He looks at me for a long moment, his liquid brown eyes roaming over my face. “I’m not the only one who puts their heart and soul into things, am I? You want this to work as much as me, don’t you?”
I shrug. “Of course. It’s my job.”
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,” he says with a knowing smile. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
“Really?”
He laughs. “Really.”
“Yes!” I give a little fist pump. “Okay, so we need to make flyers and bulletins and get this shared on every social media platform. We need to get all the regular guests to tell their friends and get them in here. People aren’t going to want to miss this. Trust me.”
“I do trust you,” Jensen says solemnly, holding my gaze. “Have you eaten?”
“Eaten?”
“Food? The stuff that nourishes us?” he elaborates.
I glare at him. “Not since breakfast,” I suddenly realize.
“Have dinner with me,” he says, reminding me of the night he asked me at Shelby and Anthony’s engagement party.
I hesitate, torn between accepting, and protecting my heart. I shouldn’t. I’m already falling for him. But, God, I want to! Why shouldn’t I have this? Something for me? For once, I’m not going to overthink things.
“I’d love to,” I reply with a smile. Then I remember. “But I’m not dressed for a restaurant.”
“Not a problem,” he assures me. “I was thinking of Chez Jensen.”
“Chez Jensen?” I laugh.
“Yep. Best tacos in town.”
“And where is this Chez Jensen?” I ask, playing along.
“If you’d like to follow me, ma’am?” he says, extending a hand towards me.
I hesitate just a fraction of a second before placing my hand in his, allowing him to pull me from the office.
As it turns out, ‘Chez Jensen’ is the penthouse suite on the club's top floor—a third floor reached only by a private elevator. We step out into a large entrance lobby which widens into an open-plan apartment spanning what seems to be the whole length of the building.
“This is where you live?” I ask in surprise. “It’s huge! I could fit my apartment in here twenty times over!”
Jensen chuckles, indicating I should follow him through to the living area. “Only the last two years since my father died. My grandfather lived here before him with my grandmother. They practically raised me. My grandfather invested every last cent he had in this place, which is why I couldn’t turn my back on it when my father died. He practically ran this place into the ground to fund his lifestyle,” he finishes bitterly.
I reach for his hand, tangling my fingers with his. “I’m sorry. I had a difficult relationship with my mom, so I get it.”
Jensen’s fingers tighten around mine, and he tugs me towards the kitchen area, which is equipped with every modern appliance you could imagine.
“You didn’t know your father?” he asks, moving around the kitchen and pulling ingredients from the fridge.
I grimace, taking a seat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “I don’t remember him. He died when I was three. It was just Mom and me for years, well, apart from the line of boyfriends that passed through. When I was fifteen, she died from an overdose, so I spent three years in a foster home until I aged out of the system. I promised myself I wouldn’t end up like my mom, so I got part-time work and put myself through college. My first job interview was with Harry at Edgar Financial. I guess he saw something in me and hired me on the spot. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Jesus, I thought I had it rough,” Jensen says, frowning as he dices up some chicken. “You should be damned proud of yourself for what you’ve achieved.”
I shrug. “I don’t know any different—you just kind of get on with things. Shelby’s always been there for me. She comes from money, but she never judged me for where I came from or because I didn’t have much. She likes me for me. Can’t buy that.”
“True,” Jensen says, adding the chicken to a frying pan and stirring it. “Friends like that are worth their weight in gold.”
“So, those guys in the bar earlier—they’re your friends?” I ask curiously.