Page 89 of The Surrender

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“Good.” He reaches for my stool and drags it closer. “Are you done?”

“I’m done.”

“Then let’s talk about something else.”

“Like what?”

“I want to take you away.”

“Okay,” I agree easily, observing his slow, thoughtful nod, watching as he drifts into a daydream. “Are you alright?” Why does he seem vacant all of a sudden?

He visibly shakes himself back into the room, smiling. It’s forced. “Sorry, what did you say?”

I lean back. “I asked if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine.” He stands, collecting my hand, frowning past me. I look back to the woman, Denise. Comprehension seems to have just hit her.

“You’re the guy who owns this wonderful hotel,” she says, excited. “Oh my, it all makes sense now!” She lifts her drink. “The Amelia.”

Jude laughs. “Yes, and just like my girlfriend, it leaves a wicked aftertaste.”

Denise erupts into belly-clenching laughter. “Oh, that’s funny. How romantic. Have you been dating long?”

“Long enough to get a cocktail on the menu in honour of her.” Clinton chuckles, prompting a glare from Jude. “You can’t fire me.”

“Can’t I?” Jude grumbles, taking my cocktail off the bar and dragging me away. “We’re having lunch in the Piano Bar. Put Amelia’s drinks on my tab.”

“Yes, boss.”

“He’s right,” Jude says. “I can’t fire him.”

I laugh. “So, we’re going for a relaxed lunch, are we?” The Piano Bar is cool and laid-back, rather than formal and refined like the Orangery.

“We are.”

“What will you do?” I ask as he guides me across the lobby. “There are no tablecloths to hide your wandering hands.”

He snorts, pulling out a tub chair for me, giving me a wide, full-beam smile. It takes him from handsome to illegal. “Restrain myself.”

Plucking the menu off the table, I lower and browse the options. “Burrata and risotto,” I say decisively, slamming it shut.

“Are you in a rush?”

I cross my legs and relax back, taking in the busy Piano Bar. “I think we could both do with letting off some steam,” I muse. His laugh is sardonic, and I sigh. “What am I going to do about my car?” I pout. “I can’t drive it like that.”

“I’ll get it repaired,” he says, making me feel guilty. The car cost him enough. “Please don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried. I’m annoyed.”

“Don’t be annoyed,” he breathes as he pushes my cocktail towards me.

Is he for real? Don’t be annoyed? Sure. Easy. And rich, coming from him.

“Thanks.” I lose myself in my drink and try to push back my irritation. It’s not Jude’s fault. “What are you having?”