“I do think,” Denton replied easily. “You work hard, Clive. It’s been ten years since your wife passed, so maybe it’s time to do you.”
Denton’s advice bounced around my brain for hours, long after we finished up at the building and went back to our hotels. I wound up down in the hotel bar, nursing some bourbon and staring at my phone.
Still nothing from Frankie.
“Is this seat taken?” a smooth, feminine voice said in my ear.
I turned to see a tall blonde slide onto the stool next to mine. Her silky straight hair swished around her shoulders and her manicured nails clacked against the wood of the bar as she settled into her seat.
“Gimlet, please,” she said to the bartender, then turned back to me and hit me with a blinding smile. “I’m Erin.”
I tipped my glass at her and returned her smile. “Clive.”
Erin was gorgeous, and her expensive clothing and groomed appearance hinted at some high-powered career. Lawyer, if I had to guess. She was friendly, charming and close to my age.
And I felt nothing. Not even a small spark of interest as we chatted.
“I’m not getting anywhere, am I,” she finally said after ten minutes of dropping every possible hint that she was more than interested. “You’re not really here.”
I shrugged. “I’m really sorry—you’re gorgeous, and clearly smart and successful. You seem great. You just picked a dud tonight.”
She laughed softly, then tilted her head back to swallow the last of her drink before setting the glass back on the bar with a soft clink. “You’re in love with someone else.”
I frowned. “I’m sorry?”
The bartender set a fresh drink in front of her and she picked it up, rolling the clear liquid around in the dewy glass. “It’s pretty obvious, Clive. You keep glancing at your phone like she hasn’t returned your call.”
“I—” I started, but the excuse faded as she gave me a knowing look. “Yeah, I’ve got someone on my mind. But she’s upset with me.”
Erin cocked her head. “Do you deserve it?”
Yeah, I absolutely do, I thought. But I didn’t say it out loud. Instead, I stood up and dropped a few large bills on the bar—enough to cover my drink and both of hers, and a generous tip.
“It was nice to meet you, Erin,” I said. “Enjoy your night.”
In the cool darkness of my hotel room, I dropped heavily onto the firm mattress, and flopped back as the full weight of my long day hit me. The early morning flight, lunch with Marcie and meeting with Denton, the time difference—it was what, nine in Minneapolis?
Ten minutes, I thought numbly. In ten minutes, I would get up, order some room service, take a hot shower to wash away the grime of travel and work, and then I could eat and crash.
On the mattress next to my head, my phone buzzed insistently. Someone was calling.
“Jesus, call it a day, Denton,” I grumbled irritably as I grabbed the phone and looked at the screen.
But it wasn’t Denton. Instead, FRANCESCA PALLAS flashed across the screen in bright white letters. Excitement and nerves clashed, and my fingers shook as I hit ACCEPT.
“Frankie,” I said softly, my heart in my throat. “Hi.”
“Hi Clive,” she replied, her voice soft and sweet in my ear. “Are you busy right now?”
“No, not at all.” I rolled to my feet and paced over to the window. “I was hoping we could talk, if you’re free.”
“I’ll come to you.” Her voice shook with nerves, but there was no uncertain lilt—just brave, assertive Frankie.
My hair was still damp from my light-speed shower when the soft knock sounded on my door twenty minutes later. I swung it open and there she was, so beautiful that my heart throbbed in my chest as she looked up and met my eyes.
“It’s good to see you, Frankie,” I said, doing my best to tamp down the enthusiasm I felt at seeing her again. “Come on in.”
She stepped over the threshold and looked back at me. Her face held that heartbreakingly familiar smile, full of bravado and good humor, but the uncertainty in her eyes hit me like a punch in the gut.
I had a choice to make—I could tell her it was a bad idea and that she should leave, or I could close the door and finally give in to my lonely, pleading heart and the undeniable attraction smoldering between us. To tug on the thread that tied Frankie and I together and see what might happen.
With a gentle push, the door clicked shut.