Page 15 of The Bourbon Bargain

It doesn’t make sense for just two of the three heads of Olympus to put in an appearance. It may seem less than contrite for one of the brothers to be missing if this is a push to show they’re taking the accident seriously.

“I’m needed right here,” he says, tapping my chest, just above my heart. “That, and I want to keep an eye on the rest of the holdings to ensure the negative fallout doesn’t cost us even more.”

My chest gets warm and gooey where he taps. He could have easily said the trip was the most important thing to focus on right now, which I would understand, but hechose me. I see him trying, and it means the world to me.

“Do you think the trip will accomplish what your brothers want it to?” I ask, hesitant to question what they choose to do with their giant conglomerate.

“Zander seems to think so, and it’s a smart move, publicity-wise. We’re getting crushed. And while we’ve always taken a very hands-off approach to our public image, this should show we care, or at least that’s what Payton says.”

“What do you think? Will it be enough?”

“I think one small showing like this isn’t going to turn the tide of negative press, but I also don’t think a full one-eighty where we appear to be completely socially aware will have the effect we want, either. It’s a fine balance of keeping our heads down and ensuring our practices are without fault going forward.”

“You can’t change the past,” I say, tracing a finger along Hayes’s jaw and relishing the rasp of his five-o’clock shadow against my skin.

Hayes sits up, gently drawing me with him. “I had every intention of scooping you up and taking you out when I got home before I was distracted by how much I needed you. You need to eat, and I know just the place. Come on,” he says, leaving the bed and leading me toward the bathroom.

I follow, loving the view I get of his naked body, so strong, masculine, and sinfully hot. My thighs are sticky with our lovemaking and a shower sounds excellent right now, even though I just washed my hair and would prefer not to have to blow it dry again. I put it up in a bun as I walk to remove the need.

Hayes pulls me into the shower, giving us both a good rinse and lathering me with body wash. He is so methodical, careful, and sweet as he washes me from neck to toe, thankfully leaving my hair out of the spray as his fingers paint designs through the bubbles along my skin. I stand patiently for him, enjoying every minuscule moment of our connection. It’s little things like this that make me feel cherished and taken care of. He gives himself a much quicker wash and finally rinses us both off before grabbing towels.

When I’ve had a chance to put myself back together and dress—in one of the outfits I shopped for that first full day in Atlanta that feels like years ago—Hayes is ready and waiting on the edge of the bed. He looks amazing in a black cashmere sweater and gray slacks that mold to his strong legs. I look down at my tight, knee-length, cream-colored dress and heels and contemplate changing. Maybe my hem is too low to be fashionable, and I could always trade for a pair of strappy stilettos instead of these leather platform pumps, even though they are more comfortable. He makes me want to look half as good as he does if we’re going out, and I suddenly feel dressed for the wrong occasion.

“Don’t you dare underestimate your innate sexiness or how you’re dressed,” he growls, practically reading my mind.

I must get better at not letting every thought cross my face.

“Just wondering if I should change. Where are you taking me?” I ask, self-consciously tugging at the cling of my dress so it pulls away from my generous hips where it’s tightest.

“Rare. It’s a nice steakhouse, and you’re dressed perfectly. Everyone who sees you will want to eat you up.” His eyes take on a territorial gleam, and I wonder if he’ll say something possessive that sounds like it’s out of a romance novel. Instead, he just smiles wickedly, and I’m left wondering at the thoughts that brought it on.

“What’s that smile about?” I ask when I can’t stand not knowing.

“I like that other men will want you, and women will want to be you. I love how sexy you are without even realizing it. I fucking love you, Paige.”

I feel my cheeks flush with the compliments and his ability to handle me being sexy without wanting to cover me up or hide me away out of possession. This feels healthy for a relationship, and I’m so thankful to have him as my husband, allowing me to explore who I am and not have Mama dictating my choices.

“I love you, too. You are way sexier than me, though, and I’m so lucky to be yours and have you choose me over and over.”

“Angel, I will always choose you. No matter where you go, or what happens in this life, I will pick you every damn day. I will never stop loving you, no matter what.”

My smile at that is brilliant, and I let him lead me downstairs and into the car still feeling the heady elation that he is mine.

The drive to the restaurant takes longer than I anticipated, the dark streets of Atlanta slowly clearing of rush hour traffic and the evening crowd on the roadways. Hayes drives up to a valet stand in front of Rare, in what I can only assume is a trendy area because of the foot traffic that looks to be made up of influencers snapping photos, fashionably dressed models, and people looking pleased with themselves. He opens the gullwing door of the Mercedes SLR McLaren for me, pulling me out and into his arms, where he stops to place a lingering kiss on my lips as the valet waits.

I feel my cheeks heat and look around us when he guides me toward the restaurant with his hand on the small of my back. A few people have stopped to watch us, one or two with phones out and pointed in our direction like we’re some kind of attraction. I tuck myself in closer to Hayes’s side and stay silent until a host directs us to a table that isn’t as secluded as I imagine Hayes would want.

“Have you been here before?” I ask, wondering if, like Napoletana, he has also invested in this restaurant and is a regular.With or without all the women he’s likely had over the years,a small, vicious part of my brain reminds me. I blink to end that self-sabotaging thought and let him scoot my chair in as I sit.

He rounds the table and settles himself before placing his elbows on the table, his hands clasped as if in supplication. He levels me with those fire-lit, emerald eyes. “Never been, but I hear from Zander it’s the best, and that is what you deserve.” He drops his arms to his lap and leans across the table, toward me. “Are you okay, Paige?”

Hearing him say my name when he’s been calling me other endearments shakes me from my internal ramblings.

“It’s just…” I begin, looking around the restaurant and, again, catching a few people looking our way and whispering. “I’ve been having to dodge a lot of questions from people who feel far too comfortable delving into my personal life the last week and I’m getting that same feeling here. I was never much to talk about in Savannah until you happened.” I slightly angle my head toward the couple two tables over who have their phones up and are blatantly taking photos or videos of us.

Hayes narrows his eyes at the couple, and they immediately turn back to their meals, but their eyes continue to stray our way. He raises a hand and catches the attention of a server, who hurries over.

“Good evening, Mr. Olsen. How may I be of assistance?” Hayes may not come here often, but the restaurant knows who he is at the very least.

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