Since when does Blake have friends? I bite my lip. No backing down now. "Bring him."
"I'll make reservations for four. Eight o'clock. I'll send a car to pick you up at seven-thirty."
"Good." I'm not sure which of us won that argument. Or if it was an argument. "I'll see you then."
"You too." The phone clicks.
I'm getting what I want, but, somehow, I don't feel victorious.
* * *
Lizzy is not impressedby the car service. She sits with her arms folded over her chest, her eyes on the window. "Is all this fuss necessary?"
"It's faster than the subway."
"The subway is better." She stares out the tinted window, her lips curled into a frown. She's upset, yes, but I don't think it's about Blake.
It's something else.
"You okay?" I ask.
"You know I don't like being in a car."
"Wecantake the subway."
"No. I'll be fine." She squeezes her purse so hard her knuckles turn white.
Lizzy is strong, but she's like me in her inability to admit she needs help. She used to love being in a car. It was a rare treat. But since the accident, she gets quiet and skittish in autos.
I don't blame her—she almost died in the backseat of a car.
But I have no idea if it's a slight annoyance or a crippling fear.
She's silent for the rest of the ride. As soon as she steps onto the concrete, the tension falls from her shoulders. She sighs with relief.
"It looks like a nice place." She nods to the restaurant. "You think the food's good?"
"Probably."
"You think they'll card Mr. Blake Sterling's guests?"
Oh, hell no. I shoot her a death glare. "Not funny."
She laughs. "It's actually really funny. You look like a cartoon character. Like your head is a balloon that's going to pop."
I'm too overprotective. I know that. But she's all I've got. "Don't talk about alcohol at dinner, okay?"
"Why?"
"It's a sore subject. Trust me."
"Okay."
I follow her inside. The restaurant is dark in a romantic way.
I nod hello to the hostess. "Kat Wilder. I'm meeting—"
"Of course, Ms. Wilder. Your party is in a private room." She grabs two menus and leads us upstairs.