Page 44 of Once Upon A Sale

To be honest, halfway through the conversation, my eyes glaze over because, just like every other rich guy in this city, they feel the intricate description of their work is fascinating to the whole of the population.

It really isn’t.

By the time we order dessert, Dexter excuses himself to go to the bathroom and I take that time to check my phone. I’m a firm believer that at the table, the no phone rule applies. Unless you’re alone. Then all bets are off.

My screen shows a few missed calls from Opie, followed by a cryptic text message.

Opie:The eagle is in the nest.

I blink, furrow my brow in confusion, and just when I’m about to ask her what the actual fuck she’s talking about, Dexter returns to the table. Fuck it, I’ll ask her later.

My smile is automatic when I raise my gaze to meet Dexter’s, freezing at the sight of him. To be honest, he looks like he just got fucked. Or got into a brawl. Which would be really fucking awkward in the restroom.

“Are you all right?” I ask him the question but my eyes are roaming the restaurant for…I don’t really know, but I have a sneaking suspicion, to be fair.

“Yeah, I almost ran into a busboy with his arms full of dishes. Missed a catastrophe by an inch.” Rolling his eyes like it’s the most embarrassing thing he’s ever experienced, he runs a hand through his mussed up hair and smiles back at me. “Sorry about that. Guess I have things on my mind.”

I guess he does.

“I do want to say, though, that this lunch was absolutely delightful. And that was even after you agreed to take three million from my company for your wild animals.” His chuckle is warm and inviting, and for a second, I toy with the idea of seeing him again.

In fact…

“Dexter, this may be incredibly forward of me but…” I hesitate, the image of Jarrett flashing through my mind before I bitch slap my memory and tell her to fuck right off. “Would you be interested in accompanying me to the Warren Gala on Thursday night? I know I’m only giving you four days’ notice but…” I’m not sure how to follow that up so I just leave the sentence hanging.

“Thursday…is that June first?” He’s got his phone out, presumably to check his availability, and the longer he takes to answer, the more I feel unnerved.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Perfect. Yes. I would be honored to walk in by your side.” It doesn’t escape my notice that he says by my side and not on my arm. That’s a big point for him.

Jarrett would have carried me inside, for all I know.

But I’m not fucking thinking of him, am I?

“Wonderful. Well, I need to get going; gala planning waits for no one.” The event has been planned for months and he probably knows that, but he doesn’t call me out on it. Thank fuck.

“I’ll send a car to pick you up. I'll be the giddy guy eagerly waiting to take the prom queen to his first dance.”

As we both stand, I walk up to him and kiss his cheek. “I’ll be the prom queen with the diamond tiara.”

His chuckle makes me smile because, obviously, he has a sense of humor.

Jarrett would have said something about ripping the tiara off and tearing my dress until I’m naked and ready to take his cock.

I’m definitely making the right choice.

Fuck. I forgot about Logan.

Galas are our thing. We go together as a way to protect each other from the vultures. And vultures, there are. A lot. This will be the first time in…well, ever, that I’m taking someone else.

Now, how am I supposed to tell him?

“The secret to a great margarita isn’t the triple sec, it’s…” Logan pauses as he leads an impromptu bartending workshop, looking up at each of us as we watch him, rapt, making our margaritas. Now, this isn’t the first time. In fact, it isn’t even the hundredth time he’s done this. It’s become our tradition that whenever Logan comes around the house, his job is to make us margaritas, and every fucking time, he goes through the steps as if it’s the first time.

“The freshly squeezed lime and orange juice.” See? We know the deal.

“Yes, you’re welcome.”

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