Page 11 of Unwrapping Romance

After Marla brought our drinks and took our order, I tipped my wine glass to my lips.

“You commented earlier that you’re broke. Why is that?” Jack asked.

“Not everyone is a billionaire, such as yourself, Mr. Atlas. I’ve been unemployed for over two months and had to use my savings, which wasn’t much because living in New York is damn expensive. I’m behind on my rent, and my landlord threatened to evict me.”

I didn’t mean to tell him that. It just slipped out, and now I felt like a total loser.

“How behind on your rent are you?” he asked.

“It was one month, but come next week, it’ll be two.”

“Where do you live?”

“315 West 33rdStreet. The rent was manageable when my boyfriend and I split it.” The words fell out of my mouth.

“What happened between the two of you?” Jack asked, sipping his bourbon.

“He was killed two years ago when a cab hit him while he was riding his bike.”

“I’m sorry, Sierra.”

“Thanks.”

“Why didn’t you move to a cheaper place?”

“I kept meaning to. I just haven’t gotten around to it. But it looks like I may have no choice now.”

“How long were the two of you together, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“A year. We met in our hometown of Minnesota. He got a job here shortly after we met and asked me to move here with him. So, I packed up and did, not knowing he’d be killed six months later.” I finished my wine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you all that.”

“Again, I’m sorry for your loss. That must have been very difficult.”

“It was. I really didn’t know anyone here at the time.”

“Why didn’t you move back to Minnesota with your parents?”

I felt the sting in my heart when he asked that question.

“I don’t have parents or any family. Todd was all I had.”

Marla walked over with our food and set it down before us.

“Can I get you another glass of Pinot?” she asked.

“Yes, please.”

“And I’ll have another bourbon,” Jack said.

“I heard you earlier talking to your father. I know you told me it was none of my business, but I just told you things that were none of yours. So, spill the tea, Jack.”

“There’s not much to tell. He lives in Spain with his fiancée, Gabriela. They’re getting married on New Year’s Eve, and he wants me to attend.”

“You told him you were out of town. Why don’t you want to go?” I asked, picking up my sandwich.

“One, I’m not flying to Spain. Two, I could care less they’re getting married. My father and I don’t have a good relationship. He retired three years ago, leaving me in charge of the company. He met Gabriela here, and when she decided she wanted to return to her home in Spain, he went with her.”

“What about your mom?” I asked.

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