Page 3 of The Arrogant One
But unlike her, I hadn’t let go of the handle, using it to keep the door open, and I waved her through. “After you.”
“Are you sure?” Her question was toned in a way that sounded flirtatious. “Because you arrived before me, so I think you should go in first.”
I took another dip to her heels and gradually worked my way back up. “Yes, I’m sure.”
The whole reason I’d come to Horned in the first place was to fulfill Walker’s wishes.
Was I sure I wanted to eat alone tonight? No.
I’d rather eat with her.
Or eat her.
But I was positive that a woman as gorgeous as the one I was staring at—coming to a restaurant on a Thursday evening, dressed as beautiful and as elegant as her—was meeting someone.
“Please,” I replied. “Go ahead in.”
She smiled as she walked past me. “Thank you.”
That grin …fuck. I hadn’t anticipated it to be as powerful as it was or that it could make her look even more beautiful.
But I was wrong.
Her smile was breathtaking.
And it was compelling enough to get her anything she wanted.
At least with me.
I followed her in, smelling the fruity jasmine that wafted from her—a scent as captivating as her gaze. And despite howbadly I wanted to keep following her, we parted ways as she went to the hostess desk, and I veered into the bar.
It was a goddamn shame too. I would have preferred a night with her to the one I had planned.
Once I took a seat, I inconspicuously snapped a few photos and thumbed through the drink menu the bartender had handed me. I already knew what I was going to order, but I looked at it to see its presentation, assessing the paper of the menu and the font that was used, comparing their prices with what we charged.
“How’s your old-fashioned?” I asked the bartender.
“I make the best one in town.”
I chuckled to myself.
Nah, man, our old-fashioned at Charred—our Michelin-rated steak house with locations all over the world, including one here in Laguna Beach—was the best. It had actually won awards.
But bartenders were usually on the cocky side; ours were as well. Considering Horned had only been open for two months, the man in front of me still had a lot of convincing to do in a market that demanded excellence.
“Prove it to me,” I told him.
He smiled. “Happily.”
“Make that two,” someone said from beside me.
I didn’t even have to look.
I smelled her the second she spoke, the fruit and jasmine taking hold of me and not letting go. And the voice—I knew that too. The only thing missing was the laughter.
As I turned toward her, she said, “Mind if I sit?” Her teeth were on her lip, biting the plumpness, inviting my stare.
There was only one vacant stool at the bar, and it happened to be the one next to me.
