Page 82 of Who's Your Daddy
So I shove my hands into the pockets of my trousers, rocking back on my heels, and try a different route. “What’s your favorite restaurant?”
“Why?”
Chin dipped, I take a risk and lean in a little closer. “Humor me.”
With a shake of her head, she huffs. “Rare on 22nd Street.”
I hum. Excellent choice. But… “Pick something in Jersey.”
Her shoulders sink. “I don’t know. Jersey sucks.”
“Okay, forget that. Tell me what you order at Rare on 22nd.”
My fingers itch to tug at her braid, to ease the ties from it. I want to comb through her soft locks, watch as they fall against her shoulders. To inhale the cinnamon sugary scent I’m addicted to. The combination is so perfect for her. Sweetness and spice. All things sassy and not so nice.
“Filet mignon medium-rare, asparagus, and the freshly baked bread.”
“Bread?” That was the last thing I was expecting.
“It’s gluten-free.” She closes her eyes, and her expression goes dreamy, as if she’s remembering the taste of it. “And it’s delicious.”
“Okay.” I skirt around her, giving in to the temptation, finally tugging on the end of her braid, and breathe in her scent.
“Where are you going?” she calls after me as I head toward Brian’s office again.
I don’t look back as I say, “I’ve got research to do.”
I like leaving her wanting more. I’m always the one staring after her. Chasing her.
It’s only fair she wonder where I’m off to.
Brian hasn’t returned, so I settle in his chair and power on his computer.
When the lock screen blinks at me, I tilt my head.Hmm.What might his password be?
He’s a lonely sod, with no life outside of work.
His sister’s name, maybe?
I typeDylaninto the password section and hit return. An error message appears on the screen.
I love New York? Nope, if that’s anyone’s password, it’s Lola’s.
His niece? I tryWillow. Nope. If it’s not her, it’s unlikely his nephew, but I tryLiamanyway. Negative.
I sit back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath me. There’s got to be something, someone, in this world that matters enough to become his password.
Eyes closed and fingers steepled, I will the answer to come to me. And like a light flicking on, I get it.
Jessica. BINGO! The ex-girlfriend. The one who got away.
Oh, Brian, you’re so utterly predictable.
Now that I’ve gained access to the computer, I put my genius to work, searching for a restaurant in Jersey that has excellent steakandgluten-free bread.
Half an hour later I return to the conference room where Lola is typing away on her laptop.
She doesn’t even acknowledge me so I amble around the table and lean over her shoulder. “Whatchya doing?” I murmur, my lips a hairsbreadth from her ear.
