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Silence. “No takers? Okay then.” I let the silence lengthen. Finally, when the tension has escalated satisfactorily, I grin. “Nothing, they’re both fictional characters.”
“Saying you’re not smart?” JL says.
“I’m not English,” I snap back.
Ian smirks. “My mannerisms are infinitely more amusing than your lame jokes. And by smart, are you referring to looks or intelligence?”
My studied shrug is perfection. This is only a minor skirmish, but neither of us likes to lose. “Your choice.”
JL snorts, but I’m not sure whether it’s the joke or the banter.
Ian runs his finger around the rim of his glass. I can tell he has something to say.
“Out with it, man.” I give him the come-on hand signal. His lips twist into a frown.
“I heard you might be in a spot of bother.”
I raise a brow. “Where did you pick up that titbit?”
“A pal at the FO.”
“Why would the Foreign Office be interested in Max?” JL sounds flabbergasted, although I’m sure he’s not. Of course, the FO is interested in Faez, and by extension, me. I’m on everyone’s radar. Not good. Not good at all. Right now, I’d love to be back in Chicago with nothing to worry about besides our software problems.
Cress has been chatting with Yavuz while Ian and I skirmish, and now she scoots closer. I pull her in, resting my chin on the top of her head, and nuzzling her hair. Wolf whistles break us apart. Somehow, PDA has become part of our relationship. Possessiveness, pride, ownership. No, not ownership. But the desire to show she’s mine and I’m hers.
“Hello.” A tall blonde dressed in black approaches our table.
A big smile spreads across Cress’ face as she gets up and relinquishes her chair. “Guys, this is Hillary Jones, Blue Badge Guide extraordinaire and old friend from my Oxford days. Hills, these reprobates are Max, his brother, Ian, his friend Yavuz Arslan, and his colleague, JL Martin.”
Hillary’s smile twinkles at us as she sizes us up. Her gaze lingers longer on JL. Hmmm.
“Drinks?” The cocktail waiter has sneaked up. Cress startles but recovers quickly as she slides into the new chair the waiter has placed next to mine.
“I’ll have what he’s having.” Cress points to Ian’s green concoction.
“No, no. While this is a delightful drink, I have a better idea for you.” Ian bows, then gestures toward Cress and Hillary. “They will have the Lucky Lady.”
“You Grants are so bossy,” Cress complains.
“What’s in it?” Hillary wonders.
“Bombay Sapphire, Crémant, Champagne Nectar, Maraschino, Cointreau, and citrus garnish. You’ll love it.”
Cress purses her lips. “Sounds sweet. I’m not really a fan of sweet drinks.” She’s not kidding. Her usual tipples are a Spritz or a Negroni and both include Campari. A friend of mine once described Campari as tasting like the dregs of an ashtray.
“The gin will make it all right.” Ian’s bossier than I am and his too-suave response sets my teeth on edge, but Cress gives him a small smile of agreement. The waiter’s approval seals the deal.
JL asks for a draft lager, and I decide on an old-fashioned. Even though we all had heavy lunches, we’re all feeling peckish. We have at least a half hour wait for our table, so we add lots of oysters and crispy duck croquettes as.
Cress strokes my fingers. My hand tingles. She nudges her chair closer and puts her lips to my ear. “Thank you.”
I grin, knowing she’ll love the croquettes, but the oysters will excite her. She can eat her weight in oysters and still manage dinner. Would it be too OTT for me to feed them to her? Probably. I’ll have to arrange a private oyster party, so I can hold the shells to her lips and watch her slurp the liquor before each luscious mollusk slides down her throat. Reminders of the mussel dinner at Hopleaf, where we reconnected last November, make heat rise to my neck. I loosen my collar and try to shift unobtrusively to readjust myself.
A tray appears in my peripheral vision. Once the drinks are handed round, the warning in Ian’s eye tells me he plans to pursue our previous topic of conversation, so I head him off.
“How was lunch with Ainsley?” I ask Cress.
“Oh, you know. Mostly him trying to pry out the details for the new book and taking charge of the draft of Ivan. I asked him if he’d gotten the digital version and, as expected he just rolled his eyes.”
