Chapter 5 #2
James tilted his head modestly, and I suddenly noticed the way his suit fit just a little too perfectly.
Not trendy, not flashy—expensive in a way that whispered instead of shouted.
His whole vibe was easy confidence. Cool competence.
The exact energy I’d learned to associate with boardrooms and Bloomberg terminals.
No.
No, no, no.
“Oh, Hayley! Here’s that glass of Riesling for you,” Mark exclaimed once he noticed me standing next to them.
“Thank you.” I took the glass of wine from him and tried my best to avoid making eye contact with James. “And it’s Ha—”
“You saved nearly a billion dollars across our portfolios today with your write-up on the situation. I’m not sure anyone in the firm’s history has ever done that before.” Mark was staring at James like he was the second coming.
My fingers tightened around the stem of the wineglass. The words tumbled out of Mark’s mouth and hit me one by one, each heavier than the last. Portfolios. Write-Up. Billion dollars.
Oh my god.
James was a man in finance.
And I’d spent the other night—an entire meal—casually dragging men in his profession to his face.
Nice one, Hallie. And this is why you’re still single.
“I just wanted to make sure our clients’ investments were safe.” James lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “You know, I thought I noticed you could have shifted a few of the accounts you manage today.”
The simple comment leeched all color from Mark’s face and after a long pause, he glanced down at his watch. “This has been great, James. But I just remembered I have some work left to do.” And without a glance in my direction, he hurried out of Whiskey Locker like the place was on fire.
As he left, I could feel James’s eyes on me now, his attention unshakable and intense. It was like he was pulling me into his orbit with every passing second. I wanted to look anywhere but at him, but my body betrayed me, as my gaze lifted to meet his.
God, how tall was he? Six-four? Six-five, maybe? He made Mark—who I’d mentally filed as “tall enough”—look like a teenage boy who hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet.
“Did he just …?” I muttered, more to myself than to the man standing next to me—who I wasn’t entirely sure just potentially thwarted my lead for the evening on purpose.
“At least you got a drink out of the situation.” James’s voice slid through the air like velvet as he clinked his Old Fashioned against my wineglass. “It’s not a complete loss of an evening.”
“What are you doing here?” The clink of our glasses taking me out of my shocked stupor.
A smirk curled at the corner of his lips, slow and sure. “I’m just enjoying a nice evening out.” His eyes darkened as they held mine, lingering. “I think the better question is what are you doing here?”
It was clear what James was getting at. With most of the clientele of this bar being men who worked in the financial district, that simple quirk of his eyebrow told me he knew exactly what I was doing here.
I let out a long sigh, the weight of rejection settling heavily in my chest. I’d tried to brush it off in the days since the dinner party, but it was still lingering.
I’d thought we’d hit it off—our conversation had flowed so easily, so naturally.
It had felt simple, like the beginning of something.
I’d expected a contact exchange, maybe even a suggestion to meet up again.
But instead, he left me stunned, slipping away from the Grangers’ house without so much as a goodbye or any way to reach him.
And now, standing here in a bar full of finance bros, I realized something I hadn’t before: he never told me what he did for a living. Not once. And I, brilliant in my red lipstick and righteous opinions, had offered my unfiltered thoughts on men in his exact profession—to his face.
Of course he’d taken it personally. How could he not?
I just hadn’t realized it then.
So why do I want to try having another conversation with him?
Before I could subject myself to more embarrassment, I looked for the quickest escape route out of this conversation. “Roxie and I were just about to leave, actually. I figured I’d cut my losses since that’s now two men that have run from me in the last week.”
I should’ve just walked away. But something about the tension between us made me want to face it, if only to get it over with. Maybe it was the look in his eyes—cooler now, unreadable in a way they hadn’t been at dinner. So I didn’t sugarcoat it.
“And if you were going to ghost me, you could’ve at least waited until we finished dessert.”
James let out a laugh, low and quiet, but the warmth from the Grangers’ dining room wasn’t behind it anymore. The spark I’d seen was gone. He’d built something between us now. A wall. And I couldn’t tell if he was waiting for me to climb it or back away.
“Are you sure you were leaving with your friend?” James didn’t even look bothered by my comment as he glanced over my shoulder toward where Roxie and I were first sitting at the bar. “I don’t think she got that memo.”
I turned to see two empty seats where Roxie and the other guy that had approached her had been. With one glance at my phone, I saw a text from her telling me she’d hit it off with “Greg” and was going to grab a bite to eat with him, but to let her know how my search for my first date goes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me …”
As if this night couldn’t get any worse. While I was happy for Roxie, the best chance I had at securing a date before the end of the week when my first article would be due was now slim to none tonight. Maybe I should have written about her escapades and passed them off as mine.
“Better luck next time.” The wink James gave me nearly sent me over the edge.
“Apparently, my luck has dried out.” I laughed bitterly, feeling the wine in my system loosen my tongue more than it should have.
“First you leave without giving me your number after I thought we had a rather great conversation over dinner. But now it makes sense, because I probably offended you the entire time. Then I get ditched by my first potential muse for my series. Why am I even surprised? I am trying to write an article about finding the most eligible bachelor out of a group of workaholics.”
There was a long stretch of silence once I’d finished my rant.
I could feel the tension thickening the air around us like a fog.
James’s brow furrowed slightly as if my bluntness had caught him off guard.
He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable for a second, before speaking again, his voice softer this time.
“The reason I didn’t ask for your number,” he began, his eyes avoiding mine, “is because you seem to have rather strong opinions about men in the financial sector and while it’s perfectly alright for you to have those opinions …
I didn’t think they would suit us well if we had moved forward with the night. ”
The moment his words left his mouth, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole. Of course, I’d been too honest with him. I could feel my face heating up with the realization of how easily I’d let my feelings spill out, and now I was standing here, feeling like a fool.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “That doesn’t mean my opinions would have applied to you.”
James offered a small, almost regretful smile. “Well, I’m not a fan of your plan to use my coworkers and peers for your own personal gain and plaster it all over a magazine.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. As much as I hated being called out for this assignment that I also did not want to do, I understood where he was coming from.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t going down without a fight, seeing that he had just crashed my entire evening, knowing full well what this article meant for me.
I crossed my arms, trying to hold my ground, but I couldn’t help the flush creeping up my neck. “You can’t deny that every man that works in finance that comes to this bar is intending to meet someone.”
James’s eyes softened, his posture loosening a bit. “Even if that were true,” he said, “they aren’t asking for their conversations to be exploited for the world to read.”
The tips of James’s ears had turned pink over the course of our argument, and if I wasn’t mad, I might have found it cute.
It’s not like I enjoy writing articles about my dating adventures. I’d much rather write about the new restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen that had the best jalapeno poppers in the city or the bakery with scones so moist, they melted on your tongue.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “We all do things we don’t want to do sometimes and it’s not like you can stop me from having a conversation with every man in the financial sector at every bar they frequent.”
James lifted one perfect eyebrow. “Try me.”