Page 27 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

“Wait, meeting him,” Sumner echoed, lowering his phone and blinking in confusion. “What? How? I thought you said he was on the west coast?”

“Good listener,” I complimented, leaning against his arm as I tipped my head against the couch. The wine had left me feeling a little lightheaded. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard of it, though, but there has been this invention called a video chat.”

“And he said yes to it?”

I tilted my head to the side to peer at Sumner. “You seem surprised.”

Sumner quickly shook his head. “No, no. You just said he’s a private person, that’s all. But that’s exciting. Makes sense to get a new suit for the occasion. Hopefully the Wi-Fi is good so you get a clear view of him.” He looked down at his phone, but the screen was now inky black.

A part of me wondered how Destelle would’ve responded to the news. I knew, though. Destelle, who pushed me away from the idea that was Aaron Astor, would’ve been dismayed at the idea of us meeting. She’d be afraid that if I met him, it’d be that much harder to pull myself out of the sinking whirlpool I’d fallen into.

I wondered what my expression looked like. I was about to look toward the mirror when Sumner turned back to me, our faces suddenly inches apart.

I stilled. When I’d studied him before, I’d very much so been in the position over him—now, though, his face was the one hovering over mine. I took my time looking over the new angle of him. The bright lights of Gilfman’s waiting room reflected like sparkles in Sumner’s eyes as he looked down at me. His lashes were a deep brown, not black, framing his crystal blue eyes. There were freckles just underneath his right one.

How pretty, I thought, realizing that’d been the word he’d used with me the day prior.Pretty. Pretty from afar. Prettier up close.

“What did you mean?” I asked him suddenly, though faintly, in a tone one could’ve called a whisper.

Sumner’s lashes fluttered as he blinked, but he, too, didn’t pull back. “When?”

“At brunch. ‘They ate you up.’ What did you mean?”

I wondered if he remembered that. I wondered if he expectedmenot to remember that, or to not have put any thought into it. The truth was that it’d been all I’d thought of last night as I stretched out in bed, going back and forth between the compliment and the puzzling statement thatfollowed.

His expression, if possible, became more serious. “I could see why you might’ve not felt like a happy person,” he answered. “Because everyone around you enjoyed making sure you weren’t.”

“They ate it,” I echoed with a shake of my head, still not understanding the phrasing. “Like a main course at a meal?”

“Like a paper shredder. Taking something that was whole and tearing it apart.”

My first instinct was to roll my eyes at him, because of the grandness of his metaphor, and because I didn’t feel shredded. It didn’t feel like there were ribbons of me, tattered and scattered around. I felt whole.

He continued, “The fact that you don’t think you’re pretty tells me that.”

“I wear suits. Women who wear suits aren’tpretty.” Not in the way women who wore dresses were.

“Clothes don’t make you pretty, and whoever convinced you of that can shove that thought up their ass.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the curse word or the blunt way he’d said, but I tipped my head back against the couch and laughed. It broke apart the serious moment that’d been building, shattering it. My laugh wasn’t a lovely one; it was sharp and abrupt, one that caused my eyes to close. My lips tilted up in a way that almost felt uncomfortable, but I couldn’t fight them back to their normal position.

“You,” I breathed, giving my head a little shake. “You’re definitely not from around here.”

Sumner didn’t reply. His serious expression had vanished, replaced with an emotion I couldn’t place. Hisstare was intense on me, almost as if I’d just stripped naked in front of him. Whatever it was, it tightened his brow as he looked at me, but his parted lips held zero tension.Stunned. He looked stunned.

“What?” I asked, self-conscious under the attention of his strange expression. “Nowyou’restaring.”

The accusation did nothing to snap Sumner back to the present. He didn’t pull back and apologize for gaping so openly, didn’t rush to explain. In fact, it was almost as if I hadn’t spoken. Whatever caught his attention distracting him too much to form a response.

“Here we are, Miss Margot,” Jordan said as he entered the changing area in a rush, gasping at a realization he made as he crossed the threshold. “Oh, I forgot the wine! Hopefully you weren’t waiting for it this entire time.”

I sat up from the couch and swayed for a moment, warmth kissing at my cheeks. Jordan couldn’t have cared less about the strange sight he walked in on, but I couldn’t stop picturing what it might’ve looked like. What it felt like. Clearing my throat, I wiped my features clear of any and all emotion, shrugging back on the air of unaffectedness. “That’s quite all right, Jordan. It seems I’ve had more than I should’ve, anyway. Let’s try on the vest, shall we?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The chair I sat in was stiff and uncomfortable Friday morning. Though the Alderton-Du Ponte Country Club had many meeting and conference rooms, the one we resided in now wasn’t one that had extravagant views. There were no windows that exposed rolling hills or puffy clouds. There wasn’t even a picture on the wall. I had nothing to distract but the staff who fluttered about setting up the computer and webcam.

I sat back and watched, rhythmically tapping my finger on the arm of my chair. “You’ve got five minutes,” I reminded the staff member. The clock was inching closer and closer to noon, and it caused the back of my neck to prickle.

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