Page 27 of If the Ring Fits

Hunter chimed in, “And if he tries anything, knee him where it counts and run like hell!”

I waved a hand. “I’ll be fine. Adrian’s not an ax murderer.”

At least, I’m pretty sure he’s not… 99 per cent sure.

“Alright, but keep your guard up,” Nina said. “And your pepper spray handy.”

“Yes, Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes good-naturedly as I exited the apartment.

I chuckle to myself, grateful for their concern even if they’re being a tad overprotective. Apprehension flaps in my stomach as I spot Adrian’s car waiting. Sam, his driver, steps out and opens the rear passenger door for me.

“Good morning, Miss Taylor,” he greets me politely.

“Morning, Sam. And please, just call me Rowena.” I slide into the backseat, the cool leather a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside. The AC hits my skin, further cooling me just as the door shuts with a light thud.

Moments later, Sam merges onto an empty lane, and I pull out my phone. Nina and Hunter will be expecting that first text. I switch to the camera app, angling it to capture my face against the backdrop of the car’s posh interior. Flashing a grin and a thumbs up, I snap a selfie.

Tapping out a message, I attach the photo and hit send, officially starting the clock on my promised hourly check-ins.

My stomach flips again as the reality of what I’m doing hits me. Gosh, I’m so nervous to see Adrian. After our text exchange a couple of days ago, he’s only messaged me once to confirm today’s appointment. What will he say? What willIsay?

I smother my plain T-shirt down. I wanted to look cute, wear a sundress, but practicality won out—I’m in jeans and an easily washable top in case I need to kneel on a questionable restroom floor and spill my guts out. Definitely not a dress day.

As the car weaves through the quiet weekend streets, my mind spins with thoughts of tall, intimidating, darklyhandsome Adrian. I have to keep reminding myself this meeting is just business. A contract. Nothing more.

So why do I feel like I’m heading to a first date instead of a business negotiation? I fiddle anxiously with my hair, twisting a lock around my finger. I need to stay detached, be clinical about this. Even if his deep brown eyes make me want to melt…

The temptation to stare at the picture of him I saved on my phone is strong. Instead, I plonk the device back into my bag and focus on the scenery flashing by the tinted windows, hoping to calm the butterflies rioting in my stomach.

Soon the car slows and I glance up as Sam speaks. “We’ve arrived, Miss Taylor—Rowena.”

My stomach swoops and I swallow hard against a surge of nausea. Morning sickness or just nerves about facing Adrian. Maybe both.

“Thank you, Sam,” I manage, trying to inject some confidence into my voice. I can do this. Ineedto do this.

Before I can gather myself further, the door is opening, releasing a flood of bright sunlight into the back of the car. I blink against the sudden glare, my eyes watering. Sam’s hand appears, palm up in invitation.

Drawing one last fortifying breath, I place my hand in his and allow him to assist me out. The heat hits me again like a wall after the cool air conditioning, making me almost recoil back into the shade of the car.

Instead, I stand tall and step fully out onto the sidewalk. The door shuts with a muted thump behind me and I’m suddenly aware I’m still clinging to Sam’s hand. Blushing, I release him and raise my hand to shield my eyes as I take stock of our destination. We’re somewhere in Tribeca, just a splash from the river but not in view of the Hudson.

Nerves jangle through me and my stomach twists into a tighter knot as I say goodbye to Sam. This is it. No more stalling. Time to face the ruthlessly handsome millionaire who wants to marry me.

I lower my shading hand, blinking as my eyes adjust. I’m standing in front of a quaint coffee shop decked out with stylish blue wooden paneling punctuated by a flower arch just above the entrance door.

To the side, there’s a cart with plants for sale—spider plants, succulents, and some potted herbs. A mini garden market. The vases are recycled cans that look stylish despite being essentially garbage. On a normal day, I would’ve stopped to look, maybe bought something. But today I don’t have either the money to spare nor the certainty of a home in which to put the plant. So, I push past and enter the coffee shop.

Inside, the rustic charm of wooden shelves meets the elegance of neatly arranged bouquets, and the smell of dark roast gives a rich undertone to the delicate floral notes while the enticing scents of vanilla and butter waft from the display of pastries.

Indie music is playing just loud enough to vibe to. I barely take this all in, my eyes searching the room for Adrian. I almost pass him over and then do a double take. Out of a suit, I almost didn’t recognize him. He’s seated at a corner table, casually relaxed as he scrolls on his phone in fitted jeans and a white polo shirt that highlights his toned arms.

This weekend version of him seems less intimidating. Still devastatingly handsome, though.

Adrian glances up from his phone and notices me, a warm smile spreading across his face. My insides do a cha-cha-cha across my digestive tract and this time, I’m sure the dance hasnothingto do with morning sickness.

Raising my hand in an awkward little wave, I make my way over to where he’s sitting. As I approach the table, I notice a steaming mug already waiting at my place. Did he order for me? A jolt of unease shoots through me. Liam used to do that—decide what I wanted without bothering to ask, as if my opinion didn’t matter.

“Hey,” Adrian says.

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