Page 19 of Save Me

“You haven’t eaten here before?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ve been waiting for a special occasion.” I hold her gaze for a beat before she looks down at the menu.

“It is good. Let’s order, and while we wait, you can answer a few questions.” She places her phone on the table and blatantly displays it in record mode.

Once our waiter takes our order and leaves, I take her phone, stop the recording, and place it in the middle of the table.

“Nothing I say or don’t say will be on the record.”

She pinches her lips before sighing. “I figured.” She sounds only slightly disappointed.

“Let’s start with how you came to know Sebastian Blackmon.” She’s so determined to get her answers.

“Why don’t we start with a sip of wine?” Right as I finish, the waiter delivers our glasses of wine.

“Mr. Kim, I don’t—”

“Dae.”

She opens and closes her mouth. “Excuse me?”

“We don’t need to be so formal.”

The smile she gives me is tight and stilted, but I revel in it. I want to devour and savor any expression on her face.

“This isn’t a personal exchange, Mr. Kim,” she emphasizes the Mr.

My stomach muscles tighten in anger. I lean forward. “Why can’t it be a bit of both?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t date,” she says.

She’s so fucking beautiful it almost hurts to look at her. Yet, my attention is drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Her eyes fall to my lips, and it’s now that I realize a smile has crept across my mouth. I rarely smile, but in her presence, it seems inevitable. Her lips part, and her tongue lightly brushes across her bottom lip. I’m sure she’s unaware of her body’s physical response to me.

“It would seem that you do,” I finally reply.

She sucks in a breath, her eyes flying back to meet mine as if she just realized that she got lost in staring at me.

Kennedy clears her throat. “Nothing is what it seems.”

My entire body stiffens.

Those were my words to her on that day. Right before I ran away and hid like the fucking coward I was.

Does she remember?

“Nothing is what it seems,” I repeat, mulling over the phrase.

Our waiter brings out our appetizers while we silently observe one another. I search her gaze for any hint of recognition. There’s a glint of lust, of want, in her beautiful copper eyes.

But there’s no recognition.

She doesn’t remember.

I don’t know if this realization relieves me or depresses me. With a slight shake of my head, I remind myself it’s better that she doesn’t remember.

“Why don’t we enjoy our meal before we get into your questions?”

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