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Small gold stud earrings adorn her ears, the only jewelry that she’s wearing. Though she’s seated now, when she was standing, she seemed slightly taller now that she’s exchanged her flat boots for black kitten heels. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen kitten heels on any woman under the age of forty, but there you go. Weirdly, they suit her.
I make idle conversation while we finish our drinks. Mainly about what Uncle Bill has told me so far about the outline for the new designs. Anica reluctantly tears her gaze away from the park below us.
“My remit was quite simple, Mr. Brooks Westerhaven. I am to observe your personality, watch you in action, and come up with a design to reflect you as the face of Haven Property.”
Surely there’s more to it than that, like… boundaries. I add notes, and Anica nods earnestly. She calls me “Mr. Brooks Westerhaven” three times, and I want to glance over my shoulder, looking for Timmy.
“David is fine,” I laugh at her as she blushes deeply, nodding mutely again.
Once our glasses are empty, I stand, holding out my hand to her. Cutely, Anica appears to misunderstand my intentions, randomly placing her empty glass in my hand.
“Thank you… David,” she murmurs, her eyes drifting back to the view. Biting back a smirk, I transfer her glass into my other hand, gripping at its stem with my fingers while I maintain my grip on my whiskey glass. I again extend my hand to her.
When she realizes her mistake, Anica blushes fiercely, but places her dainty little hand in mine, standing up. Well, we got there in the end. When I gesture that she precedes me down the stairs, Anica blinks up at me.
“We’re not eating up here?” she asks, sounding both surprised, and a little disappointed. I grin. I never really get used to the view from up here, either.
“I thought on your first night in New York I should take you out.” I parrot Cathy’s words from earlier. Another blush steals across Anica’s cheeks, though she looks a little excited now. Christ. That’s all it takes to excite her. I could probably take her to a street hotdog stand and she’d be happy.
As we make our way down the internal stairs, I find a reason to appreciate low kitten heels. Unlike almost every other woman I’ve had up here for drinks, Anica doesn’t sway down the stairs on sky high stiletto heels, needing to grab my arm for support. It’s quite a novel experience to saunter down the stairs after her.
When we reach the bottom, she turns and excuses herself, hurrying back through the penthouse toward her bedroom. I make my way through to the kitchen, depositing our empty glasses, and pulling out my phone to order a town car.
I had intended to order a nice meal in, eating up on the rooftop terrace, like Anica expected. Especially after seeing what she was wearing when she arrived. I might have no intentionstoward the woman, but I still have standards about who I’m seen out and about with. Plus, a reputation to maintain.
But she appeared looking perfectly respectable, and I remembered Cathy’s words about pumping Anica for information on her first night out in New York. No doubt to report back to Uncle Bill.
So, I will squire her around the city properly. There’s no point in pissing Uncle Bill off when it’s only one night out. Even if we have absolutelynothingto talk about, I’m sure I can find something to fill in the silences. After all, I do it all the time when I’m on dates with airhead supermodels. Especially since I’m not out with them for their stimulating conversation. Wining and dining is something to be suffered through for propriety’s sake.
Anica reappears, holding a small black satin clutch purse. Smiling at her, I gesture to the front door. “The car will be arriving downstairs shortly.”
With a nod, Anica moves toward the door, heading for the elevator as my phone buzzes to let me know the town car is pulling up in front of the building.
As we slide into the back of the town car, I tell the driver the restaurant that I want to go to, and he pulls out into traffic. Seemingly uninterested in conversing with me, Anica leans over to her window, her mouth slightly open as she tips her head back to look up at the buildings that we drive between.
I watch her with a small smile. It’s kind of endearing. Most women that I’ve been in the back of a town car with have either been all business, because they have been colleagues, or they’ve been engrossed in their phones, busy documenting and Instagramming their way to our destination. Not Anica. She hasno time for faked boredom. She’s too busy being awed by the city.
We pull up in front of the restaurant, and Antonio holds open the door for us. I nod, slipping him a tip as I emerge. Antonio has been driving for me for years. I’ve never been one for drool worthy cars – I leave that for Beau and Ryan – and a town car service has been all I have ever needed to get myself around the city.
My place, which I moved into last year, has four designated, secure car spaces for each of the two penthouses. I really should buy my own car to get around the city. But I would only do that if I was assured that Antonio would leave the town car service and come to drive for me exclusively. Hmm, maybe I should float the idea with him one time we’re driving to the office. See whether he would be interested.
Turning to where Anica is sliding over to the door, I wave Antonio away, holding out my hand to help her out of the car. She straightens her dress, clutching her purse to her chest and looking around with interest. With a smile, I gesture to the front doors. My hand lands on Anica’s lower back, guiding her as we make our way over.
When we step into the entryway, Anica’s eyes widen and dart around the room. It is obviously a telltale sign that she’s a little overawed. At least she doesn’t gape with an open mouth constantly like she did in the car. Once was fine, but all the time would be a little bit less cute.
Anica
I don’t think that I’veeverbeen in a restaurant as fancy as this one before in my life. I swallow roughly when I feelDavid’shand press against my lower back as he guides me inside. I fight the urge to look up at him. I’m worried if I did, it would look ridiculously fawning, like I was batting my lashes up at him. No, thank you. I settle for staring around in awe at the muted lighting and understated elegance of the restaurant’s entry way. My feet sink into the thick, navy carpet as we approach the hostess’ counter.
This restaurant looks like the kind of place you need to make a reservation at weeks in advance. I wonder if David planned to take someone else here, but got told he had to bring me instead. That must be a let down for him. The hostess’ eyes light up when she sees David, and she smiles toothily at him.
“Table for two,” he tells her carelessly, his eyes resting on the elaborate carving behind her as she taps about on her screen, looking a little flustered. I want to fidget – my automatic response to awkward situations – but luckily, she smiles up at David, batting her lashes. I’m so glad I didn’t look up at him when he touched my back. There’s no way I would look as good as she does if I had.
“We can seat you in about twenty minutes, Mr. Brooks Westerhaven,” she simpers. He doesn’t tellherto call him David.Okay. I have no desire to analyze why I’m feeling smug about that fact.
“If you would like to move through to the bar for a drink?”
The hostess’ lashes flutter again and David nods, his hand landing on my lower back again, using a slight pressure guiding me past the hostess’ counter and into an intimate, elegant bar. Ohh, this isnice.
