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However, the more I think about the girl in question as I ride the elevator down to the tenth floor, where the Kennedy suite is, in which I deposited her, the more convinced I am the meal will be anything but boring. She’s going to have questions, and quite a few of them.
If I have any hope of making it through this without jamming a fork through my eyeball, I’ll have to manage her. That’s what’s on my mind when I reach the door to the suite and use my master key card to open it.
“Finally.” She jumps up from the sofa and uses the remote to turn off the TV. “I thought you forgot about me. Weren’t we supposed to be having dinner?” Her demanding attitude slaps me in the face the second I step through the door.
“That’s why I’ve come to pick you up. I’m going to take you downstairs to the restaurant.”
She may as well hold up a sign with her thoughts scrawled across it. It’s that easy to read her when she looks down at herself, and then gives me an appraising look. “Worried you’ll be judged for not meeting the dress code? Don’t worry,” I continue before she can answer. “We’ll have our privacy. And you have to eat, right?”
“I guess.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay in here without any food. Your choice.”
Her cheeks flush in a way that would be cute if she wasn’t determined to rub my nerves raw. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I don’t have any choices, remember?”
That’s not true. She made the choice to start for the hotel within moments of receiving that message earlier. She could have chosen to stay where she was. She didn’t because it meant helping her brother. That could be why I’m able to fight back my irritation at her ceaseless questions, not to mention the attitude she’s giving me.
We walk to the elevator together. Pushing for the third floor, where the restaurant is located, it only takes a few seconds to arrive.
I requested one of the private rooms be prepared for us, and I’m pleased to find the table set and waiting when we arrive. From the corner of my eye, I watch her take in our surroundings. There isn’t much to see. Naturally, she has to point this out like I don’t know. “You’re really into black and metal, aren’t you?” she murmurs, eyeing the gold sconces mounted on the black walls. Their light is muted, leaving the room cast in shadow. Only the candle that flickers between us once we’re seated gives me a clear view of her expression.
“It unifies the general theme,” I explain as a door opens behind where she’s seated. “At least, that’s what the decorator told me. Our clientele seems to appreciate it.”
She jumps when a staff member appears at her side. I have to fight back a smirk as I order a bottle of wine. “Did you hire ninjas?” she hisses. “Because I did not hear him come in.”
“Not ninjas, but they understand the value of discretion. Our guests appreciate discretion above nearly everything else.”
“Who are your guests?” Hunger drips from the question. She even leans in, eyes gleaming like she expects to unlock a mystery.
“I’m afraid that’s confidential.”
“And what is it you do? Or is that confidential as well?”
“I send Griffin around town to pick up random girls at bus stops.”
She rolls her eyes, which would irritate the hell out of me but somehow leaves me fighting off another smirk. She’ll be easier to manage once she has a little wine in her.
“How about instead of you asking a bunch of questions we both know I’ll never answer, you answer a few questions of mine?” A platter of bread, cheese, and cured meat comes with the wine and sits between us on the table as the bottle is uncorked. I wave a hand toward it. “And you must be hungry. Please, help yourself.”
She can pretend all she wants to have her act together, but it falls apart once her hand shoots out, and she snatches a slice of aged cheddar off the board. Her eyes widen at the first bite, and she quickly takes another piece before she’s finished the first. When was the last time she had a decent meal?
“So tell me.” I sip my wine—a rich, full-bodied red that will pair nicely with the beef I’ve ordered in advance. “How did you come to work at a grocery store?”
She snorts softly, staring at me like she doesn’t believe the question at first. When it’s obvious I’m not joking, she lifts a shoulder. “I guess it was always my dream. Stocking shelves. Getting bitched at by customers who try to use expired coupons. It’s such a thrill. A dream job, really.”
I cough to cover up the laugh that bubbles in my chest. Note to self: don’t have anything in your mouth after asking her a question. I would’ve sprayed her with wine otherwise. “I’m sure plenty of little girls dream about a glamorous life stocking produce.”
