“Because you look like a man with horse secrets.”
For the first time, he laughs outright. Then he takes my hand and leads me downstairs.
* * *
We pull into downtown twenty minutes later, passing the restaurants I expected, then the nicer restaurants I briefly hoped for, then every possible lunch destination entirely.
“Rowan.”
“Yes?”
“We passed food.”
“We did.”
“So, unless we’re eating asphalt, I’d like an explanation.”
He doesn’t answer. He just reaches over, takes my hand, and kisses my knuckles once without looking away from the window.
Secretive silence.
Heaven help me. He’s in love and scheming again.
He says nothing for the rest of the drive, which is how I know he is enjoying himself. Rowan’s favorite hobby, after winning, is anticipation. Mine is ruining it.
“Are you taking me somewhere expensive so I’ll forgive you for moving my deposition?”
“No.”
“Somewhere sentimental?”
“No.”
“Somewhere naked?”
His jaw shifts. “Potentially, if you improve your attitude.”
I fold my arms. “I knew it.”
“You know nothing.”
Rowan turns onto a familiar street lined with polished buildings, brass signage, and the kind of people who walk quickly while carrying leather briefcases. My stomach tightens.
This is the financial district.
More specifically, this is Rowan’s territory.
We pass the steel and glass building that houses King & Vale, the firm he helped build into something ruthless and wildly profitable after he graduated top of his class. I matched him, to his eternal irritation, and took the same honors.
But then the car slows.
No.
Absolutely not.
It stops directly in front of the building.
I turn slowly to face him. “If this is lunch with your partners, I’d rather play in traffic.”
