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“Definitely not. I wish, but sadly, I just have to look at a plant and it suffers a horrible death. I don’t mean to.”
He picks up his fork and starts eating his entree, after the first mouthful he asks, “What about boyfriends?” I wonder why he uses a plural for that question.
“I used to have a boyfriend, but we were too busy to make it work," I explain.
“Obviously you’re a businesswoman, then?”
“Yes, can you tell?”
“I kinda can.”
“And you’re a businessman?” I throw back.
“Yes. My soon-to-be ex-wife also complained about my busyness. I guess that’s an excellent reason to bone some spineless dickhead behind my back. Excuse my language.”
I don’t blame this handsome man for being bitter. Cheating isn’t something I would tolerate, either. I try to change the subject. I want to see him smile more. He looks less pained when he smiles.
“Tell me what you like best about New York?” I ask him as I eat my delicious salad.
He reaches to top up our champagne and sits back when he’s finished eating, taking his time to answer. I know he’s smooth, oh-so-smooth, despite his little honesty-lane speech about laying it all out on the line. I can tell the divorce has impacted him, like most people.It’s something I see every damned day and it’s a rarity to come out of one unscathed. Sometimes the pieces are too difficult to try to pick up again. Still, he seems like he can hold his own.
He’s taking it well. Maybe it’s been longer than he’s saying. Though the outline on his wedding finger suggested otherwise.
“I think I’m looking right at it,” he says to my question, taking another fluid mouthful of champagne.
I don’t know if it’s that, or the fact we’re both attracted to one another, but things feel more than a little fiery. I know right now I would go home with this man and I never have one-night stands. My best friend Darby would definitely approve. She’d be holding the checkered flag.
I respond in a silky voice. “That’s a very sweet thing to say, Mr. Gray.”
His mouth twitches. “Well, I’m a sweet guy, Miss Hartley. Or so I’ve been told.”
3
Grayson
By the time they clear our main courses and bring out the dessert, we have already finished the bottle of champagne and the drinks we ordered when we first sat down. Then a glass of Sauternes arrives to go with their famous vanilla crème meringue.
I wouldn’t say we’re swinging from the chandeliers, but things are certainly getting interesting.
“You know your soon to be ex-wife sounds like a complete bitch,” Hartley says, leaning in over the table on her elbows. She’s clearly reflecting back on our discussion about what I said earlier. “What woman in her right mind would do that to a man like you?” She looks confused.
I tend to think the same thing about her being a bitch. But some women don’t care.
“I’ve asked myself that same question,” I sigh, questioning the wisdom of opening up this much to a complete stranger. "But as my mom always says, it wasn't meant to be. Another one of her famous one-liners along with; when one door closes, another one opens, and all that shit.”
She giggles. I think she’s a little tipsy. “Well, I hope she gets what she deserves.”
“I think I’m much better off, anyway. We wanted different things in the end.”
“Someone always seems to change their mind along the way,” she says sympathetically. But sympathy isn’t what I want. I don’t want her to feel sorry for me.
My brother Gabriel says I should celebrate that she wasted no more years of my life with her bullshit. He’s about as subtle as I am, which is probably why we clash so hard sometimes.
“You’re right. Not that I ever changed my mind,” I tell her honestly. “I had my doubts about her, but the things I said when we were married, I still wanted. That didn’t change.”
She looks at me with wide eyes while I decide if I elaborate any more than I already have. “Did you have kids?” she asks.
I swallow hard. It’s a rough subject. Thankfully, no. Of course, I wanted to have children, but now I see it would have been a mistake to have them with Keira. “No. It caused most of our disagreements.”
