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“Yes,” I reply, no longer caring about the spots.
He takes my hand, linking our fingers, and guides me to the door. I snatch my purse from the entry table as he sets the alarm.
Our security guard is waiting when we arrive downstairs, holding a car door open. After many days without any sign of threat from Stefano, the police didn’t see a need to keep a guard on me. Mathis disagreed, so he and Shaw hired this man today.
I thought about arguing but chose to pick my battles. If this is what Mathis needs to feel like I’m safe, then so be it.
When we drive up to the restaurant, I glance around in confusion. “Are we at the wrong place?”
“No. Apparently, when I made reservations, the hostess recognized my name and posted it online. We changed restaurants, and your dad put it in his name.”
“Makes sense.”
He holds me close, leading me inside. We’re greeted by an elegant woman wearing an exquisite cocktail dress. Her smile is wide, her eyes glowing vibrantly. Without speaking, she waves us through the dining room. There aren’t a lot of patrons for a Thursday night, which seems odd, setting my suspicions on alert.
“I love your dress.”
This is not a lie. Now that I have a closer look, it’s the exact one I have my eye on in a certain designer store.
She tosses that beaming smile over her shoulder.
“Where’d you find it?”
She doesn’t answer. I glimpse down and notice her shoes, immediately recognizing them as well. This is an upscale dining establishment, but even that doesn’t explain why the hostess looks like she’s walked off a runway.
“And those shoes are killer.”
Her steps falter a bit. Mathis squeezes my hand at the same time her eyes dart to him. His lips press into a fine line. A knot forms in my gut at their exchange, and I slow, purposely clipping the clasp and releasing my small purse. It tumbles to the floor, the contents scattering.
I crouch to get the items and hear the distinct accent as she curses. “Shit.”
It’s only one word. But it’s the way she said it that makes it unmistakable.
Mathis kneels next to me, fidgeting anxiously and avoiding eye contact as he hands me my phone. The knot in my stomach begins to unravel with a mix of excitement and nervousness. In my mind, I know the answer, but there’s one way to be sure.
“Sweetie?” I grab his attention and point to blazing red, rhinestone stilettos. “Aren’t her shoes divine?”
He looks between the shoes and me, his expression slightly uneasy. “Sure, but we need to get to our table.” He takes my hand and tries to tug me.
“No, baaaaby.” My high-pitched voice is syrupy sweet, and his eyes flare with understanding. This time, he tries to swoop me up, but I’m quicker. “I think I’m going to change all our wedding colors to this red.” I barely get the words out before he’s swept me off my feet.
“The fuck you are!” Snark, sass, attitude, and total hard ass. There is no denying she’s my partner from across the country.
“Hi, Rachel.” I give a fan wave in the air.
“Goddammit, Claire,” Mathis grumbles, placing me back on my feet. “You and your fucking intuition.”
I glance around, catching an ice blue eyeball staring at me. “Bizzy, stop creeping behind the wall!”
Mathis blows out a breath, his head going to the ceiling. There’s an unhappy squeak, and Bizzy walks out, followed by Shaw.
Rachel glares at me with beady eyes, her mouth set straight, and her arms crossed unhappily.
“Oh, come on, what hostess wears two-thousand-dollar Chanel heels and a dress that is sold exclusively in the Gucci boutique in the Bellagio?”
Her face softens, and her lips twitch, right before she doubles over cracking up. “I should have known.”
I hand Mathis my satchel and go to her with my arms extended. She falls into me, embracing me warmly. “I’m glad you’re here.”
