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“Why not? Because I was honest with you?”
I snort. “Honest? Please, Fynn. Let’s not talk about this here, I’m really not in the mood.”
I stand and so does he.
Reaching for my elbow, he holds me gently. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
My eyes meet his. I see sadness there, so much so, a lump forms in my throat.
His anger has all but disappeared.
“Are you really?”
“Yes. And if you’ll have dinner with me, I’ll explain.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “What’s to explain?”
He shrugs. “My behavior.”
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. But I’m not one to let him suffer; that isn’t my style.
I might still think he’s an ass, but making him grovel isn’t exactly what I had planned.
“Fine. But only because of the lobster chowder. This has nothing to do with me listening to you grovel.”
His lips turn up. “Who said I was going to grovel?”
I throw a rolled-up bandage at his head and he catches it in his hand.
“I think the restaurants in this place are way too fancy.” I look down at my scrubs. “But this is as good as it’s gonna get.”
His eyes trace down my body, and I swear I can feel them, my lips parting as I watch him watching me. My pulse quickens when I see the desire in his eyes. Looking away, I turn to grab my medical bag, knowing his eyes are still on me.
I don’t know why, but I like the power I have when he looks at me like that.
That I have the ability to be able to bring a man like Fynn to his knees, so to speak, makes me feel something I shouldn’t.
Dinner is a bad idea, but I still want to hear what he has to say.
“Looks pretty good to me,” he replies, his eyes finally landing on mine again.
I shake my head. “Dinner. That’s it.”
He stands, smirking. “Lead the way,baby cakes.”
12
FYNN
In all theyears I’ve known Sage, it’s never been this difficult trying to convince her to have dinner with me. That’s how I know she’s still currently pissed at me for how I reacted to her baby bombshell.
If we can just hash things out and talk about it, we can come up with something. I already have the perfect solution, it’s just whether she’s ready to hear it. Hopefully, I won’t be wearing lobster chowder by the end of the night.
I lead her out of the office, toward the lift.
“I can’t believe you would prefer to have dinner with Dante than you would with me,” I say, as I press the elevator button. “What’s with that?”
She smiles to herself. “Dante won’t try to tell me what to do, for starters.”
