Page 58 of Perfect Assumption
Ward makes a choking sound. I blink at him in confusion. “What did I say?”
“Nothing. You’re right. What kind of protein do you want?”
Now it’s my turn to blush. But I manage to stutter out my order.
It takes a few minutes before Ward calls the order in. “Fifteen minutes. Can you call down to Burton to let him know to clear the delivery guy up?”
“Sure.” But when I reach for my wallet, Ward simply says, “Nope.”
“Why not?” I demand.
“Because you’ve been working all day. The firm is paying for this one.” His voice brooks no argument.
I drop my wallet back in my bag. “Whatever makes you happy, Ward. I’m certainly not going to get into a dispute—with a lawyer, no less—over something as ridiculous as who’s picking up the tab for lunch.”
“Then you won’t mind when I ask for your company while we consume it either. I mean, you’re here. I’m here. It would be ridiculous for us to eat separately when we have to share things like hoisin sauce,” he points out.
“Wow, Ward. Now I know why you’re such a catch. That logic will get to a woman every time,” I joke.
Deadpan, he informs me, “No, that’s because I have so much money I could fund the takeover of a small country. Really, I’m a dead bore.”
Turning away, I mutter to myself, “Somehow, I doubt that.”
When I face him again, a smile is flirting with his lips. “So, lunch? You and me? Maybe we can actually get to talk and get to know one another.” Before I can insist there’s nothing to know, he shocks me by saying, “This way I can get to know the real you instead of my making assumptions like every other jackass who takes one look at you and genuflect at your feet.”
I’m not sure if it’s anticipation or anxiety that causes my stomach to clench when I finally give him the answer he’s hoping for. “Okay.” But when I do, I’m rewarded with a blinding smile that makes my cheeks warm.
Oh, no.
It took me years, but somehow I managed to recover the little that’s left of me to function. I’m not planning on offering it up over lunch because I’ve caught the eye of Ward Burke. He’s exactly the kind of man I need to stay far away from: devastatingly handsome, ridiculously wealthy, and too ingrained in my life.
That is if I ever planned on trusting a man enough with them ever again.
Twenty-Two
Ward
How many of your favorite celebs have favorite foods? Probably more than you think.
The entire world knows Brendan Blake would sell his wife’s diamond ring for one of Corinna Freeman’s blueberry lemon cakes. That is if supermodel Danielle Madison didn’t do the deed first. Fortunately neither had to go to such drastic measures for their anniversary dinner last week. When the couple was spotted at their favorite French bistro, a special surprise was waiting for them—the brilliant baker herself! After hugs were exchanged by all, she sliced up their cake before sneaking out the kitchen.
— Fab and Delish
“Tell me about your family,” I encourage Angie as I use chopsticks to pull long strands of noodles from the warm broth.
Angie, who just swallowed a final bite of bean sprouts, puts down her bowl. Wiping her mouth on the napkin, she begins. “Until last year, I lived with my grandmother. My grandfather passed away a few years before that.”
“Did you always live with them?”
“No. I’m just not close with my parents. My grandparents were there for me after things in my life went beyond my control. It was important for me to be there for them later when they needed me as they got older. It’s their home I live in outside the city.”
“Are you happy there?” I slurp up some more noodles.
“I love it. I could never imagine selling it—not for all the money in the world.”
“You sound an awful lot like Carrie right now,” I remark.
“Oh? Why’s that.”
