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Before she could make sense of the ludicrous statement, he slurped another fried shrimp, don’t ask how. Then he grabbed her arm and yanked her from the seat before she could even react.
Elissa tugged on his hold, but the man was immovable. Tossing a five-dollar bill on the table, Little Gianni snatched a toothpick from the hostess stand before dragging her outside.
Great, he was a cheap tipper, too.
All she wanted was to go home. Figuring the best way to do that would probably be to get him to the car, she let him lead the way.
Once inside, she would ask him to drive back to Hoboken so she could wring Gretchen’s neck. Fuming, she pulled her arm out of his hand and walked behind him.
The rain was really pouring, and the cheap bastard had refused valet. Elissa ducked her head so she wouldn’t get so wet. Of course, the jacket she’d brought was light and had no hood.
Gianni had an umbrella, but he didn’t offer to hold it for her, and honestly, she did not relish the idea of getting any closer to him than necessary.
Seriously, not happening.
Now all she had to do was break the news. She had no intention of watching a show or returning to the hotel with him.
What could go wrong?
