Nick grabbed his coat from the counter, where he’d left it the night before. “It’s been a pleasure, gentlemen, but I need to go.”
“Where do you go, Nico?” Luca asked, as though very concerned.
“To my sister’s.”
“You have a sister?” Luca perked up visibly. “Is she available?”
“Not to you.” He gestured to the door. “This way out.”
“Nick, you have definitely become less entertaining lately,” Jon grumbled as he moved to leave. “You’re going to make me discuss representation with Fiorelli.”
“Feel free. Go to the Red Witch in Mayfair to discuss it. There’s a redhead there you’ll like.”
Luca put an arm around his shoulder. “You must race this year, my friend.”
He raised his brow. “I must?”
“I haven’t beat you at Monte Carlo yet. But this is my year, and you have to allow me that pleasure.” Luca grinned winningly. “We’ll discuss this, and then you’ll race again this coming year so I can prove once and for all that I’m the superior driver.”
For a moment he was tempted to say he’d race the next year, just to put Luca in his place. But he’d deal with it later. He was meeting Summer for lunch and didn’t want to be late. She became unbearable when she hadn’t been fed.
Once he escorted the men out of his place and sent them on their way, he took the tube to Summer’s flat. He arrived five minutes late, and the fact that it wasn’t a problem told him that something was going on. He studied her face. “You have that look.”
“What look?” She widened her eyes innocently, which was a warning sign in itself. Hugging him, she dragged him into the living room.
Rosalind Summerhill sat in there, blinking at him with her gorgeous eyes.
He stopped in his tracks, knowing if he didn’t collect himself he’d go and take her in his arms.
Damn Summer. He looked at her, eyebrows raised. She knew he’d washed his hands of her mad scheme—he’d made it clear in her office. This was blatant manipulating.
The devil’s spawn batted her eyes innocently, blithe and seemingly clueless. “Nick, I wanted you to be here to discuss my wedding dress, too.”
“Hello, Nick,” Rosalind said, smiling at him.
Bloody, bloody hell. He rubbed the back of his neck. He should leave—he would leave if he were smart.
Rosalind’s smile faded at the edges. “Maybe you don’t want to be here.”
He heard the underlying question: Don’t you want to see me? Of course he did. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kisses they’d shared—he hadn’t been able to stop imagining all the places he still had to kiss her. If Summer weren’t there, he’d have pounced on her.
But he had to maintain distance, for everyone’s sake. “I thought you couldn’t design the dress.”
“I need to stay longer than I anticipated, and since my plans have changed …” She trailed off.
He knew what she was inferring. She wanted to see him.
And Summer was exploiting that. He frowned at her, silently promising retribution as he sat in the chair furthest from Rosalind.
“I’m excited about the dress,” Summer said, shooting him a warning look. She sat next to Rosalind on the couch. “I think it’s going to be absolutely lovely.”
Rosalind glanced at him before facing his sister. “Maybe you’d like your mother here? All mothers like to be part of the process.”
Summer’s expression clouded over with sadness. “My mother recently passed away.”
Rosalind looked stricken. “I’m sorry. How awful for you. My father’s memorial must have been especially beastly.”
“It was trying, but I wanted to pay my respects.”
“How did you know my father?” Rosalind asked.
Crossing his arms, Nick stared steadily at his sister.
But Summer was an experienced lawyer. She could make facts out of air. “Through my parents. Since they couldn’t make it, I wanted to pay my respects for them.”
“Is your father deceased as well?”
“Yes.” Summer nodded with a sad smile. “But my mother’s death was harder. He and I weren’t very close.”
“My father and I weren’t either.” Rosalind exhaled and pulled out a notebook. “Well, let’s talk about happy things, like your wedding. When is the date?”
Summer glanced at him, as if he’d know when this fictional wedding was. She finally said, “Next year. August.”
Rosalind jotted it down in her notes. “Whoever you have make the dress will need to start working on it right away in order to get it done in time. What sort of wedding are you envisioning?”