‘You’re saying you’re jet-lagged and you want distraction.’ Violet looked at him.
‘I know a place. They do the best pumpkin pie. You ever had it?’
She shook her head.
‘First time. Better be special.’ There was a glint in his eye. ‘You’re about to close up, right?’
Violet stared at him. He’d timed his arrival perfectly.Deliberately.
And had he really been away all the time? Could she believe him? Or was she too naïve to think that she could take him at face value? Going for a drink with a random stranger she’d met around midnight on the streets of New York City? Her parents and brothers would warn her it was too dangerous. But they weren’t here to tell her not to go. And pumpkin pie would be in a diner. It would be public.
She might not have qualifications coming out of her ears but she could look after herself. Although, shehadencountered some luck. She’d not realised her store was right next door to the headquarters of a massive hotel conglomerate. Not until she’d begun chatting to one of her regulars who came in for her daily macaron fix. Turned out the woman was a manager there and, when she’d found out about Violet’s tourism training, she’d encouraged her to apply for a temporary steward position on one of the trips they specialised in—some fancy train journey.
Violet was considering it and yet, despite the positive prospects of the last fortnight such as this one, the bereft feeling inside her hadn’t faded. To have become so intrigued by a man in only a few minutes was shocking. Being inexperienced and sheltered was bad enough but what sort offoolwas she? Yet never had she regretted not taking a risk more. She’d pushed, but not enough. He’d walked away with some throwaway, dramatic line suggesting he’d somehow be dangerous for her.
For a while, she’d wondered if she’d dreamt it all and he was a figment of an over-active imagination. That their narrow escape from the zombie crush had been like a flash in an alternative reality—one she didn’t fit into. But now he was back and she wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. Yet nor was she going to embarrass herself.
‘Pumpkin pie sounds interesting,’ she said, trying not to sound too keen.
His smile teased. ‘Come on, then, we can walk.’
In only a few minutes he directed her to a large building. A liveried man opened the door for them and held it with a nod as they walked through. It was the kind of building that could double as a magical portal in some sci-fi or superhero movie, all carved stonework and curving windows. There were crystal chandeliers and sumptuous velvet furnishings. It was opulent yet somehow not over the top. Somehow it all worked.
‘This is definitely...a place.’ She couldn’t help staring in amazement. ‘Where angels go for peace and quiet and escape the demands of the humans who need their help at inconvenient hours...’ It seriously felt as though she’d stepped into a parallel universe—a secret side of Manhattan only the elite knew existed. ‘I thought you meant some diner open all hours across the street.’
‘Do I look like I hang out at diners?’
She laughed. ‘No. More like a champagne or whisky bar.’
‘So do you want crowds or space?’ he asked.
‘You prefer space.’
His lips twitched.
‘You really don’t like people?’
He hesitated. ‘I don’t like people watching me. I like privacy.’
She glanced around the lobby and realised everyonewaswatching him—the woman behind the reception desk, the man on the door. A couple seated at a table. They were discreet but observant all the same. They were surreptitiously staring at him with the kind of awed attentiveness reserved for the very elite—as if they were absolutely wowed, but also knew he was not approachable. Yeah, well, the ‘resting grumpy’ vibe ensured that.
Whowasthis guy? She didn’t even know his name. She almost didn’t want to. Maybe she’d be better off not knowing those details—it allowed another kind of honesty between them. She wouldn’t be overwhelmed by his achievements or intimidated by his power.
Well, maybe she already was a little. But not enough to silence her.
‘Then let’s have privacy,’ she said. ‘This place is a hotel, not an apartment building,’ she realised aloud as he led her to the lift.
He nodded and looked into a small screen and pushed the button at the top of the lift’s electronics panel.
‘Are you staying here?’ she asked, a little confused. ‘You said you live most of the time in Manhattan.’
‘I live most of the time here.’
‘In a hotel?’
‘Yes.’
Her curiosity deepened. ‘Because you work here?’