CHAPTER FIVE
Drake
I sat at the table in the nice, crowded lunch spot. I felt like my shirt collar was going to choke me to death.
Come on, Drake. You're not facing the High Court Judge for crying out loud. It's lunch, not a billion-dollar lawsuit.
All the same, given the billion-dollar lawsuit or Ainsley Johnson, I knew which one I'd rather be getting involved with right now. The thought of seeing her again terrified me. Having seen her at the party just made it worse. She'd seemed so mad at me then and I couldn't blame her.
“She should hate me.”
“Sorry, sir?” the waiter asked.
“Sorry,” I said. “Just talking to myself.”
“Oh. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Um...water, please. I'm waiting for someone,” I added, nodding my head in the direction of the empty seat opposite me. I was starting to feel just a tad awkward.
“Coming up.”
As the waiter wandered off my phone buzzed. I reached into my pocket, half-expecting it to be a message from Ainsley, telling me that she wasn't going to join me. I felt surprisingly upset. It wasn't a message from Ainsley, though. It was from Liam, a friend of mine.
Hi, Drake. Bad news. Someone's blocked my access. Just possible someone's onto us.
Oh. Nice. I leaned back and closed my eyes. That was all I needed to make me feel calm and relaxed.
The access Liam was talking about was to the data bank at Steelcore. With the login information I'd managed to find for him, Liam, my computer-whiz of a friend and ally, had found a way to gain access to files no one was supposed to see. Files pertaining to where the company sourced their iron and how much the workers there were paid.
Someone's onto us.
I could only hope that wasn't true.
How do you know? I messaged back.
He was clearly busy typing, and, while I waited for his reply, I searched through my mails, looking to see if there was anything untoward from the company. Nothing. My phone beeped.
Just a hunch, Liam had written. Will know for sure later.
Oh. Good. Later when exactly?
“Drake?”
I jumped as the voice broke through my concentration. Then I looked up and my heart melted.
With her fluffy blonde hair loose on her shoulders, her trim, neat figure under a blue sundress, she took my breath and dried my mouth and made my body scream for more.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hi.”
We looked at each other awkwardly. I couldn't stop staring at her. She looked amazing. My eyes wandered from her big dark eyes to her full bust and back up again. I felt like a kid in a candy store – surrounded with gorgeousness and unable to touch or taste.
She was forbidden to me.
“Um, did you have a long drive here?” She asked evenly as she drew out her seat, hooked her handbag over the back primly and sat down, cross-legged, opposite me.
“Um...yeah. I mean, it wasn't too bad, actually,” I said. “Lots of traffic. But then, you'd expect that, right?”
She nodded. “I guess. Drake?”
“Yes.”
She was looking at me in that very particular way she had – the way that told me she was very deep in thought. I cleared my throat, feeling nervous. “What's up?”
She sighed. Her small, white teeth bit her lip in a gesture that tortured my poor loins but left us no closer to clearing up whatever was between us. “Nothing,” she said softly.
We lapsed back into silence.
“Uh...have you looked at the menu?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “I think I know what I'm having, though.”
“Oh?” I asked brightly, trying desperately to think of something – anything – to break this desperate stilted tension between us. “What's that, then?”
“Chili con carne,” she said. “They do a good one.”
“Okay,” I said without much thought. “I'll have one too, then.”
She stared at me. “Drake...”
“What?” I asked. She was giving me such a horrified look that I felt a sudden stab of nerves. What was the matter?
“Don't tell me you eat meat now too,” she said with big eyes. “If you've changed that much, I don't know what I'm going to do.”
I frowned. Then I laughed – I couldn't help it. “Oh! No. I don't. I just wasn't thinking. Sorry. Let me have a look at the menu.”
“Whew!”
She looked so relieved that I found myself laughing again.
“Ainsley,” I said, shaking my head. “How could you think I'd change that much? You know I feel strongly about beef farming. I mean, didn't I even half-convince Chett about it?”
“I know you did feel strongly,” she said in a small voice. “I didn't know if you still did or not.” She sounded so grave that I frowned.
“Ainsley,” I said gently. “I'm not that different.”
“Really?” she said icily.
I sighed. “Really.”
That left us with another awkward silence as I paged through the comprehensive menu. The place had mainly vegetarian dishes, which was, I realized with some surprise, probably why she'd elected to come here.
She really remembers me that well? My heart flipped. If that was the case, maybe I was here with a chance.
I looked up again, finding it hard to tear my eyes away from that sweet, gentle face. I could feel the warmth of her leg just near mine under the table. It suddenly seemed so surreal to be sitting here with her in a crowded restaurant It felt almost as if the intervening eight years had never happened; as if we were still freshly-graduated students together, still young and in love.
“Um, ready to order?” The waiter asked. I jumped once more. I hadn't even been thinking about what to order. My eye fell on the Thai-style veggie wraps.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Um, we'll have the Chili con Carne and Thai wraps, please.”
“Great.”
When he had gone, Ainsley and I looked at each other.
“What do you bet he gets it the wrong way round?” I asked. She nodded.
“I know! I was thinking the same thing.”
It was an old joke between us – I was vegetarian, she wasn't: somehow people seemed to assume it was the other way around, leading us to have to swap plates more often than not.
“I bet you a coffee,” I said, before really thinking about it. It was what we always used to say. It was only when it was passed my lips that I realized that. I had fallen so quickly back into our old way of being together that it seemed as if we'd last seen each other yesterday.
Our eyes met and held. I sighed.
“Sorry,” I said. I wasn't really sure what I was saying sorry for.
“Don't be,” she said softly. Without my expecting anything like it, she reached across the table and her hand gently touched mine. I jumped.
“Ainsley,” I whispered.
She seemed to realize the casual contact she'd just made, because she pulled her hand away again, but not before my whole body was shivering, longing for her touch.
“Uh, sorry,” she murmured. “I wasn't thinking.”
I shook my head. “No offense taken.” I tried a crooked smile, but she looked quickly away, staring out of the window at the roadway beyond.
“You're working in Miami?” I asked conversationally.
“Yes,” she replied softly. “I'm a translator. At Edge Enterprises.”
“Oh. What do they do?” I asked.
“They publish books,” Ainsley said thinly. “Books from controversial perspectives. They're all about bringing people the full picture. Disrupting the status quo.”
Was it my imagination, or was that meant to be pointed? She shot me such a poisonous look as she said it that I had to assume it was. But why?
“Um, Ainsley?” I asked. “Stupid question, I know. But are you mad at me?”
“No,” she said tightly. “Why would I be mad at you? What could you possibly have done?”
I closed my eyes. She couldn't have hit me much harder if she'd slapped me. “I know,” I said. “I'm sorry. I really am.”
“You said that already.”
“Yes,” I acknowledged. “But not for all the things. I mean...I never said sorry for what I did to you.”
“Did to me.”
“I mean...you know,” I sighed. “What I did eight years ago.”
“No,” she said. “You don't have to apologize for that.” She had an odd expression on her face, as if she'd bitten into something sour.
“I don't?” Now I was badly confused.
“No. You didn't do anything wrong eight years ago. What I wouldn't mind an apology for was what you did after.”
“What...Oh.” I looked down, trying to figure out what to say next. “Coming back without telling you. That.”
“Yes. That.” Her voice was like ice.
I sighed. “I know I was wrong. I was a coward, Ainsley,” I said slowly. “I guess I don't deserve your forgiveness. But can I ask for it anyway?”
She didn't say anything. I looked up. She was looking at the table-top. Her brown eyes were wet with tears.
Oh, no... I felt my own heart tighten as I saw that. I reached into my pocket and fished out a tissue. I passed it to her. Her fingers touched mine.
“Thanks,” she said.
“No worries,” I said awkwardly. I felt terrible. Here I was, sitting with the girl of my dreams who I'd treated in the worst possible manner, and I'd made her cry. “Ainsley?”
“Mm?”
“I can't tell you how sorry I am.”
She gave me a watery smile through her tears. “It's okay,” she said. Her voice was wobbly. I wanted to stand up and give her a big hug, but it would have been awkward so I didn't.
We sat quietly for a while. I put my hand close to hers, not quite touching, and she didn't pull her hand away. I left mine where it was. It was strangely comforting to be sitting like this with her after so long.
She sighed and shifted, reaching for her handbag. She pulled out another tissue and wiped her eyes. I looked out of the window, trying to figure out what to say.
“Sir? The Chili con Carne?”
The waiter put the bowl down in front of me. I looked at Ainsley. Ainsley looked at me. We didn't say anything; just let him partition the meals as he saw fit. Then, when he'd gone, we looked at each other again and burst out laughing.
“I bet a coffee,” I said with a big grin. .
“I can't believe it actually happened. Again.” She shook her head, shoulders shaking as she laughed
“There's something very wrong with our culture...” I murmured as I passed her the plate.
“You always say that.”
“And there always is,” I answered.
We were both laughing as we swapped our orders. It felt as if no time had passed. As if I had never been so stupid as to think I could turn my back on her.
“Mm,” she commented, taking an appreciative sniff as I put the bowl down in front of her.
“It does smell good,” I commented.
A savory steam drifted up to my nose, tantalizingly pleasant. I was suddenly back in time, sitting opposite her in a Thai restaurant. We were students and dating and happy. Life was so different then.
The memory was like a stab in my heart. I had forgotten I knew how to be happy: my life had become a maelstrom of subterfuge and conflict. She was a bright spot, a safe place. I absently sampled the meal, my thoughts elsewhere.
“Drake?” she said.
I frowned. “Sorry?” I murmured. “You said something?”
“Yes,” she chuckled. “I sometimes think you never listen to me.”
I blushed. “I do listen.” Again, it was one of our old jokes. I was often distracted, it was true. She had a habit – a good habit – of bringing me back to the present.
“Fine,” she nodded. “What did I say, then?”
I blushed and looked at my hands. “Okay. You win. What was it?”
She laughed. “All I asked was, how's the meal?”
“It's good. Really good.” It was – not too spicy and not too subtle either, a really good vegetarian take on Thai curry, wrapped in nice, moist rice sheet. I was enjoying it.
“So's mine,” she agreed. “It's a good place.”
“I notice it's mostly vegetarian,” I commented.
She blushed. “Yes.”
“I can't believe you remembered,” I said gently.
“Of course I did.”
I grinned at her. I was really touched. She smiled back. Under the table, our knees touched. I drew in a surprised breath.
Oh my. I tried not to think about the feel of her knee on mine. But it was hard. My body was receiving a thousand complex messages, all of which were making me want to leap across the table and kiss those pink, moist lips.
“I thought I remembered a lot about you,” she added, frowning.
“Sorry?” I asked. I wasn't sure if I'd heard her properly.
“I thought I remembered you. But it seems like I was wrong about you all along.”
I put down the remains of the wrap I was eating and frowned at her. “Why do you think that?”
She snorted. “Look at you.”
I did. My eyes traveled briefly from my Pierre Cardin lace-ups to my Levis, to my shirt – the only thing I was wearing that wasn't branded – and then down to my Rolex.
“I'm wearing a lot of branded clothing,” I said hesitantly. “I couldn't afford that at college. I'm not that different.”
She sighed. “It's not that. You're a lawyer. You can afford it. I understand that.”
“Then what?” I asked.
“It's...” she sighed. “Never mind. If I have to tell you, I guess you won't understand.”
I tried to smile. “I'm not that different inside the clothes.”
She caught my eye and blushed. “Oh.”
I felt a wash of heat through my body. I let my knee press against hers. She looked into my eyes, leaning a little forward on the table. I could just see her cleavage over the low-cut sweater neckline and my loins started to throb painfully.
“Will I see you for coffee tomorrow?” I asked. “We had a bet.”
She chuckled. “Maybe,” she said.
“You don't have my number,” I remembered suddenly.
“No,” she replied. I felt a moment's panic – what if she said she didn't want my number? Then, to my immense relief, she pulled out her phone. “What is it?”
I gave her my number. She gave me hers.
“See you tomorrow, then?” I asked as she reached for her bag.
“We'll see.”
We paid for the lunch after that and as we walked out together, her standing close to me, I had the feeling that maybe things were going to go well for me after all.