Page 6 of Duke It Out
“What exactly are you investigating?” His voice is casual, but I feel myself frowning for a brief second. Shit, what if he actuallydoeswork in publishing?
“You’re not an industry plant, are you? Bartender by day, cutthroat literary agent by night?”
He almost smiles. Almost. “Not quite.” He takes another swig of his beer. “I can categorically state that I know nothing about the publishing business. I can also tell you the last time I read a book was a shamefully long time ago, for which I blame the internet, and that I have no desire to ever write one. Does that help?”
“Very much so.” Reassured, I sit forward, putting my elbows on the table and resting my chin on my steepled hands. “Don’t worry, your scandalous secrets are safe with me.”
His mouth twitches. “How do you know I have any scandalous secrets?”
“I’m an investigative journalist,” I repeat, with a raise of my eyebrows. I like playingNew York Edie. “I notice things.”
“Like a psychic,” he says, making me laugh. “Come on then, Miss Journalist, tell me what you can see.”
“You’re the sort of man who doesn’t like small talk. You don’t like sticking around in one place too long. And youdefinitely don’t want to spend your Thursday night at book launches.”
His lips twitch. “All of which are glaringly obvious.”
“But true?” I fold my arms and look at him.
He nods. “Yes, undeniably. And despite all of the above, here I am.”
“Here you are.” I smirk. “Which does rather beg the question – whatareyou doing here?”
His eyes rake over my body for a moment and the lines at the corners of his eyes fan as he smiles. “Iwascoming for a quick drink. Then a pretty redhead appeared out of nowhere and now I’m being quizzed. So, let’s turn the tables. Was this how your evening was supposed to turn out?”
“Oh god, no.” I grimace. “I was supposed to be making a good impression. Instead, I made a quick exit, and now here we are.”
He glances around, taking in the packed beer garden. It’s full of tourists, the tables untidy with harried servers trying to keep up.
“Not exactly glamorous.”
He shifts on his chair, his leg brushing against mine under the table once again. It’s the smallest touch, but my breath hitches in my throat as he tilts his head slightly, looking at me thoughtfully. “So how long are you working in New York?”
I lift my glass, taking a slow sip. “Just for tonight. I fly home tomorrow lunchtime.”
His fingers tighten slightly around his bottle, his expression unreadable, but something shifts in his posture.
“Just for the night,” he repeats, his voice lower now.
“Mm-hmm.” I set my glass down, tracing a finger along the rim. “I fly out at lunchtime.”
There’s a pause – long enough to register that something in the air between us has changed. His eyes flicker down to my mouth for a moment and rest there a second, and then he leans in slightly, his forearm brushing lightly against mine.
“Well then.”
He sits back in the chair, his long legs stretched out to the side, and I watch as he removes a set of cufflinks and drops them on the table with a heavy clunk and I glance at them for a second – they’ve got that soft glow of well-worn silver and I wonder if they’ve been passed down from an older relative. Then he rolls up his sleeves, revealing muscled arms dusted with dark hair and a tattoo on his left forearm. His watch is chunky and clearly expensive. I realize I’m staring and pull my gaze away, pretending to be incredibly interested in the contents of my wine glass. When I look up again his eyes meet mine. His expression is half amused, half challenging.
“So, this is your last night in New York,” he says, resting his chin on his hand and looking at me with the ghost of a smile curving his mouth. “I think we can improve on this.” He gestures to the bar.
I take a breath in and bite my lip. My heart’s beating faster as if it knows something I don’t. “You do?”
“I do. Drink up.”
He finishes his beer and puts the glass down decisively, leaving more than enough money to cover the bill and a generous service charge.
I look at him, and for a split second, I consider grabbing my bag, thanking him for the drink, and skipping the part where I walk into the Manhattan night with this abrupt, handsome stranger. But I remember Annabel’s words and make the choice. Tonight, I am going to be someone else. Not Edie who gets steamrollered into doing what works for otherpeople, but someone who sees what they want, and then takes it.
“One rule for tonight.” He steps aside to usher me inside the bar a block away, around the corner from my hotel.
