Page 10 of False Start

Until now.

I shook out of my memory just in time for him to blow in through the front door, and it really was like a stiff wind. Every head snapped in his direction, every mouth murmuring as I watched table by table get excited.

They recognized him instantly.

Kyle kept his sunglasses and ballcap on, speaking in a hushed tone to the waitress who then led him over to where I sat. I stood, folding my hands in front of my waist and putting on my best smile as he approached.

I knew when I asked him to come here for dinner that it was beneath him. I didn’t know exactly how much money he made, but judging by his house budget, it was easy to guess that it was at least fifteen million, if not more.

I couldn’t even wrap my head around that kind of money.

But seeing him strut toward me now, it was almost laughable how out of place he was. The rest of the room consisted of families celebrating birthdays, or couples grabbing a bite to eat when they didn’t feel like cooking dinner. Rains was kind of like an upscale Chili’s, and even in athletic slacks and a long-sleeve training shirt, Kyle looked too rich to be here.

The hostess gestured to the table once she was close enough, and then blessedly left us before Kyle peeled off his sunglasses and hit me with a sideways quirk of his mouth that made my stomach flip for entirely different reasons.

I knew that smile intimately.

“Madelyn,” he greeted, his voice a rumbling promise. “You look beautiful.”

I glanced down at the one nice dress I owned, the one without stains or tears in the fabric. It was navy blue, form-fitted and modest. I wore it to every important dinner I had. And when it came to showing houses, I had a whopping four outfits that I rotated between.

Not that I cared. I’d never been one for fashion. I would much rather spend my extra money on Sebastian — on a toy that would make him smile, or a new book to add to his rapidly growing collection. I loved that kid more than any dress, more than anythingin the entire world.

Still, I arched a brow when I looked up at Kyle again, because we both knew me in this dress was not beautiful, nor impressive to him.

I may or may not have done some social media stalking and googling before our meeting.

For research purposes, of course.

Andinthat research, I discovered the kind of woman who usually clung to Kyle’s arm at charity events, or grinded on him in crowded clubs. They were all the kind of gorgeous you found on covers of magazines, the ones you scrolled past on social media thinkingthere’s no way this woman is real.

So, him saying I looked beautiful right now in this dress that could have been worn by my mother?

Well, it felt more insulting than complimentary.

“You’re on time,” I said in way of greeting.

“Surprised?”

“Disappointed,” I countered. “I thought this was a meeting that would be over before it started. Please,” I added, gesturing to his seat before I took my own.

“Ouch,” he said as he sat, the waitress butting in long enough to fill his water glass and top mine off. “Is the commission not enough to make it worth suffering through a few days with me?”

On the contrary, that commission was the only reason I was considering this at all.

One thing I’d learned about myself over the last eight years was that I was much better at facing my trauma behind closed doors. I wasn’t the kind of person who found peace in facing my demons head on. I much preferred to write a letter I’d never send, or sing Celine Dion at the top of my lungs while I sobbed and stress-cleaned my entire house.

So, agreeing to work with the first boy to ever break me was not exactly at the top of my to-do list.

But it was a way out of the current hell I lived in — and I wasjustdesperate enough to take it.

“Thank you for filling out the questionnaire,” I said, opening the three-ring binder I’d put together on his preferences and ignoring his jab. “I do have a few questions before I can start culling homes, and I also want to reiterate that my time is valuable. If I feel like you’re wasting it, I will drop you faster than an old picture frame with a nest of baby spiders on it.”

“What a visual,” he teased, sipping his water with his eyes dancing in the low light of the restaurant.

I flushed, looking down at my binder so I didn’t fall into those eyes like I did as a young adult. I knew firsthand how easy that was to do.

The waitress came and took our food order, giving me a sacred moment to catch my breath and suck down some water. Once she was gone again, Kyle leaned forward, his elbows balanced on the table and those damned eyes on me.