Page 26 of Honor

It’s not as though I expect to fall head over heels in love at first glance, but I need to feel a strong attraction to a man before I’ll agree to go out with him. I haven’t felt that with Zeke yet, but maybe if I wander over to the bar and strike up a conversation that will change.

He’s definitely gorgeous. The way the fabric of his black T-shirt is straining over his muscular chest is impossible to ignore, as are his tattooed forearms. I should know. I keep stealing looks at him.

“I am going away for a weekend. Next weekend, actually,” I say, but leave it at that.

Cleo is a good friend, and I’m worried that if I confess that I’m jetting off to Paris with a stranger, she’ll try to convince me not to.

I did the same while in bed last night after watching a rerun of a true crime show.

I had a fleeting thought that Lottie was sent to lure me to the airport. Once I’m on the Paris-bound flight, I’ll never be seenagain because her accomplices are waiting for us in France, and as soon as they grab hold of me, that’s the end of my story.

I quieted all that down after a quick online search of Lottie’s name. She doesn’t have a social media presence, but I don’t either, so I didn’t view that as a red flag.

Her grandfather’s obituary did pop up. Charlotte Rushing was listed as his only grandchild in the touching tribute to him.

She is the heir to the Emmel fortune, and I’m her unlikely maid of honor.

“With a hot guy?” she asks.

In an attempt to stall, I glance toward the entrance of the bar.

Cleo’s gaze follows mine. “Is that Baden?”

I nod. “It’s him.”

Just as Cleo raises her hand to greet him, my gaze trails to the man on his heel.

“What the hell?” I mutter.

“Reid is here, too.” Cleo jumps to her feet. “We should invite them over.”

No, we should not.

I sacrifice virtually all my life to Mr. Hunt five days a week. The weekends are mine, and since it’s Friday night, I consider that the weekend.

“Let’s not,” I suggest quietly.

Cleo laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “It never hurts to socialize with management after hours.”

Oh, yes, it does.

It can cause increased levels of frustration and intense feelings of regret. I should have gone home and had a frozen pizza for dinner, along with what’s left in the bottle of Bandello wine sitting in my fridge. It’s been there for weeks but can’t be that bad.

“Baden!” Cleo calls to him.

His gaze trails across the crowded space. The bar is quaint and has a charm about it that I already adore. I was planning on bringing my mom here when she’s in Manhattan again because I know she’ll love a place like this, but I’m rethinking that now.

If Mr. Hunt comes here often, I won’t be.

I never would have guessed this small bar in Greenwich Village was on his radar. I don’t know him at all outside of the office, though, so my guess as to what he likes and doesn’t like is worthless.

Baden finally finds what he’s looking for when he spots Cleo. He raises a hand in greeting as he says something over his shoulder in Reid’s direction.

Mr. Hunt is still dressed as he was at the office, but Baden has changed into jeans and a charcoal V-neck sweater. His casual look is a sharp contrast to Mr. Hunt’s polished persona, but both men are the current centers of attention as all eyes in the room are on them.

Zeke wanders over to where we are. “Do either of you need a refill?”

I look up and into his face. “I could really use a cold glass of water.”

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