Page 21 of The Bourbon Bet
She shakes her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “I know it sounds a bit grand and idealistic. But I can’t help but think about the potential, you know?”
Her vision unexpectedly moves me. Rosalia’s aspirations are a refreshing change in a society driven by profit. “The world could use more people who think big and want to make a positive impact,” I say, but as the words leave my mouth, the bitter taste of suspicion coats my tongue. Is she this altruistic, or has she crafted this persona to manipulate me? I study her face, searching for any hint of deception behind those earnest eyes.
“Thanks. It’s a long way off, but it’s something to work toward.” She shrugs. “For now, I’m just focused on making Novel Idea the best it can be.”
I take another sip of my coffee, trying to quell the conflict inside me, but the tug-of-war between distrust and my growing respect for the woman before me only intensifies. She seems genuine, her passion shining through with every word. But I’ve been burned before. I’ve seen how easily people wear masks to get what they want. And the fact remains: she’s agreed to help Thorne. Maybe everything she said is true, and she’s simply paving her path by using me.
I can’t afford to lower my guard, to be influenced by a pretty face and a captivating story. So much is at stake, from my business to my reputation and my future, along with nearly everyone who works for me.
She switches topics back to Lillianna, asking about her time in Thailand. The conversation is a safer topic, and we chat easily until our mugs are both empty. I check my watch and am surprised that nearly an hour has passed. I have to stop by the Louisville office before returning to Bardstown, but I’m reluctant to leave. I’m an idiot.
“I need to head out, but are you free this Saturday evening?” I ask, annoyed that I’m invested in her answer.
She stands, reaching for her cardigan and covering her gorgeous body. “My store’s open until six.”
“Would you like to go out to dinner after?”
“Sure,” she says, her smile not quite reaching her eyes this time. Her fingers fidget with her purse strap, and she glances away as if nervous. Or maybe having second thoughts about Thorne’s deal?
A man can hope.
As we walked to the exit, I ask, “Anywhere you’d like to go?”
Her lashes flutter as if surprised I asked her opinion. “I’ve wanted to try Fantastic Fusion but haven’t had a chance, ” she says.
As we leave the coffee shop our shoulders brush. Neither of us is quick to pull away or create space. “I’ll make a seven-thirty reservation. Is that time good for you?”
She nods.
“If you give me your address, I’ll pick you up at seven-fifteen,” I say.
Rosalia shakes her head and her hair brushes my arm. I catch traces of vanilla and flowers. The two are an intoxicating mix of innocence and desire. Why does she have to smell amazing too?
“Sebastian?” She stares at me like this isn’t the first time she’s said my name.
“Sorry, what?”
She nods and leans in, presumably thinking I hadn’t heard her over the traffic. I search for imperfections. There is a small scar above her left eye. A tiny speck of latte sits on her upper lip. But both make her more adorable. “I said, it isn’t the kind of place that needs reservations. It’s casual. And I’ll meet you there.”
My gaze locks with hers and, for a moment, I see a flicker, a hint of the same longing and uncertainty that churns in me. But then she blinks, and it’s gone, replaced with that polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“See you Saturday,” she says, her voice carefully neutral.
“Perfect,” I mutter. What would be perfect is pressing my lips against hers.
No. That is a terrible idea.Thorne’s bet told me all I needed to know about Rosalia. I might be attracted to her, and still don’t want her to lose her bookstore, but I have to win this twisted wager.
Tom must have spotted us leaving the coffeehouse because my Bentley glides to the curb next to Novel Idea. Offering Rosalia a stiff nod, I say, “See you Saturday.” Getting into the vehicle, I refuse to look at her as the car slides into traffic.
I have four days until our date—four days to get my head in the game. This is my brother’s game, his test. But as the city lights blur past the window, I can’t shake the feeling that none of us understand what we're really playing.
Chapter Nine
Rosalia
I spin in a slow circle in front of the full-length mirror in my shoebox bedroom, sighing. I must say, I do look cute in my powder-pink linen-blend slacks and a sleeveless blouse adorned with tiny grey sparrows. It is my favorite spring outfit. Too bad the circumstances aren’t different. If Thorne wasn’t holding my store hostage, I might actually be excited about my evening with Sebastian instead of second-guessingeverything.
He had been odd, almost angry when he'd asked me to have coffee with him, but then we fell into our usual easy banter. Still, something is different. Is there a chance he knows about my deal with his brother? If so, why hasn’t he said anything?
