Page 130 of Moonlighter

“Hello, Mr. Smith. I’m sure you remember Eric.” I don’t plan on explaining why he’s here. “Thank you for flying in from California to meet with us.”

“Ms. Engels, it was my pleasure,” he says silkily. “I’m glad you were feeling well enough to suggest lunch.”

“Oh, I feel just fine, thank you. And lunch is a big priority for me lately.”

I’m tired of people commenting on my pregnancy. But I’ve also reached a point where I feel like it’s never going to end. That I’ll always be this size. That I’ll never bend over again.

“Follow me, please,” the maître d’ says, and I waddle toward a perfect table for three.

Eric pulls out my chair with a flourish. “Thank you.” Now that he’s had thirty-six hours to sober up, he’s a perfect gentleman.

I’m seated directly across from Xian Smith. Now that Max has shared his suspicions, I’d wondered if Mr. Smith would seem even more sinister to me than he did before.

If I’m honest, he’s too beautiful to be truly terrifying. He has the smoothest, most flawless skin that I’ve ever seen on a man, and intelligent dark eyes. But his gaze is too knowing to make me comfortable, as if he can see more of me than I can see of him.

“Do you come to New York often?” I ask.

“Four or six times a year,” he says with that unblinking stare. “I prefer New York to California, but I have more West Coast clients than East Coast.”

“I’ll bet,” I say easily.

“Where did you grow up?” Eric asks, picking up his menu at the same time, as if the question isn’t truly interesting.

“Oh, where didn’t I?” He laughs. “Military brat.”

“Mmm,” Eric says noncommittally.

“Have you eaten here before?” Xian asks.

“A few times.”But never with a hacker who was trying to ruin me. “The scallops are wonderful.”

After everyone orders,I feel I can finally dispense with small talk. “Before the food arrives, I need to ask if you can still help me with my motherboard situation. We’ve had a rough go of it.”

He nods stoically. “I heard about the fire. So unfortunate.”

“Yes,” I say as goose bumps rise on my arms.Were you the cause of it?“Back in August, you offered to help me produce motherboards at a seventeen percent savings. And I should have taken you up on it.”

“Yes, you should have.” He gives me a small smile that only increases the size of my goose bumps.

“Mea culpa,” I say. Although I’d rather kick him under the table. “Could you help me shore up my production now?”

“I can,” he says quietly. “Although I’m afraid the seventeen percent discount was for a three-month lead time.”

“At this point I only have a six-week lead time. That’s when I run out of inventory.”

Another stoic nod. “The shorter time frame is still possible. But the discount will only be eight percent.”

I make my mouth into a tight line, which is not difficult to do, considering how fed up I am with the whole problem. “If that’s the best you can do, I will have to accept that.”

“We’ll need a signed contract immediately,” he says.

“My legal team is ready when you are,” I reply, picturing Whitbread’s jowly face. If that man knew what I was doing right now, he’d have a litter of kittens.

“Bread?” asks Eric, passing me the basket. “Ooh, herbed butter.”

At least one of us is happy.

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