Chapter 42 Sydney
Sydney
Almost Sixteen Months Ago
“Did I mention you look gorgeous in red?” Tony smiles at me across our restaurant table, his dark eyes hooded.
I drop my chin and spear a perfectly seasoned bite of roasted potato with my fork. “You did. Thank you.”
Tony’s tan skin glows with health, and his smile has always been friendly. He’s not smirky or sexy. Nothing at all like—Stop thinking about Gabriel McRae.
Tony admires the general splendor of the room with a satisfied expression. “I can’t believe you had this up your sleeve the whole time.”
I give a confused shake of my head and do my best to look like I want to be here. “This is my favorite place to eat. It’s close to my apartment, and you don’t need reservations, so that’s nice.”
Tony smiles, but frowns at the same time. He smowns. “All this time, I thought you weren’t into me, but you were playing the long game.”
Oh, no. “It’s not like that. I was serious, Tony. I told you this was a friendly dinner. If my friend Janessa hadn’t needed to cancel at the last minute, she’d have joined us too.”
He gives me a knowing look. “You don’t have to underplay what you’ve done here. I’m well aware this place has a nine-month waitlist for reservations.”
“Maybe you have it confused with another restaurant. Our dinner really was a last-minute thing. You asked me if I had plans. I didn’t feel like cooking.” Or staying home worrying about Gabriel. “I suggested we meet here because it’s convenient.”
“I tried to talk to you for a year. Then, you not only agreed, you had a reservation for a private dining room in one of the hottest restaurants in town. This feels pretty special.” His gaze trails over me in blatant sexual interest.
If he refuses to listen, then I have to be blunt.
“We were people who happened to run into each other often enough in the lobby of our work building that we started making occasional small talk. We’re a couple of casual friends out for a meal.
” I was worried about Gabriel and wanted a distraction, not whatever he thinks this is.
“I didn’t book private dining. They put us in here because they were full in the main restaurant, and I chose this place because the food is great, and I have a coupon.
It’s not a big deal. I eat here at least once a week. ”
I always have a stash in my junk drawer for this restaurant and a couple of others. They show up in my mailbox in flyers every week. I don’t know how they stay in business giving away so many discounts, but I always tip extra well.
Annoyance flits across his face. “This place doesn’t give out coupons like some neighborhood pizza joint. Why don’t you want credit for what you’ve done? I said I was impressed.”
“I’m not trying to impress you,” I say, growing more frustrated by the moment.
Through the open doorway, I catch sight of a familiar masculine form in a black suit, black shirt open at the collar to expose the strong column of his throat as he speaks with the hostess.
Oh, holy frickin’ hell. Seriously? Why now? Why here?
Gabriel McRae’s rich-man laugh carries through the room and curls into me, making me hot and hectic when I should be . . . I should be furious. He can’t ghost me for two weeks, then show up here at the worst possible time.
An inner voice reminds me that we don’t have a romantic relationship of any kind, don’t have a schedule, and if I’d called or texted him, he probably would have responded.
I tell my inner voice to stuff it. It feels like ghosting, so it counts.
Gabriel scans the full house beyond our private space as though he’s looking for someone.
Me. He better be looking for me.
I stab a roasted red pepper with my fork. Why am I such an idiot when it comes to this man? I don’t want him to interrupt my dinner.
Okay, I do, but it’s only because Tony turned out to be a jerk. That’s my only reason.
The hostess, Grace, nods toward our dining room, and Gabriel strides this way. No amount of pretending not to see him is going to make a bit of difference in how this is about to go down.
I shoot an apologetic look at Tony. “Whatever happens next, don’t freak out, okay?”
The words are for me, more than they are him, but Gabriel can be unpredictable, especially if he picks up on my unease with Tony. Tony’s eyebrows raise in surprise, but before he can say a word, Gabriel arrives.
“Hello, Sydney.” Bending with grace worthy of some seventeenth century French nobleman, he brushes a kiss across my cheek.
His scent, some unspeakably delicious and, no doubt, expensive, cologne washes over me.
Then he straightens, steals a chair positioned against the wall, spins it on one leg, butts it up against mine, and takes a seat.
“Sorry I’m late. Ooh, Mediterranean chicken.
You don’t mind, do you? I haven’t eaten in six hours.
” He promptly picks up my salad fork, spears one of my potatoes, and pops it into his mouth.
Under the table, I pinch his muscled thigh. Unbothered by my silent protest, he covers my hand with his own, not even trying to push me away. I may as well be a kitten batting at his shoelaces.
Tony frowns, looking from my deer-in-the-headlights expression to the face of my nemesis and back. “Who is this guy to you?”
I swallow. “He’s uh . . .” Boss isn’t correct. I definitely can’t say “The man I accepted a bribe from, who now makes it his mission in life to torture me by making me love him.”
Gabriel releases my hand to sling an arm around my shoulders. “Gabriel McRae. I have a standing reservation for this table.”
Tony eyes the two of us warily.
One hand shading my eyes, I slump so far down in my chair I should be in a different zip code.
Tony focuses on Gabriel. “Are you a relative?” There’s no denying the hopeful note in his voice.
Gabriel sets his borrowed fork on the table and laughs, his sparkling eyes crinkling at the corners. He holds his flat abdomen and chuckles like some kind of demented St. Nicholas . . . if Santa had the body of Captain America, the face of an archangel, and the maturity of a thirteen-year-old boy.
When Gabriel manages to contain his mirth, his gaze caresses me with an expression of exaggerated admiration, then he turns back to Tony and scoffs, “My relatives don’t put their hands in my lap.”
I snatch back my arm. “I was pinching him, not fondling him.”
Gabriel smiles at me affectionately. “My sunshine does enjoy her kinks.”
“Stop it,” I hiss.
His lips twitch.
“Is this how you manage to get reservations here? You have a sugar daddy paying for it?”
“Why are you so obsessed with this restaurant?” I snap.
The waitress appears at our side, wordlessly gathers Tony’s plate, boxes his food in a take-out container, and sets it in front of him.
Tony rises jerkily to his feet.
With a loud scrape of chair legs, Gabriel matches his stance, towering over the shorter man.
He curls a huge fist into Tony’s lapel and jerks him closer, then speaks in a quiet, pleasant tone.
“Stay away from Ms. Walsh. If another little birdie tells me you’re lurking around the elevators waiting for her or asking her co-workers for her address, we’re going to have another, less pleasant, conversation.
Do we understand each other, Anthony Roland Perrigo? ”
Tony blinks in rapid-fire succession. “I was going to send her flowers.”
Gabriel smiles and pats his cheek. Hard. “Don’t do that either.”
Tony nods, and a bead of sweat trickles down his temple.
Studiously straightening the other man’s jacket for him, Gabriel smooths his lapel, brushes off his shoulders, then slaps him on the back before pointing him toward the exit. “Good talk. Have a nice evening.”
Tony takes two steps. Gabriel calls after him, “Don’t forget your chicken marsala.”
Tony turns back, rushes to the table, and clutches the takeout to his chest.
Mouth hanging open, I stare as Tony scurries off with his entree.
“You are such an asshole, McRae,” I mutter.
“That was me not being an asshole. I let the guy take his dinner,” he says incredulously.
“He turned out to be a little weird. I could have handled him.”
His jaw flexes. “Don’t be naive.”
I almost laugh at that. “I’m not naive. Did you forget my childhood?”
“I was trying not to offend you by using the word ‘gullible.’”
“How did you even know I was here?” I ask.
“Your driver is on my payroll. Remember?”
Why do those words make my chest hurt? Because I don’t want to be someone he’s required to keep tabs on.
The young blonde server clears Tony’s place setting and replaces it with a new one.
“I’ll take my food to go,” I tell her.
“Sounds good. I’ll do the same. We can have dinner and catch up at your place. I’d prefer the privacy,” Gabriel says.
The waitress’s attention bobs between us like she’s watching tennis.
I smile at the confused young woman. “Never mind. We’re fine here.”
She nods, then heads back to the kitchen.
“It’s almost as if you don’t enjoy me showing up at the apartment I provide for you.” Gabriel shrugs out of his suit jacket with a pious smile.
“It’s better than insinuating yourself into my date.” That wasn’t actually a date, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He moves to the chair Tony vacated, drapes his jacket over it, and folds his sleeves up his tattooed forearms. “He was a douche. You told him we weren’t together, and he didn’t even ask if you needed help.”
“You intimidated him.”
“If he can be intimidated that easily, he was too soft for you, anyway.”
“Maybe I like my men soft.” I roll my lips in and pretend I didn’t say it on purpose to make him laugh. I don’t like my men soft. I like them tall, with green eyes and tattoos and har—I fan my face with my napkin. The point is I didn’t like Tony. But I do like making Gabriel smile.
He chuckles. “The jokes write themselves.”