“Welcome back, Mr. Black,” a cheery blonde greeted us. “May I show you to your table?”
I wondered for a brief moment whether he’d brought other women here. Was I just another notch to place on his bedpost?
“Thank you, Julia.” He smiled.
Thank you, Julia, I repeated his words mockingly in my head. I had no doubt he’d brought others here, showering them in luxury and money before dropping them the moment they put out.
My god, why did I even care?
This was a business meeting, nothing more. Right?
We were shown to our table, an intimate space at the far end of the room. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor when I was positive we walked past an Oscar winning actor.
“Your usual, Mr. Black?” the woman –Julia – asked. It didn't pass my notice the glint of lust in her eyes as he smiled warmly at her.
“Please. Also, please ensure Niko gets my compliments.”
She nodded warmly and turned to leave, swiftly coming back with an expensive looking bottle of wine. Gabriel waved her away, pouring us both a generous helping of the red wine.
“So, who is Payton?”
His question caught me off guard. I'd assumed this would be business only, not discussing the ins and outs of my life.
“What do you mean?” I asked, grabbing my wine as my own distraction.
“Coy doesn’t suit you.” He smirked. “Who is Payton Miller? Surely there’s more to you than your job.”
Was there? I pondered for a moment, quickly realizing I’d pretty much thrown myself into my education and then my job. Wow. So dull.
“My childhood consisted of an old two bedroom house in the sticks of Kentucky, two loving parents and a young girl who wanted to get the hell out of there.” I paused, trying to deflect the interrogation to him. “What about you? You’re very much an enigma.”
His smile faltered for a moment. He grabbed his wine and took a large gulp from the glass.
“I was born in the UK. My father owned a large law firm in London and by the time I was sixteen, he had plans for me to work for his company. I didn't want it. I decided to leave the UK at eighteen to go to NYU. Luca works for my father in London.”
“No accent?” I asked.
“I lost it pretty much the instant I got here.”
“I can hear it when you’re turned on,” I blurted out. I threw my hand over my mouth, completely mortified at what I’d just said and that I even knew it in the first place. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know where that came from.”
He chuckled, deep and husky, flashing his smile.
“Don’t be. I like that you cut straight through the bullshit.” He took another sip from his wine. “So why did you want to move out of Kentucky? Don’t you miss the smell of horse shit?”
“Oh, har har!” I rolled my eyes. “It didn't smell of horse shit all the time.” I sighed. “My parents have struggled financially for as long as I can remember. I came from a life of necessity over luxury. When I was in high school, my aunt offered me an internship at the PR firm she worked for. I spent six weeks there, learning the basics of marketing and event planning. I finally got to see what a big city looked like. Chicago was stunning and I was a deer lost in headlights from the moment I stepped foot outside the state of Kentucky. After that, my passion was PR and I knew if I moved to a big city and worked in PR, I could give myself a life my parents never could.”
Wow, that was way more than intended to admit. No idea why I blurted all that out.
“Can I ask you something?” I nodded into my wine glass. “Where’s your Southern accent?”
“Ah, that. My aunt sent me to a speech therapist to try to help me suppress it when I stayed in Chicago.” His furrowed brows showed just how confused he was by this statement. “I did it because I believed no one would take me seriously in New York with a Southern accent. Turning up to a job interview with 'Hey y’all' and sporting a pair of cowboy boots would've gotten me a resounding no. When I moved here, the accent loosened even further and my boss had me in a refresher course to suppress the rest of it.”
“You own cowboy boots?” He smirked, a devilish glint in his eyes.
“Get your mind out of the gutter. Yes, I have a few pairs.” I laughed, shaking my head.
“What’s with Quinn?”
“What do you mean?” Confused, I took a sip of wine. Damn, it was yummy. Expensive, but yummy. “Oh, you want to know why a guy in his mid-twenties would be hanging out with a pair of women?”
He nodded.
“If you hadn’t already worked it out, Quinn is a queen. And for legal purposes, I have to tell you he is the most fabulous queen you’ll ever meet. He’s practically royalty.”