Page 73 of The Arrogant One
Not …
Lockhart.
Holy shit, they’d just shortened his name. Was that what he went by? He’d just given me the long version instead? Why hadn’t he corrected me? Or was it a misprint? And why hadn’t he mentioned he was a Weston? Why had he said his last name was Wright?
Wait.
Did he say his last name was Wright?
Or did he just call himself Mr. Right when I referenced Mr. Wrong and my brain spun that into Wright—as in his last name?
My mind was reeling, scanning every moment we’d been together and every conversation we’d had.
TheWbehind his desk—it had made sense when I saw it, but it really stood for Weston.
That meant the Eden I’d found on Instagram—was that even his sister? Or someone else?
He’d told me he was a foodie. He’d proven that to me over and over, and now I knew why.
He’d also said he wasn’t the strongest cook in his family—and that was because Walker held that title.
His car, his house, his mention of a private jet—all signsthat he had a lot of money. But the Westons didn’t just have a lot of money. They were billionaires, owning the largest brand of restaurants in the world.
I’d never suspected he was that rich.
I’d never suspected he was part of a family I knew all about.
And I’d certainly never suspected that Lockhart, the man I was falling for, was Hart fucking Weston, a part of a family who had as much influence on the food scene as me.
A family who was in the process of building Toro LA—a restaurant I was supposed to review in the upcoming weeks …
I slowly glanced up from my phone, feeling everything inside me tighten—my stomach, chest, throat. “Bryn … I’m about to?—”
“These are for you,” our server suddenly said, appearing out of nowhere—or maybe I just hadn’t noticed him approach—and he set two drinks in front of us.
A wine for Bryn and an old-fashioned for me.
“We didn’t order another round, did we?” Bryn asked.
I couldn’t remember what we’d done.
Nor could I remember a single detail of this evening prior to the Celebrity Alert coming in.
“This round is courtesy of him,” the server said, pointing toward the bar.
I followed his finger, my stare moving across the dining room and into the bar, where it landed on Lockhart.
Or Hart.
I didn’t even know what to call him at this point.
But—oh God—he was here.
At the same restaurant.
And only a room away.
The air hitched in my lungs as he gave me that sexy, sensual grin that I knew too well. That normally caused every part of my body to tingle. But right now, there weren’t tingles.There was everything else—feelings, emotions, anxiety, all combining into a giant wave that was peaking.
