Chapter 23
twenty-three
PRESENT DAY
brANDON
Idrag my hands down my black tie, making sure it’s sleek between the lapels of my black suit.
The pretty restaurant hostess flicks her eyes to me again.
After I showed up, I convinced her to seat me before the rest of my associates and gave her a generous tip.
She quirked her tattooed eyebrows, smiled, then blatantly asked for my number. I turned her down.
But by the way she keeps scouting my table, I think she’s not getting the hint.
I glance around the fancy establishment that the Winthrops chose to meet at to discuss their donation. I’m still a few minutes early, but Kate promised to be too.
I crease my elbows along the crimson tablecloth and eye the menu. A fluffy tassel protrudes from the spine, the swirling script has no listed prices, and I’m increasingly grateful that the museum will be footing this bill.
Sure, I make enough as a single man living in the city, but I’d rather eat ten meals at Burger Grillz than one portion of the duck confit, whatever that is.
Movement catches in my periphery. I turn, half expecting to see the hostess again, but I suck in a fraction of a breath.
Kate Chen struts toward me in a strapless black dress. The longer hem cuts across her shins where the straps on her high heels seem intent on wrapping up her leg like some sexy mummy. Her bare shoulders look every bit as soft as the dress.
My legs involuntarily stand, but the table stunts my path of movement since my chair is tucked in. I’m stuck in a weird half squat right as Kate pins me with her gaze, so I’m forced to either sit or commit.
I slide on a cocky grin as my quads begin to burn. “Mr. Winthrop and his wife aren’t here yet. You look stunning, by the way.”
I don’t miss the way her eyes dip over me before skirting back up to my face.
“Thank you,” she says. “I’d say you look nice too, but you mainly look like you’re in pain.”
I didn’t realize the fire in my quads had pinched my face, but I admit defeat by plopping back down to my chair.
“Looks like I need to do more legwork,” I mutter.
“Why Brandon, I’m surprised to hear you say that.” Kate slinks into the chair beside me, and I catch a whiff of the familiar jasmine scent coming off her curled hair. She bats her lashes. “Didn’t you know that eighty percent of boxing is in the legwork?”
She smirks, and I cough a laugh.
“You’re gonna make me regret those boxing lessons, aren’t you?”
“Sure am.” She takes a lengthy sip of water.
I watch as she scans the restaurant. It’s been decorated for Valentine’s day, which is coming up next week. Her eyes narrow more with each passing second. We fall silent for a matter of minutes, each of us pretending to scrutinize the menu.
“Aren’t they supposed to be here by now?” she mumbles.
I glance at my gold wristwatch. “Yeah. I mean, it’s only ten past, but maybe they’re stuck in traffic?”
An audible gurgle rumbles from Kate’s stomach before she claps her hands against it.
“Pretend you didn’t hear that,” she whispers, eyes wide.
“Hear what?” I wink, then gesture at the menu. “We better order something for the table so you don’t rip Mr. Winthrop’s head off when he gets here.”
Kate lets out an affronted laugh.
“Am I wrong?” I lean back in my chair.
Kate buries her pink nose into the menu before muttering, “No.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Ten minutes and half a plate of calamari later, the Winthrops still haven’t shown. But Kate’s body language is becoming looser, thanks to the deep fried calories.
“Are we being stood up?” Kate drenches another piece of calamari with lemon and eats it. She catches me watching, tilting her head with a small smile. “What?”
“Has calamari been the key to ‘nice Kate’ this whole time? If that’s the case, I’m hiring a private chef for the museum.”
Kate laughs. Laughs. The sound is husky, rich, and filled with life.
“I’m not going to turn that down,” she says, taking another bite. “And yes. Fried seafood is my kindness switch. Feel free to turn me on anytime.”
Kate slaps a hand over her mouth as a surprised belly laugh flies out of me.
She begins to hack into her napkin, likely aspirating on said key of kindness.
A sip of water eases her cough, though the pink glow across her cheeks remains.
She pulls her phone from her purse, tapping the screen to check the time.
“They’re over forty minutes late,” she says. “How much longer ‘til we call this a no show?”
“I’ll call Mr. Winthrop, and if he’s not coming, we’ll leave.”
Five minutes later, Mr. Winthrop’s assistant gives me a curt apology about a work meeting running late. He assures me they’ll arrive in no time. I sigh, ending the call before filling Kate in.
She slinks further into her seat, twiddling the edge of her napkin. I crack a few knuckles beneath the tablecloth. Kate’s eyes eventually meet mine, the barest whisper of a smile edging her ruby lipstick that will haunt my dreams tonight.
“Care to make this incessantly boring wait interesting?”
I cock a brow. “What did you have in mind?”
“Truth or dare, duh.”
The shimmer of humor in her dark eyes is so achingly familiar that I try to memorize it. I drape a casual arm across the back of her chair.
“Fine,” I say. “Truth or dare?”
She captures a scarlet lip between her teeth for a millisecond before rolling her shoulders.
“Dare.”
I think for a second. “I dare you to make the hostess jealous.”
Kate’s grin falls into bewilderment. “Huh?”
“Make her jealous. She’s already asked for my number and she seems to not be taking no for an answer.”
“Why did you tell her no?” She shifts in her chair to get a better look at the front of the restaurant. “She’s gorgeous.”
I scan the dark-haired hostess with her leopard print dress.
“Not my type,” I say.
Kate scoffs. “What? She’s totally your type.”
“No, she’s not.” My gaze twines with Kate’s for a few seconds too long, and pink flushes her cheeks. “Are you chickening out on a dare, Kate? Never thought I’d see the day.”
Kate sets her chin. “How does she know I’m not already your girlfriend? There’s no one else here.”
I edge even closer. “I told her I was meeting work associates, and she must have smelled fresh meat.”
Kate laughs, sultry and low, only a few inches from my face. “Well, judging from her irritated look, I’ve already accomplished your little dare.”
I glance over my shoulder. The hostess doesn’t look jilted in the slightest. She even gives me a little finger wave.
“You little liar,” I say, turning back.
Her grin is wicked as she pulls away. “Worth a shot.”
I open my mouth to condemn her as a dare dropout, but my breath hitches as Kate’s hand moves to the back of my neck. My head plummets forward of its own volition, stupidly allowing her full access to my kill switch.
Kate carries on a one-sided conversation about her day.
Her fingers lift and drop each lock of hair across my nape before her thumbs begin to move in sensual circles, massaging the tension that always seems to gather there.
This impromptu massage should be relaxing, but I’ve never felt less relaxed.
Each nerve beneath her fingertips is on fire, licking away my sense of reality and fanning fantasies awake. Her other hand runs trails of sparks up and down my forearm, and I wonder if she can feel the electricity rolling off my skin.
Kate’s conversation comes to an abrupt halt, and my eyes slit open. I catch the hostess’s small huff before she spins on her heel and strides out of sight.
“Well done,” I manage to grate out.
“Thanks.” Her hand drops from my neck.
I straighten, trying to look as though each cell of my body isn’t molten desire for my ex-girlfriend.
“Okay, Mr. Roberts. Your turn. Truth or dare.”
I eye her warily. Hangry Kate is one beast, but this enigmatic, teasing version of her seems even more fraught with danger.
“Dare?” I venture.
“Is that a question?” She arches her brow.
“Yes?”
Kate laughs again, and I lap up the sound like the pathetic, starved puppy I am.
“You’re locked in now,” she says. “I dare you to order the weirdest thing on the menu and eat it.”
“What? That’s not even hard.”
Kate drags a finger down the menu. “You don’t know any French, do you?”
“No?” I take a long pull of my water.
“Thought so.” She clucks her tongue. “Let’s see. Snails or lamb testicles?”
Water spurts out of my mouth, and I scramble to catch it with my palm. “Lamb what?”
“Testicles,” Kate says sweetly. “They’re a French delicacy.”
“No way in hell am I eating those.”
“Snails it is, then.” Kate waves over a waiter. Ten giddy minutes—on her part—later, a pile of shells steams in garlic-scented goo.
The waiter produces a fork and a set of tweezer-looking things.
I blanch. Am I supposed to rip the snail out of the shell? Why would they make me do that? Isn’t there a chef back there whose sole job is to evict the little suckers?
I pick up one of the butter-drenched shells and maneuver the tongs inside it. It makes a disgusting squelch as I pull out the rubbery piece. Kate has the gall to clap her excitement.
“Cheers,” I mutter, imagining fried chicken as I shove it into my mouth and swallow without chewing. Half of my water glass chases it, and I smack my lips at Kate.
“Delicious.”
She swats me on the arm, laughing. “That was such a copout. You didn’t even chew.”
“You said eat, and I ate. It’s over.”
“Lame,” Kate declares.
“Your turn. Truth or dare?”
Kate scrunches her nose at the plate of mollusks. “Truth.”
“What? Is scaredy Kate afraid of a dare?”
Kate juts out her chin. “No. Just smart enough to know when to call it quits.”
I roll my eyes, and Kate settles back into her chair. A thousand questions spin in my mind, and because it’s Kate, I know she’ll answer honestly. My heart takes off like a motorcycle as one burning question lands on my tongue.
“Why are you with Tanner?”
Kate’s head snaps up, eyes cutting to mine.
Sure, she and Tanner don’t appear to be serious, but Kate lasting this long in a relationship is the equivalent of a ten-year wedding anniversary. Whatever marathon-con she’s running, she’s dedicated. Which means there’s gotta be a reason.
“Why do you care?” she asks evenly.
“Because I’m your… friend.” The word sounds so absurd, I almost laugh. “And I know I’ve only met the guy once, but you were acting so weird with him.”
“And this is your business, why, exactly?”
A twitch in my jaw responds before I do. “You’re not stupid, Kate. And changing yourself for someone else is stupid.”
Her mask of indifference falls into a scowl. “Wow. Thanks for cushioning your words, Brandon.”
“I’m calling it like it is, since I’ve a feeling no one else will.”
Kate crosses her arms, tone turning lethal. “You, of all people, are not allowed to tell me who I can or cannot date.”
“I’m not telling you that you can’t; let’s make that very clear.
And if you’re truly happy with him, great.
” I cough a sharp laugh. “Actually, to hell with that guy. He’s not worth it if you can’t be yourself.
And I care too much about you to sit back and watch you act like someone you’re not.
” I scrub a hand down my face. “So, answer me. Why are you with him?”
After a long moment of scrutiny, Kate’s lashes flutter closed, and she sighs.
“I—”
The jilted hostess materializes, escorting a disgruntled Mr. Winthrop and his wife.
Kate’s jaw snaps shut, silencing the truth I’ll likely never get to hear.
We’re forced to stand, to greet them, to move on and act like nothing transpired in the last twenty minutes. While the evening progresses well and Mr. Winthrop agrees to a massive donation, I’d pay an equally exorbitant amount just to know why Kate’s left knee bounces for the rest of the night.