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The boy looks relieved. “Thanks, Mr. Wolfe. I will. Daneele said that you letting her interview you got her grace points. She wanted to thank you.”
As he walks away, I glance at Zayn, curious. “Who was that?”
He looks slightly uncomfortable. “Just a kid I know.”
I raise a brow. “Sounds like more than one kid.”
He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, but I never saw Zayn be this embarrassed over anything, and I want to prod.
He gives an awkward cough. “I created a fund for underprivileged students who want to go to college. Daneele and Jeffery are two of the beneficiaries.”
I blink, totally not expecting that.
“That’s very nice of you,” I say, slowly, feeling a little out of my depth. I am trying to dislike him, to hold on to my bitterness when it comes to him, but he isn’t exactly making it easy.
He shrugs his shoulders, an elegant movement, staring at the menu. “Gotta do something with all this money.”
“Of course,” I murmur.
He seizes the opportunity to change the subject. “So how did you end up deciding to open a dance school?”
There is naked curiosity in his voice, and I grip the menu tighter when a tremor rises in my hand at a memory I try to suppress.
Keeping my voice light, I give Zayn a faint smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “My grandmother’s inheritance and an investor.”
His pretty eyes narrow fractionally. “Investor?”
I don’t want to talk about it, so I shrug nonchalantly. “Yeah. He’s a silent partner, though.”
Zayn leans forward, suddenly interested. “Who is he?”
I open my mouth and then remember the warning I received, and I snap my mouth shut, forcing a reluctant smile to my face. “I’m not allowed to say. Those are the terms of our agreement. His name is never supposed to come up.”
That is apparently the wrong thing to say because the gleam in Zayn’s eyes tells me that he is now very interested in revealing the identity of this person.
A tall man, distinguished, elegant, with a mocking smile not dissimilar to Zayn’s.
I owe him my life.
“He’s a good man, Zayn. I don’t want you prying. Don’t even think about it.” My tone is sharp, and he arches a brow as if to say, ‘I’d like to see you stop me.’
Instead, he chooses that moment to call the server over so that we can place our orders.
We are just in the midst of that when a familiar voice has me looking up. “Well, no wonder you kept asking me where I planned to be today?”
A hand drops on Zayn’s shoulder, who rolls his eyes.
Fergus is just as tall and just as Irish as I remember him to be. The only difference is that there is an aura of happiness and contentment around him that is new.
He greets me warmly. “Eve. It’s been a long time.”
His dark brown hair is slicked back, and he wears a black dress shirt that has the top two buttons open, accompanied by a deep gray waistcoat and dark pants.
“It has,” I find myself smiling fondly at him. “I hear you’ve been successful in the past few years. Congratulations on your restaurants.”
He grins. “Thanks.” Then a shifty look enters his eye. “And I hear you’ve been giving Zayn hell.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. “I try my best.”
