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“Yeah, that’s right. The insurance guy.” I snap my fingers. “I always thought he seemed a little stuffy for you.”
“Based on what? The three-point-two seconds you saw him in the elevator that one time?” She snorts.
“I’m a good judge of people.” I shrug. “I could tell there was something up between you two. I don’t know what it was, but he seemed pissy.”
She turns to face me, her eyes rolling. “Hewaspissy! We’d been to an industry gaming event and I whooped his ass at this demo we played. Then we got into a huge argument because he seemed to think I took pleasure in beating him.”
“Did you?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Well, yeah, but I take pleasure in beating everyone. It’s not personal.” She huffs and folds her arms over her chest. “He thought I should let him win once in a while.”
“A guy who expects you tolethim win is not a man, he’s a child.” I shake my head in disgust. “What a dickhead. No wonder you dumped him.”
The shift in Emery’s expression tells me all I need to know. She didn’t dump him.
“He broke up withyou?” I blink.
For a minute, I expect her to deny it, but then she simply sighs and pushes a strand of blue hair from her forehead. “Apparently, I’m too competitive.”
“Are you serious?”
“And he did it via the classic middle-finger route... Post-it note.” For a moment, I see a flicker of something vulnerable across her face. “Where he spelled my name wrong.”
I cringe. “Brutal.”
She lifts one shoulder into what I guess is supposed to be an unaffected shrug, but I can see the hurt in her expression. “It’s par for the course. My dating life has not exactly been fruitful. I decided a while ago that I was over trying to be someone I’m not.”
I want to say something, but I’m honestly at a loss for words. Our conversation is cut short when we pull up to our destination, and I decide that it’s probably better to get Emery back into her usual mood than try to wade through her baggage.
I pay the driver and we step out onto the footpath. The front entrance of one of my favourite restaurants—it’s a little ritzy, but there’s substance behind the shine. And a mighty good steak. I pull open one of the large gilt doors and let Emery go ahead of me. The name of the restaurant isn’t visible from the outside. It’s one of those places where if you have to ask, then you clearly aren’t in the know.
“Just think of this as a first date,beforeyou get to know the guy is an immature cry baby.” I nudge her. “First dates usually go well, right?”
“They go fine,” Emery replies, her eyes flicking over the restaurant’s entrance way as we step through the door. She feels rigid beside me, like she’s on high alert for some reason. I feel the tension rolling off her in waves.
I’ll need to do something about that. I can’t have the clients feeling like she doesn’t want to be here.
“Finelike you make it to second base orfinelike you’ve got a fifty-fifty hit ratio on date number two?” I tease.
She shakes her head, but I see her lip twitch a little. “Second base, really? Are we in high school right now?”
I chuckle, but my return fire is interrupted when the maître d’ comes forward, smile at the ready. “Mr. Lively, so lovely to see you again.”
“Chantelle.” I nod. “I trust you’ve given us the best table in the house.”
“Of course.” She presses a delicate hand to her chest in mock offence. “You know my favourite patrons always get the best table.”
She smiles at Emery, but Emery just stares like a deer caught in headlights. As Chantelle motions for us to follow her through, I press a hand to Emery’s back. Modern chandeliers made with brushed metal and bronze create a twinkling ambiance overhead. I know the designer. Love his work. The restaurant is intimate and sensual, with gold trimmings accenting the walls. The small space is filled with round tables and lined with several booths in dark wood and navy leather.
Chantelle leads us to the booth in the far corner. “Mr. and Mrs. Diamandis will be joining you shortly.”
I stand close behind Emery, my hand still at her back, letting her know I’m right here. For some reason, she doesn’t brush me away and I get the impression my touch is welcome. Emery turns to look at me.
“Relax.” I give her a little nudge. “You look like you’re about to do a runner.”
“I’m fine,” she says with a tight smile, before sliding into the booth and tucking herself against the plush leather backing.
“I’ve got Fernando looking after you tonight,” Chantelle says. “But please reach out to me if you need anything at all.”
