Page 116 of Positively Pricked

Chapter 39

Less than ten minutes later, Zane and I were sitting at a prime table in the glass-enclosed restaurant. The whole scene was entirely surreal, and not only because of our ultra-posh surroundings and the amazing cityscape view.

More than anything, it was the whole idea of being here, withhim, in a social setting that didn't involve watching as he told someone to fuck off.

Then again, we hadn't yet eaten, so there was still plenty of time.

Zane, with his usual degree of politeness, was ignoring me as he texted someone on his cell phone. Who he was texting, he didn't say, and I sure as heck didn't ask, even after he claimed – falsely, I might add – that he'd be only a minute.

That was five minutes ago, not that I was counting.

Much.

While he tapped away at his phone, I took another slow look around. Outside our window, light from the setting sun glimmered off the windows of neighboring buildings, making the whole city sparkle and shine, at least to my inexperienced eyes.

Soon, it would be dark, and I had the whole night ahead of me. During those hours of freedom, I'd been planning to visit Times Square and do as many touristy things as I could.

In fact, that's where I'd been going when I'd been waylaid, first by Tiffany and then by Zane.

Talk about bad timing.

My onlygoodluck was that I'd dressed up. But still, even in a skirt and blouse, I felt seriously outclassed compared to the formal cocktail dresses I saw all around me. And, as far as the men? Every single one of them wore a suitwitha tie, except for Zane.

The dress code, like so many other things, apparently didn't apply to him.

Go figure.

If that weren't unfair enough, tie or not, he still looked better than any other guy in the whole place, including Paisley's favorite TV star, who was dining with a stunning redhead a few tables away.

Across from me, Zane was still texting, looking less enthused with every message he received in return.

Just great.

Probably, when he finished –ifhe finished – I'd be bearing the brunt of whatever news had irritated him. Who knows? Maybe in the end, he'd be tellingmeto shove off.

Between texts, he'd ordered a bottle of wine and dinner for both of us – without consulting me, I might add. It was bossy and arrogant, and yes, in a way, almost a relief, as much as I hated to admit it.

My menu had no prices, and I'd been oddly nervous about ordering the wrong thing, especially because most of the dishes were unfamiliar and written in a script that was so fancy, I could hardly read it.

I couldn’t imagine why we were here at all, unless he wanted to discuss work – or to prove once again how rude he could be by texting throughout wine, dinner,anddessert, assuming we stuck around that long.

He'd been lying to Tiffany. Zane and Ididn'thave plans. And this, as much as anything, made no sense at all. Obviously, he didn't care two bits about sparing her feelings. So, why the lie? And why drag me up here at all?

Was it just because he could?

Finally, he finished texting and –holy hell– not only turned off his phone entirely, but said something that caught me off guard. "Sorry about that."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry," he repeated, "but it couldn't be helped."

Wow.Twosorries? Right in a row? From Zane Bennington? I almost didn't know what to say. I glanced around before murmuring, "That's all right."

He gave me a long, calculating look. "So, you know Tiffany."

There it was again, a question without a question mark. Funny, I was almost getting used to it.

I replied, "A little."