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Franky frowned at her. “Give me a real one.”
Skylar scrunched her eyebrows together in confusion. “What?”
“I know your smiles, Sky. And that one was faker than fake.”
EIGHTEEN
It wasn’t like Franky to drown his sorrows at the local bar after work, but after the day he’d had—make that month—that’s exactly what he was doing.
The Walters case had been a gigantic defeat. The client had been found guilty and ended up with jail time at the sentencing that morning, and his father had reamed him out after the disappointing ruling. Franky had never felt like such a failure in his father’s eyes than in that moment. He’d also never wanted to quit more than he had today.
On top of that, he didn’t like the way things had been going since Skylar’s birthday. She had been the one good thing he had to look forward to every day, but she’d been busy this month in her new role as president of Schultz Chocolate and hadn’t been able to spend time with him. Earlier that night, he’d sent her a text, asking her to meet him, but it had gone unanswered. After his horrible day, all he wanted was to see her smile and hear her laughter, but considering what he’d done at her party, a little space was probably for the best. Sebastian had been right. Franky had no idea what he was doing, and he couldn’t drag her into a relationship that was doomed to fail. He needed to set clear boundaries for himself when it came to Skylar or risk losing her. Her friendship was more important than anything.
But today, he was missing his best friend, and he felt more alone than ever. So he’d driven to the closest restaurant with a bar, where he had been seated for the past hour, wallowing in self-pity.
“Hey, Franky. How’s it going, bud?” Lionel Howell, one of the corporate attorneys from the firm, approached with a friendly wave.
“Hey, Lionel,” he mumbled.
“Bad day?”
“You didn’t hear about the Walters case?”
“Oh, I heard. I didn’t want to rub it in.”
Franky smirked. “Thanks, I guess.”
Lionel patted him on the back. “Would you like to join us?” He nodded toward a table across the room.
Franky looked at the table of familiar faces and shrugged. “Why not?”
“Great.”
He followed Lionel to the table and greeted everyone with handshakes or fist bumps.
“Sorry about the Walters case,” one said.
“Man, it happens,” another said.
“Yeah, thanks,” Franky replied. “Maybe let’s not talk about it.”
“Great idea,” Lionel said as the waitress arrived to take their orders.
Franky glanced around the restaurant. A few groups were seated at tables, and a handful of couples were tucked away in small booths. A hockey game played on the television above the bar, and the majority of the bar stools were filled, except the one he’d been seated in.
He looked toward the front door as a woman entered. Her light blonde hair immediately caught his eye, and he watched as she scanned the room, her eyes lighting up with recognition at their table. His interest increased as she approached.
“Sorry I’m late.” She removed her grey wool peacoat and hung it on the hook by their table.
“No worries,” Lionel said. “Glad you could make it.”
The woman took the empty seat across from Franky.
“Hello,” she said when her eyes met his.
“Hello,” he replied.
“Have you two met?” Lionel asked.