Page 17

Pinned

Declan

She wasn’t home.

I’d walked the entire apartment, and Abi wasn’t there.

Talk about déjà vu.

Only she wasn’t on the balcony this time.

Which was fine, I supposed, since we didn’t have to leave for another thirty minutes, but I would’ve expected her to mention she wouldn’t be there when we’d texted earlier.

Then again, I was a fool for expecting her to do something that was expected.

I took a quick shower, then as I ducked into my closet to grab a tie, I heard, “Are you in the closet?”

I turned just as she stepped in the doorway, looking stunning in a black off-the-shoulder sweater, black leather skirt, and tall black boots that made me actually forget my name for a second.

And something about the all-black outfit made her hair look like shimmery copper.

I cleared my throat, fully aware of how I shouldn’t think she was gorgeous.

“Oh, my God, sorry,” she said, blinking fast and turning her back to me like she’d walked in on me buck naked. I noticed her hand was holding the back of her sweater together as she rambled, “I just thought—”

“I’m wearing pants,” I said slowly, because I was dressed, for fuck’s sake; I was wearing the slacks that went with my charcoal Armani suit. “You’re fine.”

“Okay, good,” she said, nodding, but she didn’t turn around.

“You can turn around,” I said, wanting to laugh at this unexpected shyness from my lack of a shirt. “I’m decent, I promise.”

She turned around and said, with her eyes dialed in on my face, “I was just looking for a safety pin.”

“Come,” I said, walking over to the drawers that were built into the wall. “I’ve got an entire bin full of them in here.”

I heard her follow me as I opened the top drawer and pulled out a container of safety pins. When I turned to hand them over, though, her eyes were on my chest and…well, shit , nothing was good about the way she looked at me and the way it made me feel.

“Do you need help?” I asked.

“Hmm?” Her eyes were back on my face, and she looked confused. She blinked fast and said, “What? I mean, with what?”

“Pinning something,” I said, and I was impressed with how calm I sounded when her interest had been…interesting. “The part of your sweater you’re holding together, perhaps?”

Especially when she looked like that , with those smooth shoulders out for the world to see again.

“Oh,” she said. “No, I think I can do it.”

“You sure?” I asked, knowing I shouldn’t be offering my services but unable to stop myself.

“Well,” she said, craning her neck to look at her back. “It’s just a little big and I don’t like when it slides, so I just want to do a little interior tuck thing to ensure it stays in place.”

“I’m happy to help if it saves you from stabbing yourself in the back.”

“Okay,” she said, looking like she also thought it wasn’t a good idea. “That’d be great. Thank you.”

She turned so I was looking down at her back and the part of her sweater she was clutching, and I grabbed a safety pin. “Don’t let go until I say I’ve got it, okay?”

The last thing either of us needed was a wardrobe malfunction. That would definitely make dinner a little awkward.

“Okay,” she said.

I took the fabric between two fingers, very aware of every sound in the room as I dipped the safety pin underneath the back of her sweater with my other hand and slid it between the tuck of material.

Of course, I was even more aware of the proximity of my bare chest to her bare neck and shoulders. I don’t know why, but it felt…dangerous. I said, “Edward’s not going to be happy about this, for the record.”

“Oh,” she said, looking at me over her shoulder with wide eyes. “Seriously?”

Her eyes were such a unique color, brown but melted down into something lighter, and they kind of took me by surprise for a moment. I cleared my throat and reassured her, clasping the safety pin. “I’m just messing with you. He’s not going to notice a pinhole in a sweater.”

“Ah,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Good.”

“You’re all set,” I said, clearing my throat again.

“Thank you,” she replied, turning around. “I probably would have shanked myself, so I appreciate it.”

“Can you call it shanking when it’s a safety pin?”

“You can when I’m the one wielding it.”

“Note to self, hide the sharp things,” I said, noticing that the perfume she was wearing was so subtle it was barely there.

Kind of made you want to investigate its origin.

If you were that type of person.

Which I was not.

“Will you be ready soon?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding, her eyes doing a sweep over me before settling on some point just past my shoulders. “I’ll be ready in two minutes.”

“I’ll be ready in five. Meet you by the door?”

“You got it,” she said, then turned and disappeared from my closet.

I got dressed quickly after that, choosing to focus on the events of the evening instead of whatever had just been pinging between us in my closet. I was smart enough to know it was best to just ignore chemistry, because chemistry was a fleeting thing.

Abi seemed to know it, too, because she was all business when we left the apartment and drove to the restaurant.

“So this isn’t a company event, per se,” she said, looking out the window. “But just you and I having dinner at one of the restaurants under Hathaway’s umbrella, correct?”

“Exactly,” I said, merging onto I-80. “But the majority of the people with reservations will be shareholders. Especially when the restaurant—Immersion—is right next to Jaques Jewelers.”

“Yeah, so tell me about that.” She turned toward me in her seat. “I’ve never been to a jewelry store’s ‘private event’ before. What does that look like?”

I personally found it to be the worst of all the events, only because it was often the most pretentious and boring. “The store is closed to everyone but those with passes. They get to enjoy cocktails, entertainment, and a generous discount on everything in the store.”

“Oh,” she said, not sounding impressed. “So their goal is to make rich people tipsy enough to spend more than usual.”

It was clear that Abi didn’t hold the wealthy in the highest regard, and I couldn’t really blame her for that.

I didn’t, either.

But that was a “me” issue in my world.

And hella complex when it came to my family.

Which was why I kind of led a double life, keeping the Hathaway business separate from the business I had with Roman.

“Something like that,” I just said, leaving it at that.

When we got to Immersion, the hostess took us right to our table, but before we could even order cocktails, someone came up to our table, introducing themselves. And then another, and another.

I imagined an actual girlfriend would get sick of the constant interruptions that went along with being a Powell, but Abi was a professional. She smiled at everyone like she welcomed their table-crashing, and she was warm and engaging with each person she met.

Although it didn’t escape my notice when she finished her second glass of wine. She didn’t seem tipsy or buzzed, but her face was just a little more relaxed after the glass was emptied, like she was amused by everything.

We were finally left to ourselves when our food came, thank God.

When she cut into her filet and lifted the fork to her mouth, she said, “You know, Declan, I think perhaps it’s time for a truce.”

I looked at her in the candlelight and couldn’t detect any sarcasm. “Explain.”

“Well,” she said. “I think it’s silly, our battle for dominance, when we’re just two people trying to get the best outcomes for our lives this weekend, right?”

“Right…?” I said, waiting to hear more.

“Neither of us really expected this scenario to happen in the first place, but now that it has, why can’t we behave like adults? I think it’s possible for us to get along while we work together, don’t you?”

“Perhaps,” I said, sitting back in my chair and lifting my Manhattan. “So then, Abi, tell me a little bit about your life. What do you do with your days when you aren’t fake-dating strangers?”

Abi leaned back in her seat as well, a small smile on her face, and I found myself looking forward to whatever she was about to say.