of her hand. “But yes, captain obvious, it is quite personal. To me and my co-founders. We were all orphaned in one way or another.” The lighthearted feel evaporates from the space between us.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, feeling like an arse for pushing the issue. I wanted to keep her talking and hopefully learn something about Piers, but didn’t entirely see that coming. My research seemed to have some holes in it, and I vaguely remember hearing about that at the funeral. My thoughts were a bit all over the place that day.
