Page 30 of Love Me Tomorrow

Looks like I’m not the only one who brought their wits along.

Whistling low, I shake my head with dramatic slowness. “Owen, you wound me.”

He jerks me close, and I nearly stumble over his feet. “Woundyou?” he echoes in disbelief. “You’ve beenhoundingme. Gage thought I had a goddamn stalker and you’re worried that, what? I hurt your feelings? You sent me a hundred and forty-four roses, Savannah. What the hell were you thinking?”

Cheekily, I smile up at him. “I’m thinking that your math skills are excellent. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Dark eyes narrow into slits. “You . . . you are single-handedly becoming the biggest pain in my—”

I clap my free hand over his mouth.

His trim beard tickles my palm and my heart hammers against my rib cage and, oh God, I’m not sure which one of us I’ve surprised more by touching him so boldly.

I’ve never—not once—touched him like this.

Not when he was dating Amelie.

Not when they broke up and we spent every moment that we could together.

And certainly not when he showed up in Los Angeles and begged me to give our relationship a real chance.

I swallow thickly. Then gather all of my courage to open my mouth and say, “You ignored all my phone calls. I needed to talk to you and since you were clearly avoiding me, I took drastic action. It wasn’t Plan A, I assure you.”

Grasping my fingers in his, Owen lifts my hand from his mouth so he can speak. “I’m not selling.”

“Hear me out.”

“Nothing you can say will change my mind.”

“Maybe not, but you’ll never know unless you give me a chance.”

Give me a chance.

It is, possibly, the worst thing I could say to him because it isexactlywhat he asked of me that night in California when he put himself on the line and I rejected him.

But perhaps this means that Owen Harvey is a better person than I am because instead of telling me to take a hike, he only studies me like he can see inside my head and read every single one of my thoughts—except I don’t think he’ll see my proposal coming.

I’m jumping out of the dotted lines on this one.

Taking a step that will either see me fired from ERRG or put me on the path to being heralded as a hero.

And I think . . . well, I think that if Owen listens to what I have to say, he’ll see that this could be a massive opportunity for him, as well.

In over a hundred years, the Edgar Rose Restaurant Group has never allowed a non-blood relative any semblance of control over the family business. Sure, we have employees like Jorge or Heather or Jean who workforus, but when it comes to outsiders sitting on the so-called throne and making the big decisions? It’s never happened. Not once. Hell, evenwithinthe family, there have been constant divisions. I wince when Uncle Bernard’s heartbroken face comes to mind. He was Dad’s right-hand man, the vice president of the company, and now . . .

I’ve taken his position and he’s run out of cards, so to speak.

Guilt, as it always tends to be, is a bitch. Uncle Bernard’s exit from ERRG had nothing to do with me, and certainly wasn’t my decision to make, but it still has never sat well. I try not to pass judgment on people for a singular mistake. I wouldn’t want the same being done to me.

Straightening my spine, I stand my ground. My voice nothing but a whisper, I urge, “Trust me.”

Owen’s jaw works tightly as his gaze flits between mine, searching, calculating. “You’re the last person I’d trust.”

The sting of his words hits me square in the chest, but I barely have time to register the possibility of their lasting effect because he’s turning away from me.

Only, instead of going left, toward the conference room, Owen spins right. Down the hall, his stride, long-legged and loose-limbed, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He doesn’t stop until he’s staring down at Pablo the office cat, who is licking his privates outside my closed door. Brow raising sardonically at Pablo’s antics, Owen looks over at me. “Suite 402, right?”

Throat feeling uncomfortably tight with emotion, I nod. “Right.”

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