“Didn’t Cas tell you?” I tease. “I’m fine. She’s a rattlesnake, that one.”
Aiden sighs at my comment. “Try to let it slide. After everything she’s been through…”
I don’t let him finish. “So, you saw the recording, but you didn’t listen to it?” I ask, knowing he wouldn’t be saying that if he’d heard us.
He stops what he’s doing and stares at me. “What do you mean?”
I point at the noodles until he resumes flipping them around the pan, then tell him my thoughts. “The hotel was some kind of bullshit. I called her on a few things, and that’s why she lost her shit. I think she was there consensually.”
“You think she got my man beat to shit on purpose?”
I hadn’t looked at that aspect of it but no, I don’t think even Sylvie would have condoned that much less set it up/ “No, she probably didn’t know about that, but she knew she was going to an expensive hotel for a romp. Look, we should probably discuss this with Dax here, so I don’t have to repeat it all.”
“You’re right. Let me plate this up and give him a call.”
“I’ll text him that you’re ready to serve.”
“Thanks.”
My phone flashes to life just as I hear Dax’s shoestaptaptapup the stairs.
“Just in time,” Aiden calls as Dax shrugs off his suit jacket and unknots his tie, letting it hang on either side of his chest.
“I could smell it from the boardroom and hustled my arse,” he tells Aiden and then turns to me. “Aiden’s Asian dishes are to die for. Not as good as my mother’s cooking but a damn close second.”
I turn to face him on my stool. He stands between my legs and fixes his eyes on my hair, reaching up to run his fingers through it, only withdrawing when a particular spot pulls a gasp from my throat. His hand travels down to cup my cheek, tilting my face to align with his. His lips fall upon mine. A sweet kiss.
“You okay, little gem?” I nod; he catches the movement in his hand and kisses me again, this time over the bruise forming on my scalp.
Aiden smiles at us both and then re-initiates the banter between them. “No need to flatter me. Plus, it’s Asian fusion. There’s no way I’m pulling off a traditional dish. I use the flavours and the ingredients and do what I can,” he explains, serving our plates and coming around the bar to sit on my other side.
“Shouldn’t we sit at the table?” I ask. Turning my head back and forth, unsure where to direct my attention.
Dax is the first to respond. “Whatever you want. We usually just prop ourselves up at the bar, but you’re right; we should make a meal of this.”
“No! No, this is fine too.”
“Is it the man sandwich? Are you uncomfortable between us?” Aiden asks.
“Actually no. That part is fine…good…nice…uh.”
“Good. I’ll fetch thefinewine. So, we have somethingniceto drink with our meal.” Dax stands and winks. He heads for the floor-to-ceiling wine rack, leaning down to peruse the third row of bottles. I glare at the back of his head until he turns and laughs. “It’sfine, little gem.Good…nice.”
“Asshole.”
“Show off,” Aiden grumbles.
Dax snorts, “Why? Because you wouldn’t know a good wine if you stomped on the grapes yourself?”
“Which is why you’ll—”
Dax huffs. “Get you a beer, yes.”
“You two are…”
“What?
“Fine, nice, good?” Dax goads.
