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10
Enzo
We’re all seated at the table I asked Annie to reserve for dinner in the hopes that we’d seal this deal today. Billy decided not to join us, having some commitment with his kid tonight. Mrs. Peterson joined Mr. Peterson and Blair on the trip up from Houston, so she’s here too.
You know who else should be here? Annie. We’ve ordered drinks and appetizers, but she’s yet to arrive.
“I’ll be right back,” I excuse myself, thinking maybe she can’t find us in the private room in the back of the restaurant.
Since I never got her cell phone number, I have no way of getting a hold of her. Surely, she has mine though. I think back to our previous contact and realize none of it was by cell phone. She’s always called the office line if she was out and needed to know what I wanted.
I approach the hostess, who smiles. Her gaze floats down my body and back up to meet my eyes. Hers are screaming “take me home tonight,” but I ignore it.
“I’m looking for a woman. Brunette, brown eyes, about this tall.” I hold my hand up to my shoulder. “I think she was wearing a gray blouse and a black skirt?” Unfortunately, my mind was on the presentation and not how many buttons Annie had clasped on her blouse today. Which is the way it should always be, but sadly, is not.
The hostess’s mood sours fast. “Sorry. I haven’t seen her.”
I scour the bar area. No way would Annie tell Mr. Jacobson she’d be here and not show. I glance out the revolving doors. There she is outside, talking on her cell phone, a grin from ear to ear.
“Thanks.” I knock on the hostess stand then circle through the doors.
Her back is to me, and since she doesn’t see me, I lean against the wall to eavesdrop.
“I can’t believe it. They loved it! I’m about to walk in there and have dinner with the owner of Jacobson and Earl and Lorenzo Mancini. How did my life change so much in such a short amount of time?” She pauses and presses her finger to her ear. “I know, but… Beth…”
Curious, I lean forward with the hope of having suddenly developed supersonic hearing so I can hear Beth’s advice over the Friday traffic in Manhattan.
“Okay. I will. See you tomorrow.” She turns and her face falls. “Gotta go.” She presses End on her cell phone and slides it into her purse while staring at me. “Do you always listen to other people’s conversations?”
“No, but I was searching for you. You’re late for dinner.”
She narrows her eyes at me before moving through the revolving doors. Following her to the coat check, I watch as she passes off her spring jacket. I applaud my subconscious for remembering what she was wearing. A tight black pencil skirt shows off her amazing ass. Without saying a word to me, she weaves through tables right to the back room.
So much for thinking she didn’t know where to find us.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, finding the only empty chair—which is coincidentally next to me. “A pedestrian was hit by a cab, so I was stuck in gridlock on the way over. You guys must’ve been lucky and just missed it.”
“That’s okay, they just brought the wine,” Blair says.
I snatch the bottle off the table and pour Annie a glass.
“Thank you, Mr. Mancini,” she says before sipping the wine.
“So tell us about yourself, Miss Stewart.” Mr. Peterson takes a sip of his scotch on the rocks.
“Well.” She straightens in the chair, fiddling with her napkin on her lap. “I graduated from NYU, and I was lucky enough to secure a job with Jacobson and Earl a year after graduation. Before that, I was working a lot of odd jobs while interviewing for positions in my field. I’ve been here ever since.” She looks at Mr. Jacobson as if she’s thanking him, but I can tell he had no idea who she was nor whether he was responsible for hiring her.
“Are you from New York originally?” Blair asks.
She nods, sipping her wine. “For most of my life. I moved here when I was ten, from Connecticut with my father and my sister. I’m not sure I could leave now.”
“Blair just recently moved from the city to the suburbs and it’s been an adjustment, right, honey?” Mrs. Peterson says.
Blair sighs. “I miss the late-night restaurants, delivery from anywhere, and just the buzz of the city. But once my husband and I had our second last year, we finally threw in the towel. Between car seats and strollers and groceries, it was too difficult. But we do keep a condo in the city to sneak off to once a month. Dad and Mom like to watch the kids anyway, right?” She smiles at her parents, and they both beam.
Mr. Peterson pulls out his phone. “They’re the cutest grandkids to ever exist.”
I take the phone and see a baby boy and a girl I’d put at five or six, then I pass it over to Annie.
