Page 13 of Love, Maybe (baby?) (The Lucky Girls 2)

We shake hands, and Michelle gives Raven a pointed look. I’m guessing they’ve discussed me. She knows who I am; her look says it all. That’s a good sign—women talk about the men who made a mark. Good or bad.

I’m willing to bet it was good.

But the look she shoots me doesn’t confirm it.

“What are you doing in town?” I ask Raven.

“I uh…”

“Work,” Michelle says. “We’re here for the fashion week.”

Raven glares at Michelle.

“Oh, really?” I ask and rack my brain to remember what Raven studied when I met her. Was it fashion design? I feel like a dick that I can’t remember, but it’s not like we knew each other super well.

Michelle nods. “Raven is here, showing her collection. She owns Ruby Blue fashion house.”

I don’t miss the kick Raven dishes Michelle under the table. Michelle scowls, but laughter dances in her eyes. I love friends like Michelle. They make my life so much easier.

“Well, speaking of work,” Michelle says and fakes a yawn. “It’s getting late, and I need to get some shut-eye before a long day tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving?” Raven asks, her voice a little too high-pitched. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, no. I’m up way before you are, no reason to rush to bed.” Her face says everything her words don’t. Stay, have some fun. I’ll see you in the morning.” She blows air kisses to Raven before she grins at me. “Nice to meet you, Noah.”

“You, too.”

Michelle walks away, not looking back to see the daggers Raven shoots at her back. When we’re alone, Raven sinks in on herself a little.

“So, you didn’t leave, huh?” I ask.

Raven shakes her head and glances over her shoulder across the room, not willing to make eye contact.

“Why did you lie about it?”

“I didn’t think it would matter, either way. It was just one night—isn’t that what you do?”

I don’t know why her words sting. She’s right; itiswhat I do. And it doesn’t usually matter. But with her, everything feels different.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s start over, then. Can I buy you a drink?”

The wine glass in front of her is empty. She hesitates before she nods, and I call a server closer. When she has wine in front of her again, I lean on my elbows on the table and look into her eyes. They’re mesmerizing. But they have always been.

“Tell me about your job. A fashion house? That’s a big deal.”

She nods. “Yeah. I’ve been working at it for a while. I’ve done a few fashion weeks in Paris, but this is my first here.”

“Paris?” I ask.

She nods and blushes. “I live there, now. Just over five years.”

I blink at her. Paris is fucking far away. Which means that if she goes back, I won’t see her anymore. I don’t know why the thought of that makes my stomach sink.

“How long are you here for?” I ask.

“Another week,” she says.

“Well, we should make the most of that, then.” I smile at her.

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