Chapter Two
FEELING GUILTY FOR being snarky with the smooth Ren this evening, I decide to chat with the manager for a few, put in a good word or two.
I want to be a better person. Here’s my chance to start making a change.
It’s the least I can do after giving him a bit of a hard time.
He kept his cool, never once snapping back at the rude customer.
That would be me.
“May I speak with the manager, please?”
My waiter looks alarmed. “Is anything wrong, ma’am?”
“No, I’d like to tell him or her how much I enjoyed my experience tonight.”
“The manager and the owner are one and the same. I’ll let him know you’d like to speak with him.”
I grant him a smile. “Perfect. I’ll be waiting in the foyer.”
I leave my table and sink into a leather chair in the warmly decorated lobby. When Ren approaches, looking concerned, I get to my feet. He’s around six foot four to my five foot nine. I have to look up as I speak.
“Don’t look so worried, I’m not here to complain. I’m waiting to speak with the owner, and I promise to talk you up and sing your praises. Look, I know I was unpleasant this evening. I appreciate you putting up with me.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “That’s very sweet of you, but it’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is. Let me make amends. It’s something I need to do. For me. So I can look in the mirror and be happy with the reflection I see.”
“You would do that for me?” He seems surprised.
“Yes, of course.” I’m not a monster. I’m not. I’m not.
He doesn’t take a step forward or put his hands on me, but his eyes pin me in place, holding me hostage. “Who hurt you?”
The sudden change of subject takes me off guard. “Excuse me?”
“Who hurt you?” he repeats, with penetrating eyes.
“What makes you think I’ve been hurt?” He’s perceptive, I’ll give him that.
“I didn’t think you were unpleasant this evening, I thought you were defensive. I wasn’t offended. I spent my time wondering who made you this way and if I could fix it.”
Remember when I said I’m never speechless? Ren just made me a liar. That voice is like listening to a violin play the sweetest chords.
“Don’t give anyone that much power over you. Life is short. Be good to yourself, Bree.”
He’s right. I’ve let failed relationships bring me down. I shouldn’t let other people determine my mood. I need to choose happiness for myself.
“Mr. Chambers, you left your cell in the kitchen. Someone has called three times in a row,” a waiter informs.
He glances at his watch, concern marring his features. After midnight is a strange time to be receiving phone calls.
“I’ll be right there.” He doesn’t raise his voice.
Then to me he says, “Your message has been delivered. Thank you, much appreciated. Have a good night, Bree. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
So polite, so formal. So seductive sounding.
Yet so un-flirty. I read him all wrong.
I watch him go, the significance of his words rumbling around in my head. “Wait. Are you…?” The owner?
Please, no.
He turns, but keeps walking backward. “Guilty as charged.” His potent half smile makes me shiver.
Wow. I met the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen this evening, and I was downright prickly. And I’ve just proceeded to make a fool of myself in front of him.
Now he’s walking away.
But that’s what I wanted. I’m not interested in a new relationship.
Right?
Right.
Evidently, certain parts of me never got the memo.
After a stomach-dropping rush of an elevator ride and a visit to the ladies’ room to freshen up, I make my way through the dark parking lot, my heels against the pavement sounding like gunshots in the quiet night.
I press the ignition button in my cherry-red Camry, and nothing happens. The engine isn’t even trying to turn over. Just a sharp click and nothing.
It’s nearly one in the morning, and I’ve stayed out much too late. That’s what Friday nights are for, right? Get out, have a smashing good time.
I smashed it. Now it’s smashing me back.
My car is refusing to start. But I try it twenty more times just to be sure. Because, why not?
Nothing.
Fantastic. I could try the tried-and-true female method of fixing things by banging on the hood a few times.
Instead, I’m grabbing my phone to call for my motor club when a knock on my window startles me, making me drop my phone in my lap.
It’s Ren, the dashing man in black with a voice like silk barely touching my skin, entering my life again as though fate is trying to hit me over the head with a brick.
Huh. Sorry, fate. Not happening.
I lower the window. “Are you following me, Mister Restaurant Owner?” I could’ve just called him Ren, but I’m still impressed that he’s the owner of Exodus. It’s considered to be one of the nicest restaurants in the Portland area.
He simply points a few rows over. “My car’s right there.”
“Sure it is.”
He ignores my ingrained sarcasm. “Car trouble?”
“Aren’t you observant.” I’m not trying to be rude. I enjoy bantering with him.
“One of my finer traits.”
This thick-skinned guy has a comeback for everything without missing a beat and seemingly doesn’t get offended.
I like that. Maybe he could actually like me.
“My car’s dead. I’m fine, though. I was just about to call my motor club. I got this. I don’t need to be rescued.”
“Maybe you do,” he says, holding my gaze with a fair amount of intensity.
“I don’t.” My tongue might not stutter, but my heart does.
“May I wait with you? It’s not safe, and I’d rather not leave you here alone.”
Alone. I’m always alone. I don’t want to be alone.
A firm “No, thank you” sits on the tip of my tongue.
But it dissolves when a man pushing his life’s belongings in a shopping cart ambles past. Plus there are two men lurking in the shadows of the building in front of me, the light of their cigarette butts two shining orange dots in the darkness.
Downtown Portland in the middle of the night is not the best place to be stranded and alone.
And this man has me intrigued.
“I don’t hang out with strange men,” I tell him, unable to drown out my feisty side.
“We have that in common.”
I keep a straight face. Just barely. “Are you an ax murderer?”
“I left my ax at home. You’re safe for now.”
“Robber?”
“Caught. I’m dying to steal that Hawaiian girl with wobbly hips on your dashboard. I’ve always wanted one.”
It’s so awful. But Josie and Jordyn chose it for me as a present when Sawyer gave them free rein to buy me something. That alone makes it a prized possession.
I ignore the urge to laugh. “Serial killer?”
“You’d have the privilege of being my first.”
“What an honor. That’s not something I can pass up.”
“Can I wait with you?” he asks again, his half smile ever present as words seem to glide off his tongue.
A whiff of his divine cologne teases my senses again. “That would be nice, thank you.”
He walks around the front of my car, casually waving at a coworker. No, employee. “Have a good night,” he says, again not raising his voice. If people have to strain to hear him, he lets them.
That voice makes me feel warm all over.
I unlock the passenger door, and he slides in. He’s quiet while I make the call to my motor club. “They’ll have a tow truck here in twenty.”
“So they’ll be here in forty,” he states in his soft manner.
“My guess is an hour.” I let out my breath, accepting my fate.
“Might be optimistic.”
“Delusions are how I survive reality.” I suddenly realize that’s my truth, my existence.
“Reality is overrated. By the way, if you could let my boss know I did this, I might get the promotion I’ve been hoping for. He likes good customer service.” His half smile makes another appearance.
“You are incorrigible.” I’m positive, even after knowing him for only one evening.
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Hmm. All these years my mother’s been insulting me, and I didn’t even know it.”
The interior of the car is dead silent for just a moment before brief laughter escapes my lips. I can’t help myself. He’s the comeback king. I have met my match. He joins me, a chesty, deep man-laugh. Not too loud. Very pleasant.
I’m enjoying our wordplay. After all, I could use a little laughter in my life. “Hey, thanks for waiting with me. Appreciate it.”
“You bet.”
“It’s nice to not be alone in a nearly deserted parking lot in the middle of the night.” There’s a difference between independent and foolish.
“Why are you, if you don’t mind my asking? I know the question is cliché, but I’ll ask it anyway. What’s a beautiful woman like you doing all alone?”
I hesitate. I don’t know why, but that question always makes me burn inside.
“What’s wrong with being alone, and why does it drive men crazy when a woman chooses to be alone?” I’m independent and proud of it.
Or maybe I’m just alone.
“Sensitive topic much?”
“No,” I say firmly. Then I glance at him and amend my answer. “Yes.”
He dons his half smile. “We don’t have to talk about it. The thing is, I’ve never seen anyone in my restaurant looking so sad and defeated. It made me want to make you smile. Epic fail, but I tried.” His words glide like a skater on ice.
“I was smiling on the inside.”
“You were?”
“Yep. I guess I love your cheesy wit. Didn’t know that about myself.”
He pretends as though I just stabbed him in the heart. “I’m so devastated.”
I ignore his theatrics.
“What’s your story, Bree? Why so glum?”
He makes me want to tell him my life story. “My story is long and sad.”
“I have about twenty minutes. Can you talk fast?”
I laugh again, and it feels good. It makes me realize I’ve been much too maudlin lately, a subdued version of myself.
I need to snap out of it. In my defense, I did recently spend a lot of time with a man who was so filled with grief he couldn’t see straight.
He never really saw me, that’s for sure.
I was just accessible. Sure wish I would’ve realized that sooner.