Page 31 of Love Me Tomorrow

Owen pushes the door open. Pablo, seeing an opportunity, darts into my office.

It took a dozen bouquets of roses to get Owen here, and I’m not going to squander whatever minutes I have left by standing in this hallway, hesitating, like a pansy.

Slowly, I eliminate the distance between me and the man who has every reason to hate my guts. He watches me with an expression that I can’t even begin to decipher. Twenty-six men. I technically dated twenty-six men and not a single one of them ever made me feel as heady, as out of sorts, as Owen Harvey.

One last step and then I’m standing in front of him, my heart beating rapidly and my brain on overdrive. I lower my gaze, unabashedly tracking the undone collar of his button-down shirt to the black leather belt circling his hips. Then, before I have the chance to talk myself out of it, I push the plate I’ve been holding toward him, the one with the second crawfish dumpling that I stole from Dufrene’s stockpile.

Owen’s brows pull together in confusion. “What—”

“Don’t ask.”Please don’t ask. My nerves are already frayed, and goodness knows I deserve his suspicion, but . . . “I thought you’d enjoy it. The dumpling, I mean.”

What I don’t admit is:I saved you one.

I escape into my office, spotting Pablo sunbathing on my desk.

A second later, the doorclicksshut behind me, and then it’s me, Owen, and Pablo, all alone.

9

Owen

The crawfish dumpling tastes like an apology.

Or maybe it’s that I’m reading too much into the look of regret in Savannah’s gaze. She watches me as I eat, with her hips pressed against the side of her desk and her fingers tangled in a knot in front of her. “Good?” she asks softly.

I set the plate aside, on top of a sideboard table positioned near the door, along with the flowers. “On a scale of roses to dumplings, I’d choose the latter.”

“Good! That’s really, really good.” Her hands press together, palms kissing, in what I can’t help but think is agitation. “My chef is planning to put them on Rosalie’s menu this weekend. Honestly, I don’t even know what ERRG did before we hired him because—”

“Savannah.”

She blinks. “Yes?”

“You’ve emailed me.” I step forward. “You’ve called me—”

“You didn’t answer,” she interrupts swiftly. “Obviously I knew you were avoiding me.”

I speak over her like she didn’t interject at all. “You’ve purposely had your crew put up scaffolding onmyside of the block, even though I had the exterior restored two years ago.”

“In my defense,” she says, raising a palm to her chest like she’s about to recite the Pledge of Allegiance, “Chad wasn’t supposed to put up anything on your building. I’ll take full responsibility for the nagging emails and phone calls—that isallon me. But the scaffolding? Not me. I had a lengthy chat with the architect about that before I left the office last night.”

“What the hell kind of architect doesn’t know how to read an address number?”

There’s a small, impactful pause, and then: “The kind who are hired by my father and have his interests in mind.”

I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Savannah’s face, even if I wanted to. “Explain.”

“Can I tell you a story?”

As much as I want to tell her no—and, instead demand that she get her father off my back about selling my property—I find myself nodding.

Her shoulders rise with what seems like relief, and then she pushes away from her desk to wander toward a wall-to-wall bookcase. My gaze rakes down her back, over the slim-cut dress that hugs her waist and the flare of her hips. Her shoulders, I notice, are slightly hunched as she studies a set of picture frames on the shelf before her.

“When I was a kid, my dad always liked to say that we Roses were destined for bigger and better things.” She picks up one of the frames, cradling it in her hand. “He sent Amelie and me to the best girls’ school in the city. Granted, I’m so much older than her so it’s not like we were there together or anything. Anyway. I learned French and Spanish at the same time I was taught English. Instead of sports, he encouraged us to pick up an instrument and learn to play.” She gives me a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I used to want to play lacrosse so badly.”

I stare at her, unable to look away. “You’d be wiped clean off the field.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” Those slouched shoulders of her go stick-straight. “I’d survive.”

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