Chapter 15
S CARLETT
We never talk after having our contentious conversation or lock eyes again, and he leaves after nine.
The people around the table stay behind, having dinner and more drinks.
That’s what makes me think he might return.
About twenty minutes pass, and I grow uncertain about him coming back.
There’s no way he’ll be outside when I finish work.
The party dwindles down after ten, but it takes a while for the people to leave and us to get our money, put on our coats, and walk out.
Sammy insists on having a glass of wine with me before heading out.
She was right about the tips.
We’ve made a lot of money, so I indulge her, and we have a drink at the bar, standing.
I try to come up with a ploy and not stroll out of the restaurant with her.
Hope dies last, right?
So I still hope I might see Ewan again, although, frankly, at this point, it feels more like wishful thinking.
His people are gone.
And he’s been gone for more than an hour. So many things could’ve happened since he left.
“Okay. I should go now. I’ll get a cab. No way, I’m taking the train now.”
“Good thinking,” she approves, grinning. “I’ll do the same. Too bad we’re not going in the same direction. We could share a cab.”
“Yes, too bad,” I murmur, spotting an opportunity to step out before her.
Without wasting another moment, I thank her again and head out.
I smoothly move through the doors, set foot on the sidewalk, and take in Manhattan.
The view is cinematic, steam vapor rising from the vents, lights glimmering along the trees, cars moving in a blur.
I lift my collar against my face to shield my skin from the cold and glance around, looking for a cab.
I don’t expect to see a car waiting for me.
Moving to the edge of the sidewalk, I notice the doorman stepping toward me about to offer some help when the headlights of a black car across the street come on, and the vehicle moves swiftly, crosses the lanes, and pulls up in front of me.
My heart pitter-patters as the black window moves down, and Ewan’s eyes push their light onto me.
“Get in,” he says.
A trickle of satisfaction and apprehension sweeps through me. On the one hand, I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame. On the other hand, his way of doing things unsettle me profoundly.
I slide into the front seat and fasten my seatbelt. It’s an expensive sports car. If the dashboard wasn’t a total giveaway, the way the engine purrs and the car moves with that barely suppressed tension in its frame leaves no doubt about it.
The comfortable seat, low and tilted back, and the ease he drives it with.
They are all dead giveaways.
“I thought you forgot about me,” I say, peeking at the buildings outside. “Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you home,” he says, not looking at me.
Oh, yeah… I forgot about that.
I do look at him. Perhaps too much.
He doesn’t mind me, allowing me to drag my gaze over his profile, his dress shirt, and the smooth fabric of his suit.
He doesn’t wear a coat, and honestly, I shouldn’t either. It’s warm enough inside his car, and our trip is fairly long, so I unbuckle my seat belt and remove my coat before placing it in the back.
I fasten the seat belt, get settled in my seat, and stare out the window again.
“You look nice,” he says as if someone has put the barrel of a gun to his head and forced him to speak.
“Thank you,” I say neutrally.
“I like that dress,” he says in the same monotone voice.
He either doesn’t like my dress, or he’s never paid someone a compliment in his life.
“You don’t need to be nice to me.”
“That’s not me being nice to you.”
“Clearly.”
He laughs, and I flick my gaze to him.
His eyes come to life in a dangerous way.
As beautiful and mesmerizing as they can be when he’s upset, as irresistible they become when he’s amused.
“Who are you?” I toss at him abruptly, and his laugh dies out, a pang of curiosity fleeting through his stare.
“Why are you asking?”
“I don’t know. You’re taking me home. We’re alone in this car. I think it’s wise to know who you are.”
The concern is thick and slightly muddy in my voice, and it’s significant enough for him to pull his guard up.
“You’re safe with me. Besides, I had plenty of opportunities to do something to you if I wanted to,” he says. “Don’t you think?” he probes.
He glances at me, an eyebrow lifted.
I toss him a contemplative look.
“What are you afraid of?” he asks again.
“Why are you taking me home?” I murmur, shifting the conversation.
“To make sure you’re all right.”
“Why does it matter to you?”
I realize that we’re heading toward an argument, regardless of whether we want it or not.
He looks away and shrugs.
“It doesn’t. I just thought it was the right thing to do.”
That sounds cold.
“Did your ex bother you again?” he asks.
“He didn’t dare.”
“Perfect. Mission accomplished.”
A pause ensures.
“Did he take care of you when you were together?” he eventually asks.
His question makes me ponder.
What does that even mean?
No one has ever taken care of me.
My mother did her best, but I was left to my own devices early on.
I didn’t expect anyone to take care of me.
“What do you mean?”
I ask him what I have asked myself.
He’s probably thinking about the extra care you normally get from someone who loves you. But what are we talking about love?
No, Joachim didn’t do that.
He didn’t go the extra mile. He didn’t even break his routine to do something nice for me.
Had I been married to Joachim and worked in Manhattan, I’d be on the train now, heading home.
That’s how things worked in our marriage.
He didn’t care whether I’d workeda few extra hours or had side hustles to pay the bills.
He contributed with what he could, and that was it.
I paid the bills, balanced our income against our expenses, and made sure we didn’t fall behind.
He only asked if we were okay, whatever that meant in his world, and I said yes.
I should’ve known better.
I always teach my pupils how important good habits are. However, I somehow forgot to implement that teaching in my life.
So, his asking me about it gets me thinking, and his having zero patience with Joachim’s shenanigans only serves as a swift reminder that I did a lot of things wrong.
“You know what I mean,” he says, his eyes finding mine.
I wish we could stay like that forever, searching each other’s souls and learning things about one another.
“No, he didn’t. He was just a regular guy,” I say.
A deep masculine laugh rolls off his chest.
“Is that an excuse?”
“I’m not apologizing for him.”
“He wasn’t nice?”
“Nice?” He full-on laughs at me. “The man is a dick,” he says.
I study him while he keeps his eyes on the road.
“You’re not doing this for everybody, are you?” I ask.
He looks at me.
“You’re nice to me,” I say.
“Hardly,” he confesses.
“I appreciate your honesty.”
“I rarely have the chance to do this for anyone.”
“Why me?”
He mulls over this answer for a few seconds.
“Because I can’t get in bed with you.”
Oh, shit.
This type of honesty is brutal.
I don’t even know if I’ve heard him correctly.
“What?” I push out.
He flashes a smile.
“I can be direct with you, I hope.”
“Isn’t it too late to ask?”
“It surely is. But I thought you were an adult, and I didn’t need to ask for permission.”
“I am an adult. Why would you say something like that to me?”
He checks me out, his gaze moving from my eyes to my knees that are neatly pressed together and pointed to him.
“I hope you’re not blushing,” he says.
“I’m not blushing.”
My cheeks are ablaze.
“Why am I off limits to you?”
He takes in a long breath and looks away.
“Because it’s the right thing to do. And I should be off limits to you, too.”
“I’ve never thought about you in that way.”
He flicks his eyes to me, challenging me to bring some facts to support my statement.
“I truly haven’t. I couldn’t afford to. My life is complicated enough even without a grumpy and hot 'I-don’t-know-his-last-name man in it.'”
“My point exactly.”
I’m disappointed with where our conversation is headed, so I close my mouth, slump in my seat, and stare out the window, trying to think about something else.
A few moments pass.
“My boss said you had the power to close the restaurant down if I didn’t do what you had asked of me.”
“People talk a lot of stupid things.”
I move my attention to him, my bullshit meter entering the red zone.
He masterfully avoids certain topics.
“You’re not truthful with me.”
He weighs his answer.
“What if I were?” he finally says.
“Who has that kind of power?”
He shrugs a shoulder and remains focused on the road.
“I don’t know,” he says casually. “People who have nothing to lose. People who stop at nothing to get what they want.”
“Like you this evening. You wanted to have me in your car so you can tell me I wasn’t in the cards for you,” I joke.
We both laugh.
“I felt bad about last Friday,” he admits. “I truly was. It wasn’t your fault that I had to be there, playing Santa. Only later did I realize you’d put so much effort into organizing that event, and I gave you a hard time for nothing. And then I saw your ex… What’s his name?”
“Joachim.”
He nods.
“Joachim… I saw him giving you a hard time for nothing just because you couldn’t find the energy in you to put him in his place. And it dawned on me I wasn’t any better. I treated you badly because I had my own issues while all along you wanted to do the right thing.”
He studies my expression briefly before his beautiful lips part into a mischievous smile.
“I had some bad thoughts about you that night,” he says.
“You mean dirty.”
“I mean bad and dirty.”
“And then you thought you’d do me a favor by giving me a ride and telling me you only used to have thoughts about me?”
He chuckles again.
“I feel responsible for you for some reason.”
“That, and you don’t like people to say no to your face.”
“You got that right.”
“So you have brought me here so you can say no to my face?”
He side-eyes me.
“Do you think sleeping with me is a good idea?” he asks directly, and I gasp.
“I think you’re an interesting man with too much to hide. And I think you haven’t been challenged in a while, and right now, you’re not sure whether to give me a go or not. That’s what I think,” I say just as he takes his foot off the gas and we exit the Long Island Expressway.