Page 13 of The Love You Win

The Gravedigger, indeed. Maybe I deserve the nickname after today.

“Isla?” I lightly brush her shoulder with my fingers to get her attention. She jerks away from my touch as though I’ve burned her. Wide blue eyes skewer me in place. They’re glassy, rimmed with red, and she takes a split second too long to change her expression to one of cool indifference. I’ve hurt her.

“What do you want?” Gone is the awkward, rambling woman I’d met in the restaurant. In her place stands a fiery goddess whose glassy eyes turn hard. I can’t decide if I love it or hate it.

I scrub a hand through my hair. “To apologize. I never should have let all those people line up for autographs. That was shitty of me. You paid for my time, and I wasn’t respectful of that. Come back inside?”

She stares at me for a beat before snorting out a derisive laugh and turning away from me. “Pass.”

Pass? Does the money she spent mean that little to her? She was so desperate to get me on a date that she spent a ridiculous amount of cash, and now she’s just going to walk away? Or have I just been that awful to her? I wrap a hand around hers, giving it a tug. “Come on. Let’s go finish our date. Give me a chance.”

Isla pulls her hand from mine, but she doesn’t run away, so that has to be something, right? “Give you a chance?” Her brow furrows, and her lips flatten. She glances down at the phone in her hand, then back up at me. Every word is laced with sarcasm when she says, “Like how you gave me one?”

I deserve her anger. I know I do. And I have to admit, she’s pretty convincing. I almost believe she’s hurt because I wrote her off from the get-go and not because she’s pissed it won’t be easy to sink her claws into me. “I’m sorry. I am.”

“Guys like you are never sorry. At least not for your actions. Just that you have to deal with the fallout from them.” She shakes her head, and I almost miss the flash of emotion darkening her expression. “I must be a glutton for punishment.”

You and me, both, Isla. Because I would love to call time of death on this date right now, but I can’t. I genuinely didn’t think it would be this hard to get her back into the restaurant. I need to change tactics.

“Come on.” I flash her my most charming smile. “We already ordered our food. It’s probably ready, and as you said, it’s so good they have a six-month waitlist. Hell, I’m pretty sure the guy by the door is just standing there, sniffing the air longingly. He’d probably give his left arm to sit at a table and order whatever he wants in your place.”

She hesitates, warring with herself. Her eyes are still glassy, but there’s a strength to her spine that wasn’t there a few minutes ago. “I was excited to try what I ordered.”

I fight the smile that wants to crest over my face because I don’t think it would help my case, but I’ve almost got her where I want her. “You ordered the special, right? I almost ordered that myself. I guess if you don’t want to eat it, I will.”

She gasps. Oh, she hates that idea. I can work with that.

“Actually, you know what? You’re right. You should probably go home. I’ve put you through enough. Not even the best food in the world would be worth spending the evening with me.”

The glare Isla levels me with shrivels my balls. “You wouldn’t dare eat my dinner.”

“I’d hate to let such delicious food go to waste.” I shrug.

“You’re the worst.” She studies me for a few moments and it’s all I can do not to hold my breath. “Fine. I’ll go back inside with you. But only because of the food.”

My lips twitch as I offer her my arm, but she ignores it and strides back through the doors of Rêveur in front of me. The hostess gifts her a kind smile before turning her nose up at me. Damn the team for putting me through all of this. I just want to go home, turn on a movie, and nurse a cold beer.

I help Isla scoot in her chair like a proper gentleman. Not only because I’m feeling a fair amount of guilt, but I also need her to tell the reporter that she had a good time when the date ends. “I’m sorry again about all of that. I should have turned them away.”

“It’s fine.” She won’t make eye contact with me, focusing instead on her glass of champagne, which she nearly downs in one go.

“Is there anything you want me to sign?” I rub the back of my neck. I’ve made this the most awkward date on the planet. Especially when Isla snorts out a laugh into her almost-empty champagne flute.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“If you change your mind, just let me know.”

She rolls her eyes. “I won’t.”

Oof. Time for some damage control.

“You look really lovely tonight.” Lovely doesn’t even begin to cover it. Isla is temptation itself. Not that I can tell her that.

She glances up at me through her eyelashes and murmurs a quiet, “Thanks.” She chews on her bottom lip for a moment before offering a compliment of her own. “You look handsome, too. I thought for sure they’d Photoshopped your bus photo, but that’s all you, isn’t it?”

Pink floods her cheeks, and she turns away from me. She might think I’m an asshole, but she’s still attracted to me. Hell, she’s probably still planning on making her play before the night is over. Jerk or not, I’m still rich and famous enough to provide her with a chance at her fifteen minutes. She’ll play at being shy and unsure. Then once we walk out of Rêveur she’ll brush her lush tits against my arm, maybe accidentally graze my junk with the back of her hand, and she’ll fish for an invitation to my place.

“We won’t be having sex tonight,” I blurt out. Not the smoothest way I could have dealt with it, but it needs to be said. I might be contractually obligated to go along with this ridiculous farce of a date, and Isla might be gorgeous, but I won’t go there.

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