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“We’ll both have the steak and steamed vegetables. And an extra side of rice for me.” Ben nods at me. “Protein and veggies are going to be your best friend. You know, for what we talked about.”
He has the audacity to wink at me.
As soon as he hands over the menus, he stands and tosses his folded napkin down onto the table.
“I’ll be right back.”
I crane my neck, watching him walk towards the back of the restaurant where the bathrooms are. I turn back around in my seat and sink back into it. What the hell am I getting myself into?
The waitress hovers over me, her eyes wide and concerned.
“He… comes here often.”
I glance over at her. “Who?”
The waitress nods towards the bathroom. “You know. To…”
I watch in horror as the waitress presses a finger to her nose and sniffs.
Oh god. She can’t be serious.
Without another word, the waitress scurries off and heads back to the front of the restaurant, making me sink further down into my chair and put my hands over my face. This is going to be my life… for the nexthoweverlong both of us live.
“Sorry,” Ben says, coming back to sit down at the table, pinching his nose.
I peek at him through my fingers, watching him sneeze into his napkin.
My stomach rolls.
He gives me a sheepish smile. “Allergies.”
I can’t do this.
I scoot my chair back without another word, grab my purse and head out of the restaurant.
This is going to be my life.
CHAPTERTWO
Two weeks later…
Antonella Ambrosino is walking out of our main financial office in downtown Chicago. My eyes lock onto her, my skinburns, my hands flexing subconsciously around my copy ofNerudaas I bend its spine.
I watch her long beautiful curls bounce against her back as she struts down the sidewalk. Her curves are hidden beneath the thick suit jacket she’s wearing on this cool spring day. A biting chill still lingers in the air from the harsh winter we’ve just had, but Chicago is still in bloom.
I slap my book closed and tuck it into the insert of my long coat, and I pull out a few dollar bills to throw down onto the table for my untouched coffee.
I head out of the cafe without acknowledging any of the waitstaff who send me off with a cheery goodbye, and instead focus my entire attention on Antonella.
I match her steps, falling into line with her only a few hundred feet back. This is the game we play almost every day. I walk her to and from the office, keeping an eye on her every move as she goes to punch in her eight hours—and then once again as she goes back to her place.
Work, then home. She doesn’t do much else.
I watch her pull out her phone like she does every morning to call one of her friends. I can’t hear what she’s saying from here, but her arms wave wildly as she talks. She must be upset about something.
Her engagement.
I found out about it when she did, though her father had been in talks with Edgar Thomas about marrying her to his son for months. Trying to get in business with him for even longer.
