Ryder would be disappointed in me. And that is the last thing I want.
Well. Besides Zachary.
“How’s your salad?” he asks. He’s on his best behavior, taking me to my favorite Italian restaurant, buying the most expensive wine on the menu in honor of our celebration—his words. The celebration of my giving our relationship another go after all—he’s positively thrilled.
I feel one part glad that I’m getting some sort of revenge against Zachary, and two parts completely awful for doing this to him.
“It’s delicious.” I stare down at my Caprese salad, admiring the perfectly sliced tomatoes and mozzarella, the vibrant leaves of basil and the drizzle of balsamic vinegar. This is my favorite salad, my go-to when nothing else sounds good on the menu.
But my appetite is gone. Being with Zachary feels wrong.
Dreadfully, horribly wrong.
“Not hungry?” He sends me a soulful look. One that I used to fall for. “You usually devour that salad like a starving woman.”
His remark sets my teeth on edge. Is he somehow implying that I eat too much? I’m making a big deal out of nothing, I’m sure. But I can’t help but feel defensive every time I’m with him. “I had a late lunch,” I lie.
I had lunch with Rose and listened to her talk about an ex-boyfriend who’s giving her trouble, how Father seems to be ignoring her, and that the brunch with Lily drove her nuts. I’m the one who normally gets them to play fair and talk nice when we’re all together. It’s the middle child in me. So without me there, Lily got snarky, Rose got defensive, and they ended up arguing.
Again, I feel responsible, since I left them to meet with Ryder. He called me a distraction earlier in his office. I have to confess he’s a distraction for me as well. A sexy, delicious one, but a distraction nonetheless.
And he makes me do things … things I could never imagine contemplating, let alone actually doing, before. I’ve been an achy mess all day just thinking about him.
I’m still an achy mess. I miss him. I want him. And I’m stuck with Zachary.
“A meeting?”
“No, lunch with my sister.” Let’s see if he asks which one. If he asks how she’s doing. If he asks anything personal. Most of the time he’s so full of himself, he doesn’t give others much consideration.
So again, why was I with him for so long?
“How was that?” he asks sarcastically. “Lily complaining how Daddy cut her off yet again?”
“No, it was with Rose.” Hmm. He’s making conversation like his old self. Making snide remarks, but I guess I can let them slide. Talk about being on his best behavior. “We haven’t talked much lately, so we were catching up.”
“Uh-huh.” I’ve lost his interest. I can tell by the way he watches the pretty waitress pass us by, his gaze glued to her swishing backside. Guess he hasn’t changed much after all.
“Are you excited about leaving?” I ask brightly. When he looks at me strangely I add, “For London.”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He busies himself by drinking from his water glass, wiping his mouth with his cloth napkin, then pulling another piece of bread from the basket that rests in the center of the table. “You sure you want to talk about this?”
He’s nervous? How very strange—and it’s somewhat refreshing. I’m the one who’s usually walking on eggshells. “If we’re going to work on our relationship, we need to be completely upfront.” I wince the moment the words leave me. I’m a liar. And I never lie. I hate what Ryder’s making me do.
“You’re right.” He visibly relaxes. “I just … I need to know something first. Before I say anything else.”
“What?”
“Are you still speaking to McKay?” The scowl on Zachary’s attractive face is nothing short of furious.
“No.” I slowly shake my head and press my lips together. I hate denying it. Denying Ryder. I want to talk to him. I need to see him. He promised he would come over tonight, but what if he doesn’t show? What if he falls back into Pilar’s trap and I’m left with Zachary?
I’d deserve it for being deceitful. It doesn’t matter if Zachary’s deceitful, too. A lie for a lie isn’t right, no matter how much I can justify it.
“Good.” His features even out and he’s once more attractive, charming Zachary. “Trade secrets, you know. I don’t want that asshole finding out any details about my promotion.”
Now I’m really curious. And willing to test the waters. “You know … my father mentioned the position to me.”
“He did? What did he say? Anything about me?”
Such an egomaniac. “Well … yes. But he also said that he believed I would do well in London.”
“You?” He sounds shocked. And even mildly disgusted. “You’re not interested in anything like that.”
“How do you know?” I ask indignantly. I’m about to give him a piece of my mind when the cute waitress appears with our dinners. She sets the plate of chicken Marsala in front of me as I push aside my salad, then settles a plate of lasagna in front of Zachary. He smiles at the waitress as she flirts with him while I watch them both, silently steaming.
I hate this. I want to grab the back of Zachary’s head and smash his face in that steaming-hot lasagna. I want to hear him scream and feel him struggle. I want to call him out on his sexist ways and bullying approach.