Chapter Eight
The next few days were the most exhausting and exhilarating of Melanie’s life.
She and Aiden continued to work closely together on their investment. She had even gotten herself set up at a desk near his office (and she didn’t miss the looks of pure jealousy that she received from several of the other female investors at the firm). Hawk came in a few times to fill out paperwork and go over the details of how he wanted to start advertising his services, so that they could find subjects for the human trials. Aiden and Melanie helped him look at real estate in his price range, so that he could expand his laboratory for his colleagues and engineers.
They found him a two-story building in Brooklyn; an old firehouse with a large garage that was perfect for their bigger projects. Hawk had also received offers from other investors and thanked Aiden profusely for all the help, even offering to buy him dinner at one of the more expensive restaurants in Midtown. Aiden declined.
“Just continue doing what you’re doing,” he said, patting Hawk on the back. “Help those who need it. That’ll be payment enough.”
“Plus, whatever your percentage is, I imagine,” Hawk joked and Aiden chuckled, but didn’t disagree.
As promised, he had Melanie sit in on every meeting with all the bigger investors, explaining why, exactly, Arnold Hawkins’ company was worth investing in. A few of the associates at the firm were doubtful about allowing their newest addition to call the shots on an investment such as this, but Aiden stuck by Melanie’s side and charmed each and every one of them with his smooth logic and handsome smiles. Finally, each of them readily agreed that this investment was the right choice for their firm and for Melanie’s first foray into the investment world.
Soon, working under Aiden’s wing proved to be beneficial for Melanie’s reputation, as well. She made more connections, while working with Dr. Hawkins on his company and gained the respect of several of Aiden’s friends and colleagues. They met with other investors that were interested in signing with Arnold’s company and Melanie watched, in awe, as Aiden charmed all of them, as well. She felt her face flush when he introduced her to them all as his ‘partner’ on the endeavor and they all shook her hand and talked to her about…herself.
There was not one mention of her father or his legacy. Instead, they asked her where she went to school and how she had come to meet Aiden—who lied and said that he had chosen her to be his protégé straight out of grad school—and how was it possible that such a young woman was already so knowledgeable in her chosen field. Melanie answered each of their questions with the ease and grace that (Aiden later said) her father had always carried in himself.
Before the end of the week, she had dozens of new contacts in the business.
They had the deal wrapped up and contracted within two weeks and, to celebrate, Aiden invited Melanie out for dinner at one of Manhattan’s finest gourmet restaurants. Melanie didn’t even entertain the thought of saying no. She wanted nothing more than to unwind after such a whirlwind of an investment. Her first investment.
She deserved a little celebration, she reasoned, as she playfully took Aiden’s offered arm and followed him out of the office building, where his motorcycle waited just feet from the door. At the sight of it, Melanie’s steps hesitated. She had expected them to be taking the office’s town car for hire—not Aiden’s motorcycle. She had only seen the shiny black Harley a handful of times, since she and Aiden had started working together.
It was even more breath-taking up close.
Aiden placed his spare motorcycle helmet on her head, without much preamble, strapping it under her chin and flipping open the visor, so that she could see him clearly. “Does it fit okay?” he asked and Melanie nodded, swallowing thickly as she looked into his clear blue eyes. They were softer than usual, as he nodded in return and reached for his own black helmet, strapping it on before offering her his hand to help her onto the back of the bike.
Melanie was thankful that she had chosen to wear a pantsuit that morning and not the skirt that she had been eyeing in her closet while getting ready for work. She made quick work of swinging her leg over the seat and moving back so that Aiden could get on in front of her. “Put your visor down,” he instructed and she wasted no time in following his order.
He had no sooner revved up the engine, when he pulled away from the curb, making Melanie gasp silently as she reached for something to hold onto and found only his waist to anchor her to the bike. She tried to loosen her grip as much as possible, but Aiden’s sharp turns and smooth bends had her tightening her grip until she felt herself pressed up against him, her chin on his shoulder as they raced through the streets of Manhattan together.
When they pulled up to the restaurant, Aiden parked into a spot that had his name written above it, in golden letters. His wasn’t the only one—there were several names, mostly of celebrities or famously wealthy families—but Melanie was impressed, nonetheless, as he pulled in and shut off the engine, putting his kickstand down. He jumped off the bike first, then reached back to help her down onto her shaky legs. Melanie could still feel the vibrations of the motor going through her and her heart was thundering in her chest. She took a few deep breaths as she undid the chinstrap and pulled off her helmet.
She barely registered Aiden’s hands on her waist until she looked up, to see his intense gaze on her face through his open visor, slight concern in his eyes. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Melanie insisted, stepping away from him and trying desperately to keep herself from tipping over onto the ground. She hid her shakiness by smoothing her hands down the curves of her waist and clearing her throat. “Just not used to that.”
“What? Riding motorcycles?” Aiden asked, undoing his own helmet and tossing it into his saddlebag. “Yes, I thought you might be new to this.”
“I’ve ridden on motorcycles before,” Melanie lied. “It’s just…been a while.”
“Let me guess,” Aiden said, grabbing her helmet from her and adding it to his own, before motioning for her to follow him toward the restaurant door; “High school boyfriend that your father had no idea about?”
“I didn’t date in high school,” Melanie replied, “so you can’t really call him my boyfriend. But, there was a boy that I was quite interested in and he did have a motorcycle. We never went very far.” It wasn’t technically a lie. She had never climbed onto the back of Hector Yates’ bike, but she had been interested in him.
Too bad for her. Hector Yates was more interested in the popular, skinny girls that weren’t terrified of dying in a fiery motorcycle accident. So, truthfully, they had never gotten very far. In any meaning of the word.
“Didn’t you ever have any fun as a kid?” Aiden teased as they stepped into the restaurant. He held the door for her and Melanie thanked him softly with a blush and a shy smile, before clearing her throat.
“Of course I did,” she insisted. “Just not the kind that could have gotten me killed.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun then, does it?” he teased again. Melanie rolled her eyes.
“I know how to have fun,” she said.
“Prove it,” Aiden said, getting very close to her as they walked toward the hostess’ podium. Melanie practically swallowed her tongue as she looked up into Aiden’s eyes and found them boring into hers.
“Welcome to Le Roux,” the hostess greeted, breaking their eye contact. Aiden turned to her with his usual charming grin and she blushed. “Oh, hello, Mr. Carmichael!” she said. “I didn’t recognize you! Your usual table should be all set up upstairs.” She motioned toward a grand staircase and Aiden nodded, taking a few bills from his inner pocket and handing them to her.
“Thank you, Charlotte,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. “For your trouble.”
Charlotte took the offered money with a tiny pleased smile and bit her lip. Melanie felt a wave of something unpleasant run through her as she followed Aiden toward the stairs.
“What was that?” she asked, as nonchalantly as possible, her shoulder brushing his as they ascended.
“That’s called a tip,” Aiden retorted, smartly.
“Rather a big tip for a hostess,” Melanie pointed out, trying to keep her jealousy at bay.
Aiden grinned and she felt his fingers wrap gently around her wrist. “They always take care of me here,” he said. “And, out of everybody, I always tip the host the least.”
That seemed to placate Melanie a bit, especially since, at the touch of his fingers, her heart began to rocket against her ribs and she felt her mouth go suddenly dry. He continued to hold her wrist in his firm, but soft, grip until they arrived at a table situated just next to a pair of wide balcony doors. The doors were open, letting in a gentle breeze and there was a fireplace roaring away towards the center of the room to keep balance.
When he released Melanie’s wrist, she felt the loss acutely, but tried not to show it. Especially as he reached for a chair and pulled it out, inviting her to sit. Melanie gave Aiden a smile of thanks and sat down, allowing him to push her chair in, before he took his own seat next to her. It was then that Melanie realized that, although they had just arrived, there was already a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket and a basket of bread and butter in the center of the table.
“Did you make a reservation or something?” she asked. She hadn’t seen him make the call after she’d agreed to come here with him. Had he planned it beforehand?
“They always have this ready,” he informed her. “I eat here a few nights a month so as soon as I walk through the door, they have the table set up.”
“That’s…impressive.”
“That’s power,” Aiden retorted, winking at her as he picked up his menu. “Order anything you’d like,” he said. “It’s all going on my tab.”
“I wouldn’t want to bankrupt you,” Melanie joked, picking up her own menu and looking over the prices. Even the cost of the soup was in double digits. Aiden, however, looked undeterred.
“It would take a lot more than a couple of meals at Le Roux to bankrupt me,” he said, not looking up from his menu. “Get whatever you want and that’s an order, Miss Brunswick.”
Melanie didn’t usually like being told what to do, but at that moment, her hair stood on end and she shivered just slightly, clearing her throat to keep her blush at bay. Her eyes continued to scan the menu, as she looked for something that she might enjoy.
Truly, though, her focus was elsewhere.
When the waiter approached their table, five minutes later, to ask if they were ready for appetizers, she chose the first thing she saw.
“Oysters, huh?” Aiden asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he gazed down at her. “You know what they say about oysters?”
“Yes,” Melanie sighed, trying to be annoyed despite the burning redness of her face. “But I just like them, okay?” That was untrue; Melanie had never had oysters before in her life. She wasn’t a huge fan of most seafood, but she wasn’t about to show her hand.
Thankfully, as it turned out, Melanie enjoyed the taste of the oysters. She made a mental note to order them at restaurants more often as she once again scanned the menu for her entrée. Aiden grinned at her over his French onion soup, which had an intoxicating smell.
“You finished those rather quickly,” he said.
“They were good,” Melanie replied, nonchalantly shrugging her shoulders.
“Would you like some of my soup?” Aiden asked, pushing the bowl towards her. “It’s rather good, as well.” Melanie almost said no, but the smell of the soup was too much to deny. She reached for the spoon in Aiden’s hand, but he pulled it away, shaking his head. Melanie watched, eyes wide, as he dipped the utensil back into the bowl and gathered up a healthy spoonful, before holding it out toward her, cupping his hand underneath to catch any stray liquid from splashing onto the expensive tablecloth.
Automatically, Melanie’s mouth opened and she reached forward, taking the spoon into her mouth and drinking the liquid that Aiden tipped down her throat. She practically moaned at the rich, intoxicating flavor and she wondered, idly, if French onion soup was also an aphrodisiac.
Pulling back, Melanie grabbed her napkin and placed it against her lips, hiding her blushing face as the thought registered in her mind. Where did that come from?
She knew exactly where it had come from and, from the look on his face, she was almost certain that Aiden Carmichael could read her mind.
“So,” he said, pulling the bowl of soup back to him just as casually as possible, “have you decided what you want for your entrée?”
*****