Drew can’t help it, his angry face crumbles and a smile appears. “That’s because you’re too fucking sexy for your own good.”
“Whatever,” I say dismissively, then I meet his eyes and smirk at him. “You’re a pain in the ass, Forrester.”
“I know, but I’m only a pain in your ass, babe!” He waggles his eyebrows and the angry moment is gone. For now.
“Lucky me.”
Bradshaw’s is a little hole-in-the wall restaurant on the edge of SoHo. The original SoHo, not the one near my loft in New York. The place is small but private, with tall backs to the booths and low lighting to maintain the cozy atmosphere. The hostess greets us warmly, then I watch her eyes bug out when she recognizes Drew. Her gaze flicks to me and they bug out again.
I sigh, this is my life. It will always be like this. New Sydney, doesn’t give a shit about being recognized and with Drew next to me. I’m not scared or anxious. I just don’t like it very much.
“We have reservations,” he says in a strange voice. I look at him and see that he’s morphed into his Andrew Forrester personality. The one that the fans and press get. The façade that the marketing machine behind his name created for him.
He smiles, not the big, sincere smile that I get. It’s the cordial and polite Andrew Forrester smile. The hostess sees him smiling at her and stammers, flipping through her list as a blush stains her cheeks. I nudge him in the side with my elbow, urging him to help the poor girl out.
“It’s under Caldwell,” he tells her.
“Oh, yes. It’s right here.” She’s too nervous to make eye contact with either of us. That’s better than watching her throw herself at him right in front of me, I guess. “This way please.” She turns and walks through the tiny aisle, stumbling once on her heels.
We follow her single file since the place is too small to fit side by side. Drew lets me go first, his hand placed possessively on the small of my back. I ignore the other diners, not caring if they notice us or not. The hostess stops at a secluded table in the back of the room and looks at us. “Here’s ummm, your table. If uh, you need anything, then uh, let us know.” She bolts from the table and back to her post up front, diverting her eyes to the floor.
Drew lets me sit in the booth first and then slides in across from me. “Well, that was interesting. Where’s Steve?”
He points to the nearby bar where Steve is watching us from his stool, already sipping on a Coke.
Our server comes over with a giant grin on her face, clearly having been informed as to who her patrons are. She places a menu in front of each of us and begins her speech. “I’m Bev and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Would you like anything from the bar?” It doesn’t escape my notice that she only talks to Drew, not me, and flutters her eyelids ridiculously.
“Syd?” Drew says, forcing Bev to look at me.
“A pint of Guinness, please,” I say firmly but politely. I could care less if other women want Drew, he’s not interested and I know it. It just chaps my ass that women would flirt right in front of me.
“And for you,” she breathes, staring at Drew again.
He smiles blandly and crooks his finger at Bev, urging her to come closer. What the hell is he doing? She grins and bends down towards his face. Drew shoots me a look then whispers something in the girl’s ear. I watch her grin melt away along with all of the color in her face. She stands up straight and averts her eyes, not looking at either of us anymore.
“Oh, and I’ll have a Guinness as well,” Drew tells her.
“Yes sir.” She stiffly turns on her heel, hurrying back towards the bar.
Drew is grinning at me like the cat that ate the cream. “What did you say to her?”
“I told her that she needed to show us both some respect or that we would have a problem here.”
My mouth falls open and I bring my hand over it to hide my laughter. “You did not!”
Drew winks at me. “I most certainly did. I won’t tolerate women acting like that, especially around you. If our server had been a man and he acted like that to you, I would have punched his face in already.”
“So, what you’re saying is that she’s lucky I’m not a violent person?”
“Exactly.”
Bev returns with our beers and places them on the table, avoiding us like the plague. Her manners are quite different than the first time around. It seems that Drew’s little talk worked at keeping her flirting in line.
We order our food and the night turns out to be relaxing and enjoyable. No one approaches our table for autographs or to gush over us. If anyone takes any pictures of us, I don’t notice and I don’t care. Printing photos of us together would only help squash the gossip surrounding our relationship. I even forget that Steve is sitting a few yards away, watching over us all night.