Page 6 of Accidentally Yours
“You’re not my date,” Paige said, sitting back and exhaling a sigh. Her shoulders sank in relief as she added, “At least the universe gave me a break on that one.”
Ethan stared at her, considering her statement. “Wouldn’t you know if I was your date?”
Paige debated whether he deserved one more second of her time. After a few beats, she offered two clipped words: “Blind date.” Ethan didn’t need to know the details—that she used GambleOnLove, a dating app that kept pictures and names private. It matched couples based on answers to an extensive questionnaire. Then, if the couples messaged and wanted to meet, the app picked a location and provided a safe word to confirm identities.
This date’s safe word? A prickly fruit.
Ethan’s forehead wrinkled. “Is your blind date’s name ‘Pineapple’?”
“Yep,” she replied, dryly.
“Huh.” Ethan pursed his lips.
“Why are you here?” Paige waved her hand in a circle, pointing at the bar, her table, her life.
“I wanted to talk to you in person.” Ethan slid his sunglasses to the top of his head, revealing an ice-blue gaze that would convincemostwomen to reveal their deepest secrets.
But not her. No sirree.
His movie star good looks would not affect her.
Paige cleared her throat, breaking her focus from Ethan’s eyes. “You wanted to talk to me?” She squinted at him, wanting to rip him apart for meddling in her writing. “How’d you know I was here?”
“I saw the reel you posted.” He shrugged out of his leather jacket, letting the sun wash over a gray T-shirt that skimmed a toned chest and arms. “Recognized the view. Plus, this is the only rooftop bar I know of with neon Adirondack chairs. I was just down the street—”
“Youarestalking me,” Paige interrupted, remembering the casual Instagram story she’d posted of her lemonade, a book she was halfway through, and the backdrop of the Chicago skyline. Her readers liked to see what she was reading and where she was writing. She hadn’t given it a second thought.
“You practically sent a smoke signal.” He gestured toward her phone. “You know, you should be more careful with your social. Some weirdo could’ve stalked you down.”
She clicked her tongue at him. “Some weirdodidstalk me down.”
Ethan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Look. I’m not stalking you, or here to crash your date. I just wanted a few minutes to explain why us writing this book together makes sense.”
“How about you start with why you thought it was a good idea to tell Windy City Press that I already agreed to write it with you?”
Ethan’s jaw tightened, a crack in his maddeningly cool composure. “Okay, maybe I should’ve run it by you first,” he admitted, his voice low. “But I knew you wouldn’t listen to me if I just emailed or called. You’d shut me down before I could explain.”
“Of course I would.” She gave him a look, likeduh.
“I get it. You don’t like me. And I gave you a reason not to.”
She glared at him, but Ethan didn’t squirm. Instead, he leaned in, his expression serious, morphing into something almost . . . sincere? Was that his sincere face? Or was he just trying his best to get what he wanted?
“The tweet was a mistake. It was out of line,” he said. “I was in a bad place, but that’s no excuse, and I wish I could take it back.”
Paige blinked. That was not what she expected to come out of his mouth.
“But,” he continued before she could process his pseudo-apology, “your last book didn’t land the way you wanted, and our publisher is about to drop you.”
Paige’s back straightened. How did he know that? “That’s none of your business—”
“Probably not,” he replied. “But you need a project that will put you back on top. And I need that necklace.”
Her rebuttal bubbled up but got stuck in her throat. “What?” Had she heard him correctly? “You want the necklace?”
“I do,” he said firmly. “It belongs to my grandparents. It’s a family heirloom.”
Puzzle pieces shifted and locked into place. Her breathing slowed. “Are you saying the journalist and archeologist are your—”
