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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

"What's the right answer?" I ask, feeling even more off-balance than I’ve been all week.

"I don’t want the right answer. I want the real one."

"When I told you there was a chance you’d get hurt, I meant that I don’t do long-term relationships," I begin, unsure for probably the first time in my life whether that’s still true.

I haven’t stopped thinking about Alexis since the second I left her town, and that has to mean something.

At the very least, it means I need her mouth on mine again. Actually, her entirely.

"This isn’t the kind of conversation I want to have over the phone," I go on, glancing at the open planner on my office desk.

I check quickly—no surgeries scheduled until next Tuesday.

I haven’t operated daily for over a year. Nowadays, I only take on cases that are particularly challenging or who request me by name, like that European leader last week.

"I’m not sure I follow."

"Have dinner with me. Just dinner."

To my relief, I hear her laugh. I’m completely out of my depth here. It feels like Alexis could slip through my fingers at any moment, and until I figure out what the hell this lack of control around her means, I’m not letting her go.

"Do you always give women that kind of warning? 'Just dinner?'"

I don’t tell her that, most of the time, dinner isn’t even on the table.

I get involved with women who want the same thing I do: physical satisfaction, no strings.

Only with Jodie—who, at first, seemed to fit my preferences—did I show up at a few social events.

Even then, I made sure no one got the impression we were in a relationship.

She kept things discreet too, which was one of the reasons I misjudged her. In the beginning, Jodie didn’t bring drama—something I always ran from. We seemed like a perfect match, like hand and glove? 1 .

"No," I answer simply.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"I don’t know how to answer that without scaring you off."

"Try."

"I don’t usually have to chase women. It’s the other way around. You’re an exception."

"Because I’m poor?"

"What?"

"Am I just a challenge to you, LJ?"

"This has nothing to do with challenges, Alexis. I’m thirty-eight years old. I’ve had enough of those. I want you. I’m not going to lie to get you into bed. I don’t know what this is between us, but it’s something I want to explore."

"I’ll have dinner with you—but not in my town. It’s a small place. People will talk."

It’s strangely touching that she cares about that. In my world—at the risk of sounding like a jerk—women would love to be seen with me. Alexis, on the other hand, is only concerned with her own reputation.

"I have an idea,” I say. “I’ll cook for you."

"You cook?"

"I’m pretty good at it."

"Like with everything you do?"

"That’s a trick question. Any answer I give puts me at a disadvantage. If I say yes, I sound like an arrogant prick. If I say no, I sound like I lack confidence."

"You don’t have to answer. I’m sure you’re a great cook."

"I’ll send a car to pick you up at seven.

I might be a little late. Whether it’s by car or helicopter doesn’t make much difference, and I don’t know if .

. .” I trail off. I was about to say I wasn’t sure if my jet would be ready in time, but maybe that’s too much information for someone I’ve known for such a short time.

I don’t want to scare her off. I know that in Alexis’s world, private jets aren’t exactly normal.

"Don’t know if what?"

"Nothing. Just be ready at seven. Send me your address."

"No. Just have your designated driver pick me up at the restaurant."

I don’t like that answer, but I’m aware I don’t hold the best cards right now.

"LJ?"

"Yeah?"

"I agreed to dinner. That’s it."

"I won’t do anything you don’t want, Alexis. But you need to decide if you’re a girl or a woman."

"I’m an adult," she says, sounding somewhere between proud and annoyed. I almost smile, because I never thought I’d be in a position where I had to promise good behavior to a woman. Usually, the dress and panties are already on the floor before the apartment door is even shut.

"Then come ready to enjoy the night. Don’t overthink it."

Alexis

I’ve walked around the living room.

Five times.

And let me tell you—it’s some living room.

I’ve never been in a house this big or this beautiful.

LJ sent a message earlier asking if the driver was being careful. His concern rattled me more than I already was just from the idea of spending several hours alone with him.

He also explained that the house I was being taken to belonged to his cousin. The same one who recommended The Ugly Shrimp to him.

I haven’t seen a single photo frame here. If I had a house this big, I’d fill it with memories. Then I remember—this probably isn’t even his main house.

I hug myself as I walk toward the mirror and study my reflection critically.

I almost wore a black dress—one of the few nice ones I own—but I quickly decided against it.

He met me in my golden sneakers and running clothes.

I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.

So I came in a soft yellow, spaghetti-strap dress.

It’s weird that someone who craves normalcy as much as I do loves bright colors. Maybe some psychologist could come up with a deep explanation for that, but all I know is that life looks prettier in color. Not a profound thought, but it’s true.

I hear someone arrive and feel a shiver run through my entire body.

I know that the moment he walks through that door, I’ll be in free fall—but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more than to take that leap.

1 ? Reference to Machado de Assis, Brazilian writer.