Page 73

I could tell her that I’ve asked Camden to call me Kit dozens of times before letting the matter drop, that he’s worked for my family for decades, that he is extremely well compensated for his dedication and discretion, but I don’t mention any of it.
She can judge my world all she wants, but she’s stuck with an inseverable connection to it—me.
I nod at Collins to climb in first. Once she does, I shut the door.
“Where to, sir?” Camden inquires.
“Maple & Ash, please,” I reply before rounding the trunk and climbing in on the other side of the town car.
Maple & Ash is a popular steak house in Midtown, but I doubt it’ll be very busy this early on a Monday evening.
Collins stays as close to the door as possible, keeping the maximumdistance between us. I shrug out of my suit jacket and loosen my tie before snapping my seat belt into place. My jacket drapes on the center seat between us, one of the cuffs brushing her leg. She stiffens, but doesn’t shove it away.
Camden pulls away from the curb, into the steady stream of rush-hour traffic.
“Where are we going?” Collins questions.
“Dinner,” I answer as my phone buzzes with a text.
I pull it out and read the new message from Flynn, asking if I want to meet him for drinks at Proof later.
I reply, saying I need to stay late at the office tonight.
Flynn’s response is,Get a life, you workaholic cockblocker, formerly known as my best friend.
“I’m not hungry,” Collins states.
“I am.” I ignore Flynn’s latest text, drop my phone in my lap, and lean my head back against the headrest.
In the ten minutes since I left my computer, I already have twenty new emails. Fucking West Coast companies. I’m going to have to head back to the office after dinner.
Collins says nothing else for the rest of the drive.
Neither do I.
I trust Camden, but the coming conversation isn’t one I want to have in front of him.
When we arrive at the restaurant, I climb out first. Collins slides across the seat instead of waiting for me or Camden to open the door on her side, standing and surveying the glass exterior of the restaurant.
I share a short exchange with Camden, clarifying my plans for the rest of the evening, then start toward the entrance.
Collins doesn’t move. She stands so still on the sidewalk thatshe could be a statue, a few strands starting to fall from the neat bun her auburn hair was pulled back in.
I sigh before spinning and backtracking, positive I won’t like the reason for the holdup.
“What is it?”
“I can’t afford to eat here,” Collins replies.
I stare at her, genuinely stunned by the statement.
I’m not just rich; I’m a fucking Kensington. Everyone—acquaintances, friends, women—knows they have less money than I do. Some expect me to pay; some accept any generosity because they know I can easily afford it.
No onehas ever thought Iwouldn’tpay their way.
And, as shocked as I am, I’m unsurprised Collins would be the one to break that streak.
Also offended that she’s still assuming the worst about me. I’d pay for her meal simply because I’d invited her out, setting aside the fact that she’s Lili’s friend or my assistant or the mother of my child.