Good food, better company.
The image shows Beck grinning, his arm around a woman with her hand in front of her face. But her amused smile is visible and, for me, recognizable.
My abs clench.
When she said she had a dinner she couldn’t change, I assumed she meant it was something important.
Unless he’s more important to her than me.
The napkins on the table, deep plum, edge into the frame. I stalk to the kitchen and yank open the top drawer to find the same napkins.
But I can’t get over the way she’s smiling in the picture. I can’t remember making her smile like that.
On impulse, I veer away from the closet full of designer suits.
Instead, I choose trousers and a gray shirt, fasten the cuffs.
Top button?
I undo it.
Better.
I take the elevator downstairs and head for the restaurant.
It’s full of stunning couples and small groups. It’s one couple I’m looking for. I don’t see her, but I spot his dark head.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror. The casual shirt can’t hide the agitation beneath the surface.
Cutting the maître d’ a look that brooks no argument, I head back to the table.
“We’re good on wine, thank… you.” Beck’s brows lift as I sink into the chair across from him.
“You’re the dinner date.”
He spreads his hands. “Guilty as charged.”
My gaze runs over the tablecloth. They’ve eaten their entrees, and a single dessert menu rests between the two place settings.
“We’re sharing,” he drawls at my look.
I came down to see her, but I want to hit him. “You’re not going to keep her.”
Beck cuts a look behind him before leaning an elbow along the back of his chair. “She’s not a tea set. You might be a king in London, but this is LA, my friend.”
I take him in, dragging my gaze slowly from his white sneakers to his designer jeans to his button-down and too-long dark hair. “We’re not friends. But you don’t want to be my enemy.”
He leans closer. “Rae’s my girl, and I don’t need to fuck her to prove it. I will, however, ask the waiter to hold my phone while I use a butter knife to cut your limbs off and stuff them in any available orifice if you hurt her.”
I’m still reappraising the man when Rae’s startled voice cuts the tension.
“What the hell is going on?”
She’s beautiful. Even the dark shadows around her eyes that I want to erase. The dress is orange, the color of the one she wore to Christian’s gala, only shorter. It’s as casual as the other was formal, with a scooped neck and a hem that ends halfway down her thighs.
“I decided to pick you up rather than meeting you at the club. Simple, seeing as you’re eating at my hotel.”
Wariness edges into her expression. “You’re staying here?”