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“You don’t have to walk me up,” she says. For a moment, there’s a flash of something in her eyes. Hesitation? Reluctance? Rejection?
Her reaction stings more than I thought it would.
I’m not one to take things personally. The way people feel about me is almost always a reflection of themselves. But in this case, I thought we were connecting and enjoying one another’s company? I’m not usually this off when it comes to reading people.
“I’m not expecting a nightcap and a good night kiss,” I say, raking my palm along my jaw. I’d hate for her to think I was presuming that just because I took her out to dinner, I expected an invitation inside.
I have no problem being a man of decency in a world of modern men.
My father was fifty years old when he met my mother—twice her age at the time. As a result, most of the things I’ve learned about being a man . . . or rather, a gentleman . . . I learned from a man who came from a simpler generation. A man with old-fashioned notions of how a lady should be treated. It was one of the reasons my mother first fell for him, and his traditional charms were one of the many things she instilled in me as I grew up.
“Oh.” Margaux holds her purse with both hands, resting it in front of her hips. “I wasn’t . . . I didn’t mean . . . I just . . . I didn’t want to inconvenience you, is all. I’m sure you’re anxious to get home to your girls.”
My girls should’ve been in bed over an hour ago.
If they’re still up, when I get home, Harper will have some explaining to do.
“Of course,” I say.
“Thanks again for dinner.” Her magnetic blue eyes rest on mine before she nods toward the front steps of her building. “I’ll check my schedule for next week . . . I’d love to see your collection.”
With that, she takes a step closer to the building, though her focus remains on me.
“Good night, Margaux,” I say.
“Good night, Roman.”
She says my name, sweet and smooth all over again. I wait until she disappears inside before returning to my SUV.
“I know you didn’t ask,” Antonio says when I’m inside. “But she seems nice.” He shrugs as our eyes catch in the rearview. “I’m just glad you’re getting back out into the world, kid,” he adds before checking his side mirror and pulling out. “Long time coming.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SLOANE
The murmur of music playing from down the hall catches me off guard when I step inside my apartment. For a moment, I’d almost forgotten I wouldn’t be coming home to an empty place.
I slide my killer heels off my aching feet, grab a bag of peas from the freezer for my sore ankle, and then head to my sister’s room, where some catchy song by the 1975 plays.
“Knock, knock,” I call when I open the door.
Margaux’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by mountains of clothing.
“What are you doing?” I ask, placing the shoes on the floor. I take a seat at her corner desk chair, cross my legs, and place my makeshift ice pack into position. Pointing at my swollen ankle, I add, “Almost broke this tonight, FYI.”
“Nothing fits,” she says with glassy eyes and an exasperated sigh. A flickering gardenia candle on her dresser fills the room with a thick floral haze. “I’ve got about five outfit options that have some stretch to them, other than that . . . everything else is going to have to go.”
“You’re donating that entire pile?” I point to the massive fabric mountain on her left.
“Some of it, yeah. The rest will go into storage.” She eyes the little closet against the far wall, one that’s packed all the way to the ceiling with designer pieces, bags, and shoeboxes. Margaux pauses her music on her phone, stopping to check the time. The sudden silence is jarring. “Why are you home so early?”
I shrug. “The date ended when it ended.”
“What do you mean? Did something happen? Is he losing interest?”
“I thought you wanted him to lose interest?” I distinctly remember her telling me on several occasions to be boring—and losing interest would be a direct and expected outcome of that.
“Theodora’s just so excited about the prospect of me being with her nephew . . . she brings it up almost as much as she brings up the new Tayla Haywood account I just landed. I told you about that, right? That YouTube-beauty-guru girl? She’s doing a lipstick and skin-care line. Huge deal. Multiple-seven-figure contract. Anyway, I think we should maybe keep things status quo with Roman for a bit? Keep moving forward but don’t rock the boat too hard either way.”
“You realize he’s a real person, right?” I ask. “I can’t just string him along indefinitely. And what happens after you get the job? I dump him and break his heart?”
