Page 60 of A Billion Dollar Romance
She nodded. “I saw you printing out that thriller earlier. Don’t take it home with you tonight.”
“Is it… secret?” I asked, my brows drawn together.
“No,” she scoffed. “Nothing like that. I just know that my boss’s boss sent you roses today. I don’t want to get in trouble when you spend all eveningworking.”
She’d only made it half way through her argument by the time I was up and out of my seat, my tote slung over my elbow. “Bye, Margaret,” I called as I made my way to the elevator, smiling to myself. I could hear her laughter even as I waited for the ding of the elevator’s arrival.
When the doors finally slid open, they revealed James. He looked up from his phone with a tight, polite expression that melted into a smile when he saw me waiting. “Edie,” he said, tucking his phone away into his pocket. “Leaving the office a bit early, are we?”
“Don’t tell my boss,” I whispered, “but I have a date to get ready for.”
“You do, don’t you?” he asked, and leaned against the wall of the elevator, crossing his arms. “I heard from someone in Accounting that one of the Editorial staff got an obscene number of roses.”
I pressed my lips together. He looked so good, even after a day of work, but of course, he hadn’t spent all day wondering what his boss-slash-boyfriend-slash-fake fiancé-slash-former professor had planned for him tonight. I should plan the next date. “That was Peter,” I said. “I, on the other hand, got a reasonable amount.”
He flinched, and I closed my eyes tight.
“That’s not what I meant. If those were apology roses–” I cracked an eye open, nervous to see his reaction, “that was an unnecessarily large number.”
“Some of them might have been apology roses,” he said, “but some–”
The escalator dinged, announcing our arrival on the ground floor. The doors slid open.
“Some..?” I prompted, but he just smiled, shaking his head as he stepped out into the lobby of the building.
“You’ll see at dinner. Walk you to your car?”
* * *
The nerves had not at all dissipated by the time James picked me up outside my apartment at seven sharp, driving the car I’d come to associate with dates: the low, sleek sporty one, the one he had to take my hand to lift me out of. He did so this time, too, pulling up in front a restaurant I recognized.
“This is…” I said, and he nodded.
It was the same restaurant as our first dinner date, where he’d so confidently ordered that expensive champagne before presenting me with that empty ring box. My thumb smoothed over the engagement ring’s polished band inside my loosely clenched hand–a nervous habit I’d picked up over the past two months.
“I hadn’t been for a while.”
A bubble of nervous laughter escaped my fluttering stomach. “Did you run out of date restaurants?” I deflected. “I guess you probably don’t usually make it past date three…”
James stopped beside me, the hand on my waist tightening fractionally. I looked up at him as he escorted me through the front doors to see him frowning, his eyes dark and serious. “That’s not why I brought you here, Edie.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled as he spoke to the maitre d’, who swept us off to a table in the back corner.
Even as we settled into our seats, as the waiter filled our wine glasses with a crisp white that James had ordered, once again without looking at the menu, as tiny hors d’oeuvres were delivered and the empty plates swept away again, I couldn’t focus.
“I didn’t mean to make you nervous, Edie. With the flowers.”
“I believe you,” I said.
“I was being truthful when I said they were mostly apology flowers.”
I smiled down at my bread plate, where I’d picked a slice of baguette into a thousand tiny crumbles without thinking. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“There is,” he said, and his voice was so fierce that I looked up in surprise. “I acted poorly at the conference, and I owe you an apology. And… an explanation.” I shook my head, but he ignored me. “When I asked you to the conference, it was for two reasons. Well, three, really,” he said. “First, to fulfill the stipulations of our arrangement. Hell, I really sound like a CEO now, don’t I?” he said, grimacing. “You making appearances with me in public is good for my image. Verity’s image. All those agents–subconsciously, I’m sure–might think of me, ofus, next time they have a romance to sell, a good one.”
“I know,” I said, “that’s why you don’t need to apologize. I understand the rules of the arrangement–”
“Let me finish,” he said, staring at me intently. “I said I had three reasons. That was only number one.” He fell silent as the waiter came back, depositing a plate of golden roast duck in front of James and a rich, sweet-smelling pork loin in front of me. It looked beautiful. Neither of us moved to take a bite. “Number two was that it would be good for your career. Making connections with agents, publishers, the kind of people you would never have the occasion to meet, normally, without someone to introduce you. And you did make connections. You were better than I could have guessed.” He smiled, more to himself than to me, I thought.
