Page 6 of Romanced By the Silver Fox

Setting aside my personal feelings about Grant, the story is consistent with everything I know about him. He was raised by a single mom who owned her own business. He saw how she struggled: the banks that wouldn’t give her a loan, how many so-called investors asked her out under the guise of business meetings. Grant swore that when he got the chance, he wouldn’t make those same mistakes.

“In the end, we chose to work with someone else,” my sister says. “But Grant and I kept in touch. I’ve watched how he operates. I’ve spoken to people he’s funded or not. Believe it or not, I’ve even talked to women he dates. He’s still a decent guy.”

“I appreciate that, I do —”

“Hold on, Gigi.” Fin’s eyes sparkle, almost as bright as the sequins on her shirt. “I’m not done.”

I sit back down. Then I get up and start pacing again. I want to hear what she’s going to say next, but I’m dreading it at the same time.

“He’s also still madly in love with you.”

“I —” I stop short. This is a leap.

“How do you think we got early Christmas together so quickly?”

“No, I refuse to believe that. He’s — he’s just sweetening the pot for the job offer,” I stammer.

My sister gives me a look of pity. “Yes, his company is offering you this job. But this is more personal than that.”

I sit down heavily on the bed, leaning on my sister’s shoulder. Is she on to something? My stomach roils with emotion. Finola ruffles my hair.

“He wants you back. You need to decide what you’re going to do about it.”

CHAPTER4

GRANT

The momentI see Genie walking across the restaurant, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake.

I thought I could play it cool. Remain stoic in the presence of the woman I’ve loved for ten years. Watching her glide across the room looking like a goddess, I realize how foolish that assumption was.

She wears a green silk dress with an asymmetrical neckline. A long sleeve covers her right arm, while the other side is bare. She’s pulled back her dark hair into a sleek, low ponytail that drapes over her left shoulder.

It’s been a long time, but I can still feel those silken strands slide through my fingers. I remember how she used to gather her hair in a loose bunch, then she’d shove me down on our bed and straddle me. She’d lean down to kiss me, letting her locks cascade around us like a dark, shimmering waterfall.

I breathe deep and remind myself to slow down. Genie and I are so far from that level of closeness. Doesn’t matter that it’s seared into my brain like a brand. I can’t rush her back into my arms, no matter how much I want her.

I stand up as she approaches the table. From this vantage point, I can better appreciate the way the dress skims perfectly over her generous curves, and the slight twist in her hips from those strappy heels.

I wonder if she still gets that Christmas pedicure on her toes this time of year. Every December, she’d have one foot done in red polish, the other in green, with delicate little snowflakes on each big toe for extra pizzazz. She pretended to be annoyed with me when I told her how cute it was, but secretly, she loved that I loved it.

“I’m glad you agreed to this,” I say when she reaches the table. What is the etiquette here? Does one hug the ex-fiancée when meeting them for dinner? Shake hands? Neither of those feels right. Better to let her come to me.

“How could I not?” She offers me a tentative smile. “Especially when you arranged such a lovely surprise for me this afternoon. Thank you.”

“It was absolutely my pleasure. I know how much your family means to you.”

The server arrives, advising that tonight’s courses are chef’s choice. We’re both happy with that option. Chef Carlo is a legend.

I order a hot toddy, lifting an eyebrow when Genie does the same.

“As I recall, whiskey isn’t really your thing.”

“Didn’t use to be,” she replies. “But it’s been a long time. Things change.”

“And some things don’t.” I reach across the table and take her hand. She squeezes mine briefly and pulls back. Inwardly, I laugh at myself. So much for my big idea of letting her come to me. I want this woman too damn much to play it cool.

“Grant.” She lifts her eyes to mine. They are wide and vulnerable, appealing to every protective instinct I have. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

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