Page 60 of Ella Gets the D
Hickory-brown eyes keep me captive.
“Okay, fine.” I throw up a hand. “You’re…you and that manspread—”
He grins. “Manspread?”
“—are a lot. You’re a flirt, I get it. But could you turn it down a notch? I feel the heat all the way over here.”
Julian tilts his head back and laughs with a force that closes his eyes and jiggles his belly. It takes a full minute for him to come down. He wipes his eyes with a chuckle. “I missed you, El.”
I resist the urge to fight back a smile. “Goodnight, Julian.”
“Wait! What are your plans tomorrow?”
“Jackson and Haile are at their dad’s until tomorrow evening.” I shrug. “Order in, or make a pizza and watch a movie.”
“Want company?” He snorts at my constipated look, because what the fuck? “I told you I’d like to get to know you better. Friends cook and watch movies. Plus…” He waggles his brows. “My pizza tastes better.”
“Fine, but I pick the movie. Is one o’clock too late?”
“Nope,” Julian says. “Lunch for you. Dinner for me. I’ll text you what to get. And don’t skimp on the ingredients, or it will taste like shit.”
“I was wondering when you’d start to sound like Morgan.”
“Hush. What are we watching?”
I bite my lip. “Hot Fuzz.”
Laughter erupts from his end. “And here I thought you’d pickNotting Hill.”
“Guess I’m full of surprises.”
“That you are. Good night, Ella.”
“Good morning, Julian.”
Chapter 24
Julian
“Are you ready to order?”
I peek at my watch for the third time. “Maybe I should call Sebastian.” It’s not like him to be this late.
“No need. He’s back at the office. Something came up.”At ten o’clock at night?Robyn’s honey-brown eyes stare over her menu before they drop back down. “I’ll have the beet salad. Hold the dressing.”
The server takes her menu. “Excellent choice. And you, sir?”
“I’ll have the duck breast, please.”With a side of ambush. I hand him the menu with a tight smile. After a bow, he’s off in his penguin suit.
When my assistant booked a late dinner, it was for a party of three, to discuss the contract currently under review with our Singapore client. Sebastian and Robyn work for the firm that represents the seller. Dinner never came up when I spoke with him today, which leads me to believe he didn’t get an invite in the first place.
I’ve dodged Robyn’s requests to meet up since I came back. Yet here we are, well past a respectable time to break bread—orroots, I guess, since she doesn’t eat carbs. I’ve met clients early and late to accommodate their schedules. But this feels like a date.
Our small bistro table faces views of the terrace and the River Thames. It was another cloudy day, but the moon peeks over the Tower Bridge, illuminating the transporting Londoners and tourists who cross the neo-Gothic structure. Our section is quiet, minus two other couples at tables on opposite sides of the room.
I take a sip of scotch and return my focus outside. Robyn lags in the periphery with a familiar hunger, one this five-star restaurant won’t satisfy.
She leans on the table to rest her elbows, an act that widens the deep slit in her neckline and exposes the tops of her breasts. My eyes travel down her knee-length dress out of habit. It’s in her signature red, and it molds to curves I’ve stroked on more than one occasion. I’ve praised her for wearing it during meetings that led to marathons between the sheets.
