Page 114 of The Arrogant One
I’ll keep an eye on the VIP reservations for each of our locations and see how many come in now that she’s praised us so highly. I’m assuming they’re going to explode.
I spoke too soon. They’re already exploding.
Colson
Damn, I love that woman. I wonder if she’s single …
Beck
Now, wouldn’t that be some shit? Colson and Dear Foodie. How do we make that happen? For the perks alone, LOL.
Before I replied, I pulled upSeen’s website. The article on Musik was listed first with a collage of photos.
For some reason, I wasn’t interested in the review—at least not yet. There was something about the pictures that drew my attention.
One showed small, pink-painted fingernails, gripping our signature cocktail at the banister of our VIP section, overlooking the dance floor. I zoomed in, intensifying the view of her wrist, where a delicate gold bracelet sat—one I was sure I’d never seen before—and the top parts of her thumbs were bent back from the glass, a flexibility that not everyone had.
Why did that pose look so familiar?
Why—
“Mmm. Good morning.”
I flattened my phone against my chest and glanced toward Sadie, her eyes heavy as she looked at me. I hadn’t felt her stir or roll onto her back, like she was positioned now. I hadn’t even felt her stare.
“Have you been up for a while?” she asked.
I returned my phone to my nightstand, a place that suddenly felt like the right spot for it. “Not long, no.”
“How’d you sleep?”
I gently nodded. “All right.” I fucking hated not beinghonest, but I didn’t want to tell her that she was the reason I’d been up all night. “You?”
“I always sleep perfectly when I’m next to you.”
“You’re sweet.”
I lifted the hand she’d just placed on my arm, and as I was bringing it up to my lips to kiss across the back of it, I noticed her nails. I held them in front of my face for several seconds before switching my grip to her thumb, casually moving it back, testing how far it would go. When I was able to easily bend it the same way Dear Foodie’s was in the photo, my chest began to pound.
Fuck me.
Is this merely a coincidence? Or is itanothersign?
For now, I attempted to push those thoughts from my head, refocusing on her nails, even though my heart was still thumping away.
“Do you ever wear a color besides pink?” I asked.
“Not often. I’m just a pink girlie. What can I say?”
I was careful with the words I chose—all picked for a specific reason.
“My assistant was wearing the same color, and I made a comment to her about it. She told me Dear Foodie had inspired her manicure.”
“That’s funny.”
My heart rate didn’t go down, not even a little as I waited to assess her reaction as I asked, “Did Dear Foodie inspire your nails?”
Her stare slowly lowered to my mouth and stayed there. With her pulse banging against my fingers, she smiled so calmly. “Inspire them … no.”
