Never Say Never: Gravel Hill Boys Book Two

1. Madison

It wasthe ideal setting for a proposal.

A prime table at one of my favorite restaurants high atop the tallest building in Philadelphia. Purple-hued roses adorning the linen-covered table. Soft music playing in the background. And the sky, a kaleidoscope of color in neon shades of pink, salmon, indigo, and gold as the sun set in the west.

It was lovely, and romantic, and would’ve been perfect if my soon-to-be fiancé hadn’t been running late. I refused to let his tardiness affect my mood or ruin the evening. I’d waited a long time for this. Now that Connor’s firm had transferred him from Los Angeles to Philadelphia, and we’d be living in the same city instead of seeing each other a handful of times a month, it was time to take the next step.

Excited to see him after more than a month apart, I’d arrived early and had been seated at a table near the floor-to-ceiling windows, fifty-nine stories above the city. The glass of champagne I’d ordered when I first arrived was already half empty. A glance at the diamond Chopard watch my father had sent from Paris last week for my twenty-sixth birthday told me that Connor was more than twenty minutes late. He was missing a spectacular sunset.

I smoothed the skirt of the dress I’d chosen to wear. Another birthday gift, only this one from my mother who’d discovered a new designer. Made of black silk, the creation featured a plunging neckline, a gathered high waist, crisscross back, and an asymmetrical hemline. I’d paired it with my favorite Amina Muaddi patent leather stilettos and a little black YSL clutch. The look was sexy but elegant and perfect for what I anticipated would be a memorable evening.

The sun continued its descent, setting the sky on fire, and capturing the attention of nearby diners. For a moment at least, no one was paying any attention to the woman sitting alone at one of the most romantic tables in the restaurant.

Twilight swallowed the last of the sun’s rays as it sank behind buildings of steel and mirrored glass. I exhaled a disappointed sigh. Why set the time for our dinner date to coincide with an incredible sunset only to miss it?

After discretely checking my lipstick, I was sliding my compact into my bag, when a text popped up on my phone.

Connor

Running late. Be there in 5. Order me a Maccallan.

Not the most romantic of texts from someone on his way to propose. Not even a “sorry.”

With a subtle raise of my hand, I caught the attention of the waiter and ordered Connor’s scotch—neat—and a second glass of champagne for me since mine was down to the dregs.

The drinks arrived. Five minutes came and went.

I pinched a pleat into the folds of my napkin and peered through the expansive glass as the lights of Center City glittered against the night sky. I inspected the lavender roses on the table and found them perfect and unblemished. I crossed my legs. I adjusted the gold cuff on my right wrist. I pushed my shoulders back and tilted my lips in a gracious smile at the couple across from me.

I’d dined alone many times, but usually when traveling to see clients, and I’d have a portfolio of work to keep me occupied. In such instances, I didn’t care who was looking at me. But now the weight of all the stares and whispered glances of diners who assumed I’d been stood up was plucking my last nerve.

My stomach growled, and I pressed my hand against it, embarrassed.

When Connor had called from London a few days ago to ask me to meet him here, he said he had something important to say. He’d sounded nervous and distracted which was unlike him. Since I was certain I knew what he was up to, I planned to surprise him as well. I’d booked a suite in the hotel downstairs where we could consummate our engagement. I’d even booked a couples massage for late tomorrow morning.

If he didn’t show up soon, he was in danger of finding an empty table when he finally did arrive.

“Hey, Mads.” Connor whipped out the chair across from me, smoothing his tie before dropping into the seat. He reached for the scotch and threw it back in one long swallow.

I smiled. Someone’s nervous tonight.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled as he waved to a waiter. “I was held up.” He ran a hand through his hair, and not for the first time, judging by the displaced strands. The waiter appeared beside him. Connor raised his glass and wiggled it from side to side. “Another, please? And make it a double.”

The romantic in me wanted to revel in his nervousness, but the cynic narrowed its eyes and took in his general appearance.

Tie askew; top button of his shirt unfastened. There was a sheen on his forehead and upper lip, and it looked like he needed a shave. He was fidgeting like a toddler in need of a restroom.

Connor abhorred tardiness, yet he was more than half an hour late. He hadn’t even bothered to kiss me when he arrived.

I knew he’d just flown in from London, but in the two years we’d been dating, I’d never seen him looking so out of sorts; like he’d just rolled out of bed.

Trying to quell my disappointment, I lifted my champagne flute and took a sip. “How was your flight?”

“Flight?” More fidgeting. “Um…yeah. Good, I guess. It was good.”

He picked up the menu and put it down again. “Did you order?”

I let out a small huff. “Of course I didn’t order. That would’ve been rude. Besides, what if you’d been even later?” Leaning in, I lowered my voice to just above a whisper. “Would you expect me to sit here and eat a six-course tasting menu alone?”

His eyes snapped to mine, and it dawned on me that it was the first time we made eye contact since he’d arrived.

He frowned. “You eat alone all the time. Why would tonight be any different?” He cleared his throat. “Not that that was my intention, of course. I got stuck in the office and?—”

“Stuck in the office? I thought you were coming straight from the airport.”

His eyes widened. “I did. I…um…took an earlier flight, so I popped into the office to check on a few things.”

The waiter arrived with his scotch and set it before him. Connor snatched it off the table and tossed back another mouthful. At this rate he’d be in a drunken stupor in no time at all, making dropping to one knee all but impossible.

“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked, looking hopeful.

I lifted my menu, not that I needed it, but it gave me something to do that didn’t involve grabbing the glass of scotch from Connor’s hand. I tamped down my irritation.

“Yes, I’ll have?—”

“No,” Connor interrupted, waving a hand at the poor man. “Can you give us a minute?”

With a nod, the waiter backed away from the table, while I was about ready to slink underneath it. Better yet, I’d just leave.

I removed my napkin from my lap, folded it, and set it on the table in front of me.

“I think this evening has run its course.” I slid toward the end of the banquette and stood. “Tonight could have been filled with a lifetime of wonderful memories. Instead, it’s been nothing but disappointment. If you think I want you to propose right now, after you’ve shown up late looking like you slept in your suit, and then sit here and attempt to imbibe your body weight in expensive scotch while you try to get up the nerve to ask me to marry you, you’ve got another think coming, Connor.” I straightened my spine and tucked my clutch under my arm. “I even rented a suite here for us to celebrate tonight, but I can assure you, I’ll be sleeping in it alone. You blew it.”

Connor stared up at me, a stunned look on his face, and his mouth hanging open like some stupid fish. I waited for an apology, but he just sat there. Jaw unhinged. Eyes wide. It was uncomfortable, and I wanted to kick myself for not flouncing when I had the chance.

Pulling himself together, he closed his mouth, sat up straight, and scanned the elegant guests seated at nearby tables who were polite enough to look away from the train wreck happening nearby. He turned his face to the window. I’d bet he was sorry now.

When he finally looked up at me, I expected to see remorse, but instead was met with confusion. He scratched the side of his face. “Propose?”

Oh shit. I swallowed.

My skin itched as I held myself as stiff and straight as I could, picturing an imaginary line from the ceiling to the base of my spine, and gave him a slight nod.

Then he laughed. “Jesus, Madison. How in the hell did you come up with that?” He laughed again, and the imaginary line snapped. With a look of contrition, he waved at my chair. “Sit. Please.”

Sitting was the last thing I wanted to do, but if I didn’t sit, I feared I might topple over. I lowered myself until I was perched on the edge of the upholstered banquette.

“Madison…” He ran a hand over his mouth and jaw. “I’m sorry, but…” He shook his head like proposing to me was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “Where’d you ever get the idea that I was going to propose?”

I wanted a redo. I wanted to erase the last hour and return to my office. There were contracts that needed my attention. One of my clients was back in rehab, and I needed to put out a press release. I’d even thought about cancelling tonight. I really had, but thinking that he was going to propose…

My mind was a complete blank. “I… um…” I blinked to squelch the burning building behind my eyes. “Uh…” Words failed me. I had an undergraduate degree in Literatures in English with a minor in creative writing from Bryn Mawr and an MBA in management from UPenn, but I had no fucking words.

I grew up on the Main Line for Christ’s sake. Enrights didn’t stammer or mumble.

Or burst into tears in the middle of the Four Seasons.

Connor tossed back the last of his scotch and stood.

“Actually, Mads, my girlfriend just made the move here from LA. You and I have had some fun, but I can’t be stepping out on her in the same city we live in. As a matter of fact, I am ready to settle down and propose. Just not to you. I’m sorry for the confusion, but did you really think we were on the marriage track?” With a low chuckle, he tugged on his tie and tightened the knot. “You’re married to your job and so am I. I need a woman to come home to at night; not someone traipsing around the world trying to corral rockstars and socialites. The reason I asked you here tonight was to tell you it’s over. I thought we’d have a nice dinner and part as friends.”

A chill raced up my spine. My hands shook, and heat colored my face. I lifted my chin, and despite still being seated while he stood, I emulated my grandmother’s imperious gaze and was surely looking down on him.

My jaw clenched, and I tried to control the tenor of my voice, which came out dark and threatening. “After two years, you thought you could buy me a fancy dinner, break my heart, and send me on my way thinking we could still be friends?”

His face scrunched. “Two years? Are you sure? It doesn’t seem?—”

I kept my voice low as I hissed, “Shut up, Connor!”

Heads turned and the quiet hum of polite conversation dimmed, but I no longer cared. Flattening my palms on the table, I pushed myself up until I stood facing him. “You wasted the last two years of my life, Connor.” My jaw was so tight it didn’t move. My Main Line ancestors would’ve been proud.

“Oh, come on, Mads. It’s not like we were exclusive.” He motioned between us. “Whatever’s got your panties in a twist is all you, sweetheart.” He reached for his billfold and pulled out a couple crisp hundred-dollar bills and tossed them onto the table.

Not exclusive?

A low hum filled my head and grew louder until I was certain a swarm of bees had infiltrated the serene setting of Jean-Georges, stealing away in the artfully arranged flowers on the tables and over the bar. Light flickered against the edges of my eyes. I stood, straight as an arrow; my knees locked, my spine frozen.

I wiped my sweaty palm against my silk-covered thigh and reached for my nearly full glass of champagne. Then with perfect aim, I tossed it directly into Connor’s stupid, simpering face.

“Fuck you!” I managed to say, abandoning all manner of propriety before the restaurant manager set a gentle hand on my arm in an attempt to escort me from the restaurant. With a calm that belied the turbulence swirling inside me, I grabbed my clutch and aimed a benign smile at the manager. “I’m leaving now, thank you.”

I gazed at the wet prick in front of me, not caring that there were cell phones aimed in our direction and gave him my most practiced smile.

“Connor, it’s been a most enlightening evening. Do me a favor, and please lose my number.”

Then, with my head held high, I walked out, clutching whatever shreds of dignity I could muster along with the pieces of a bruised and battered heart.