Chapter 3 #2
Jorge and the woman both rise. The men extend their arms, and I notice Jorge’s hand dwarfs even Bastian’s, who’s just over six feet tall and built like what you’d expect a sturdy German to look.
He played rugby at university. Bastian doesn’t flinch, but I can tell Jorge’s squeezing his hand tighter than Bastian expected.
Jorge appears completely casual as he does it.
“Ms. Schlossberg, Mr. Klauss, this is my mother, Luciana Diaz.”
Mother.
His mother?
There isn’t a chance in fucking hell this woman is in her late fifties at the youngest.
I look between the two of them, and I can see the resemblance now. Talk about an amazing family gene pool. I doubt she’s had any work done. She’s just naturally that breathtaking.
My gaze meets Jorge’s, and he appears to fight the urge to smirk.
“It’s lovely to meet you both. Funny running into you here.”
Luciana’s comment forces my attention away from Jorge.
Frankfurt is an enormous city and is the financial capital of not just Germany but central Europe.
There are easily hundreds of restaurants in the city, yet we both wind up here.
It’s not near my office or any hotel they’re likely staying in.
This place isn’t exactly out of the way, but it’s more of a local choice.
“Small world.” What the hell else do I say?
“My parents used to come here whenever they were in town.”
Jorge’s explanation leaves me with more questions. Used to? Were in town?
Why the past tense? Doesn’t Jorge’s father travel with his mother anymore? Why did they come to Frankfurt? Was it business for one or both of them?
“That was a long time ago.”
There’s a wistfulness to the woman’s comment, and it makes me think she has fond memories of this place, but they’re tinged with sadness. As though she catches herself, she turns to me and smiles.
“We don’t want to keep you from your dinner.”
“It was nice meeting you both.” Bastian offers them a nod before pulling out the chair that will force me to face Jorge throughout the meal.
“Enjoy your meal, Mrs. Diaz, Mr. Diaz.”
“It’s Jorge, Liesel.”
He’s standing beside me as he adjusts his mother’s seat for her. I barely hear him.
Liesel?
That’s not my name. Liese, maybe. But not Liesel. The English equivalent of my name is Anna Elise, not Anne Elizabeth. All three can be diminutives of Elizabeth, though, so it’s not beyond the realm of possibility.
Did it suddenly get warm in here? The heat rising along my neck tempts me to fan myself with the menu. This is definitely not the place to do that. Am I too young for a hot flash?
“What are you in the mood for tonight?” Maybe if I get the conversation going with Bastian again, I’ll forget about the brooding man sitting three feet from me.
“I think the rouladen. What about you?”
Stuffed meat.
So not what I need on my dirty mind right now.
Especially not when they serve the dish with potatoes.
“The spaetzle.” I love the micro-dumplings here and the braised beef that goes with them.
“Jorge’s Weiner schnitzel looked good too.”
For the love of all that’s holy. The universe is fucking perverted and cruel.
I only know the slang meaning for wiener because of my time in the U.S.
for grad school. Bastian probably doesn’t since he went to university and med school in Berlin.
I don’t need any more reasons to think about Jorge’s cock.
Certainly not when his mother is sitting practically elbow-to-elbow with me.
Thank heavens for small mercies when Jorge and Luciana finish their dinner halfway through Bastian’s and mine. They say goodnight and leave. I was so aware of Jorge I practically ignored Bastian all evening. I feel like a bitch.
We’ve been together for two years, so he’s used to nights when I’m too tired to hold up my end of the conversation.
I know he thinks that’s what’s happening right now.
If only it were. My mind is plenty awake.
It’s jumping all over the place from the impending contracts to Jorge’s appearance and voice.
Then it hops from my father breathing down my neck to worrying about what Enrique Diaz will do if the investment falls through after all this shit.
I dread facing one of the world’s most powerful men.
Jorge is already intimidating. I don’t want to imagine what his uncles are like.
“Are you ready to head home?”
Bastian helps me with my coat as I twist to look over my shoulder. His face is so familiar, and it still melts my heart when he smiles at me. I turn toward him and slide my arms around his waist.
“I love you.” I practically blurted that.
“I love you too. Ready?”
I nod and let go. I face the door, but not before I take one last look at Jorge’s empty chair. I picture his smirk when I realized he wasn’t on a date like I am.
Our weekly date night. Something you could set your Bavarian clock by.
Cuckoo.
It’s time I pulled my head out of my ass.
Bastian wraps his arm around my waist as we head to his car. I used our company car service to get here because I knew I was going home with Bastian.
Easygoing, reliable…predictable Bastian.
He’s loyal—like a spaniel.
Jorge…
He’s a fucking Rottweiler. Handsome to look at but ready to tear you apart.