Turn Over(106)

“We better get going. I have a car waiting for us.” I turned for the door.

“But can’t we walk? I like the river.”

I took her hand and pulled her to the elevator. “We can walk after dinner. I don’t want to miss our reservation.”

“All right. This is your turn anyway.”

“Keeping score?”

She smiled. “Only if you are.”

Her hand slid into mine as we walked through the lobby. I saw how the men at the brandy bar looked at her when we walked by. I nodded at a few of them. Maybe I didn’t have the right to claim her, but in this moment she was mine. Completely mine.

The car waited for us by the curb, and I helped her into the backseat before jogging around to my side. It was only a two-minute ride to the restaurant, but it would have taken twenty along the Riverwalk, especially if she was planning on walking the entire way in those shoes.

“Something funny?” she asked.

“No.” I shook my head. I thought I had laughed to myself, but she heard me. “Just having a good time.” I squeezed her hand.

The car stopped, and I kissed her on the cheek before the door opened. I couldn’t help it. I wanted to touch her. Kiss her.

There was a crowd gathered in front of the restaurant. They were taking pictures next to the stone columns.

“I think it’s a rehearsal dinner,” she commented as we dodged the photographer.

“Maybe.” I pulled her with me into the coolness of the restaurant.

“Ah, Mr. Lachlan we are so happy to have you join us tonight. When I saw your name on our reservation list, I chose a special table for you.” The restaurant matitre d’ motioned for us to follow him.

“Thank you.”

Sydney’s eyes grew wide. She tried to push the corners of her dress down.

“You didn’t tell me it was this fancy,” she whispered.

“This place?” I tried to play it off. “Basically a college bar.”

“It is not.”

Our table was next to the window. Like the suite, it offered a view of the Riverwalk, only more secluded and less busy. There weren’t as many people walking the boardwalk at this end.

Sydney’s expression had changed. She chewed her bottom lip. The one I knew tasted like sangria.

I hadn’t figured out how all of this was supposed to work. But I knew two things. The problem was they were in complete conflict with each other. I would keep it casual. I had to. And damn it, I was undeniably attracted to her. More than I should be.

I scooted her chair forward.

“I didn’t realize you were such a gentleman.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I settled into my seat across from her, accepting the wine list.

“I don’t know. I guess I haven’t spent enough time with millionaires. I didn’t think you would notice the-the—”

I chuckled to myself while she searched for the word.

“Details?” I offered.

“Yes. Exactly. The little things.”

“You see, Miss Paige, I always notice the details. It’s what makes me so successful, I believe.”

“That’s your big secret to success?”

I laughed. “You could say that. And never give the competition any ammunition. Two rules I always live by.”

“I think you forgot one.”

“What’s that?”

“Stay away from the press,” she added.

I winked. I liked her sense of humor.

“I thought that was a given.”

She lowered her eyes to the menu. “What do you recommend here?” She had placed her napkin across her lap, covering her knees.

“Why don’t we try one of the specials? I think the filet sounds tempting.” It was how I always judged a chef. The specials would be this man’s signature.

“All right.” Her eyes scanned the page. She leaned closer and whispered, “but where are the prices?”

I spoke low. “There aren’t any. Order whatever you like.”

I dated different of types of women. Some came from families with money. Not my kind of money. The kind that was so much a part of their genetic code I knew they bled green. Those women were hard to please. Then there were they type who knew what was in my bank account and couldn’t wait to add it to theirs. They were easy to please, but I knew their game. They liked restaurants like this one.

And now I faced a woman like Sydney. She didn’t fit into either category. She didn’t seem to care about the money. If I was honest, I thought it made her a little uncomfortable. I looked around the restaurant. Everyone talked in hushed tones. There was candlelight. The waiters wore gloves.

The matitre d’ was planted near the mahogany pillar, stealing glances at us. Anxious for me to approve of the wine and the menu.