Page 6 of Puck to the Heart
She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t want you to know where I lived. I don’t know you, and I’d rather be safe than sorry.”
“Huh. Smart.” A cold wind blew around us, but it had nothing on her.
“I was hoping you’d bail so I could eat your entree too.” Acid dripped off her words.
“Not a chance, sweetheart.” I held out the bouquet I pilfered. Maybe I should’ve reminded her I had no choice.
Her lip curled. I was pushing her buttons.Good.
“I am not your sweetheart.” Wrinkling her nose, she snatched the flowers. For a moment, it looked as though she considered tossing them on the ground. Then she glanced between me and the flowers like she wanted to throw them at me instead. Neither thing happened, but I was still prepared to duck.
“No, but since you have yet to introduce yourself, I have no choice but to call you sweetheart. Or princess, if you’d prefer.” I got the sense she’d be the type to hate nicknames from the other night, so I resolvednotto call her by name.
“Olivia,” she bit out. And then in afterthought, “Barnes. But everyone calls me Liv.”
“Lovely to meet you, Olivia. I’m Asher?—”
“‘The Basher’ Wilder. I know. I googled you.” A flash of white reflected the car’s headlights off the darkened window as she sank her top teeth into her bottom lip, like she didn’t mean to speak.
Torn between hatred of the nickname and amusement that she looked me up, I said, “Call me Ash, please. Or Asher, if you’d prefer.” I tried to keep the frustration out of my voice, but Olivia tilted her head, her gaze shifting from icy to oceanic in the near evening light.
Expecting her to question my request or make a joke, it caught me off guard when she retreated. “And I’m just Liv. Not Olivia.”
“What’s wrong withOlivia?” I drew her name out, letting all of my inner seductive asshole out in three syllables.
“Never mind,” she said, with a dramatic exhale. “Let’s get this over with. There’s a mountain of French butter with my name on it.”
Hmm. She was completely unaffected by my seductive wiles. How…nice. “Right. After you, then.” With a sweeping gesture to hide how startled I was, I opened the door like a Bridgerton footman and allowed her to enter the car ahead of me.
It certainly wasn’t to check out her ass.
And I didn’t. Much.
Inside, Olivia scowled at the decor.
“Was all of this necessary?” She flicked one of the heart-shaped balloons, and it bobbed away only to bounce back to gently smack her in the face. She sighed again as if the balloon was the straw that broke her back.
“Ilovethis. Don’t you?” I pulled a bottle of sparkling wine from a bucket of ice bolted to the top of the bar. Melted water and ice chips dripped on my jeans as I unwound the gold cage from the cork. Except the cork wasn’t budging, so I gripped the neck of the bottle in one hand, twisting the cork up in the other. For a moment, nothing happened, and I was desperate enough to smash the bottle open when?—
—Pop—
Olivia shrieked, and I reared back. Our eyes met, and she laughed at how we both startled.
Her laugh was the first step on a pristine frozen puddle; a sharp crack of ice and the welling of clear water. Quick, sharp, and so,sosatisfying. It was a punch to my gut, harder than I’d ever experienced and I’ve been punched a lot. Kind of an occupational hazard.
Instead of continuing to focus on whatever complicated…things… her unexpected laughter provoked, I poured the champagne and downed mine in a single gulp.
Olivia drank hers slower, seeming to savor it, until she glanced at me. Then, she drained her glass, too.
When we arrived at Le Rêve, I expected a horde of photographers, and I was grateful not to find any as we exited the limo. I approached the host’s stand. “Hello. We have a reservation for Wilder.”
Our host tapped at a tablet, then gathered menus and stepped around the stand. “Of course. This way, please, Mr. And Mrs. Wilder.”
A strangled, choking sound came from behind me, and I couldn’t help poking the bear. “Thank yousomuch—” I glanced at their name tag— “Jordan.Mrs. Wilder and I have been really looking forward to thisromanticevening.” If superfans heard this, they’d be frothing at the mouth, but not Olivia. I was sure she saw right through me when she spoke.
“Have we,Mr.Wilder?” Her voice carried a strange combination of ire and humor.
Jordan politely ignored us as we ambled toward the back of the restaurant. “Through here, please.” Waving magnanimously to the darkened, more private dining room as we entered the space and followed them to our table. Of course, it was right in the center of the room, where we’d be visible to everyone else, rather than skulking in a corner the way I’d prefer.
