Page 93 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Zara

I glance down at the stack of pancakes on my plate, then toward his plate, which holds a pile of waffles dripping with syrup and ice cream on top.

"You found the only diner in the UK that serves American-style breakfast dishes?

" I ask. We’re seated at a table at the far end by the window.

A table where he pulled up a third chair for my Birkin.

In that moment, I felt something inside me melt all over again.

I opened my mouth to tell him that maybe I would see him again, after all, when the waitress arrived to take our orders.

Hunter’s back is to the door, and he’s big enough and broad enough that I’m hidden by the width of his shoulders.

Also, he’s wearing a cap and had on a scarf and sunglasses, which he took off once we were seated.

Not that he was trying to disguise himself.

He’s well-known among the media, but perhaps, not as much with the general public, though that will change once he hits the campaign trail.

The waitress didn’t recognize him, either.

If she did, she didn’t let on. And the place is charming.

I glance around the wooden fixtures, the large fireplace, the wooden tabletops with the gleaming cutlery, the bar at the other end where, despite it being Boxing Day morning, there are still a few people—clearly regulars—seated.

It has a homey feeling, and the food looks amazing.

"You should know by now; I’ll always find a way to fulfill your heart’s desires." Hunter lowers his chin.

"I never told you I wanted to have pancakes for—" I cut off my words because he fixes me with an all-knowing glance.

"How did you know I wanted pancakes for breakfast?" I scowl.

"A lucky guess."

"Don’t bullshit me, Whittington. Did you find out my tastes from having me investigated?

He merely shoots me a look. I guess that’s a yes, then. He cuts off a big chunk of the waffles and shoves them into his mouth. Some of the ice cream sticks to the side of his mouth.

"Umm, you have a—" I nod my chin in his direction.

"What?"

I lean over, scoop up the dab of ice cream, bring it to my mouth and lick it off. "There, you’re fine now."

"Am I, though?" His eyes turn a stormy shade of green. Like there are emotions roiling around inside him, and he’s not sure how to give them words.

"You have to be. I have to be. Don’t you see that?"

His gaze intensifies, and a dull ache gnaws behind my breastbone. I tear my gaze away from him and pick up my knife and fork. I cut off a small portion of the pancakes and pop it in my mouth. It melts on my tongue. "Mmm, this tastes even better than it looks."

"So do you."

I cough, then reach for my glass of water and wash down the food.

"Hunter, seriously, stop doing this. You really have to stop."

"Give me one reason why," he shoots back.

"Because there’s somewhere I need to be."

"Right now?’

I glance at my phone, then back at him. "Someone’s waiting for me."

His lips firm. "Someone more important than whatever it is between the two of us?"

"Definitely more important. Also…" I set down my cutlery and fold my arms across my chest. "Let’s not forget, you said one night. I gave you two."

"You gave me two? As if you didn’t get anything out of it? Besides, you stayed a second night because of the storm," he points out.

I glance away, oddly ashamed. "Agreed, and now we have to go back to our daily lives."

He looks between my eyes. "Is that your final decision on the matter?"

I swallow, force myself to meet his gaze. "Yes." I clear my throat. "Yes, it is."

He stays silent for a few seconds, then nods. "Okay." He pulls out his phone and begins to scroll the screen.

I blink. "Did you say okay?"

"I don’t repeat myself, Zara."

Zara, not Fire. He called me Zara earlier, but not like this.

Not with his attention focused on something other than me.

Not with his jaw hard. Not with an invisible barrier he seems to have pulled down between us.

What happened? Did I finally succeed in pushing him away?

It’s what I want. It’s what I’ve been trying to achieve since I met him.

I succeeded and now, I already miss him.

He’s sitting in front of me, but it’s as if he’s not with me anymore.

This is how it feels to not be the cynosure of Hunter Whittington’s attention.

It feels like all the warmth in the room has drained out.

Like an avalanche has dumped ice all over me, and now I’m frozen, unable to feel my limbs, while my heart flutters in my chest like a caged bird.

He glances up from his phone suddenly, and our gazes connect. And his eyes? Oh, god, his eyes are a cold blue, a glacial frostiness in them that I’ve only seen reserved for others. And now, he’s aiming that aloof politeness at me.

"Don’t you want the rest of your breakfast?" He glances at my plate, then at me.

"Not hungry," I murmur.

He seems like he’s about to protest, then catches himself. "Fine." He rises to his feet and brushes past the table.

My jaw drops. I watch as he stalks out the door of the pub without waiting for me. He didn’t wait for me to finish. So, I told him I wasn’t hungry, but he could have, at least, asked me if I really meant it. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Isn’t this how I want it to be from now on?

I jump to my feet, grab my bag, and march through the doorway.

I walk outside and into the parking lot to find him talking to Ralph.

When I reach them, Ralph nods at Hunter.

"I’ll follow you back to the office, Sir.

" He nods at me and says, "Ms. Chopra," then walks toward one of the two black SUVs parked next to the car Hunter drove us in.

"You’re heading to the office?" I turn to Hunter, who slides my car’s key fob from his pocket and holds it out.

I take it, and he retrieves his hand before our fingers touch… And why do I feel so deprived?

"Goodbye, Zara." He takes a step back.

I want to jump forward and grab his sleeve but stop myself. "It doesn’t have to be like this, Hunter."

"Like what?"

"Like… Like this…" I point between us.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"If you’re going to be so immature about this—"

"I’m merely giving you want you wanted. You don’t want us to have a relationship? You don’t want to be seen with me? This is how it looks."

"Can’t we be friends?"

"Friends?" For the first time since he took his phone out in the restaurant, his eyes turn more green than blue. "With what I feel for you, we can never be friends."