Chapter 39

Less than ten minutes later, Zane and I were sitting at a prime table in the glass-enclosed restaurant. The whole scene was entirely surreal, and not only because of our ultra-posh surroundings and the amazing cityscape view.

More than anything, it was the whole idea of being here, with him, in a social setting that didn't involve watching as he told someone to fuck off.

Then again, we hadn't yet eaten, so there was still plenty of time.

Zane, with his usual degree of politeness, was ignoring me as he texted someone on his cell phone. Who he was texting, he didn't say, and I sure as heck didn't ask, even after he claimed – falsely, I might add – that he'd be only a minute.

That was five minutes ago, not that I was counting.

Much.

While he tapped away at his phone, I took another slow look around. Outside our window, light from the setting sun glimmered off the windows of neighboring buildings, making the whole city sparkle and shine, at least to my inexperienced eyes.

Soon, it would be dark, and I had the whole night ahead of me. During those hours of freedom, I'd been planning to visit Times Square and do as many touristy things as I could.

In fact, that's where I'd been going when I'd been waylaid, first by Tiffany and then by Zane.

Talk about bad timing.

My only good luck was that I'd dressed up. But still, even in a skirt and blouse, I felt seriously outclassed compared to the formal cocktail dresses I saw all around me. And, as far as the men? Every single one of them wore a suit with a tie, except for Zane.

The dress code, like so many other things, apparently didn't apply to him.

Go figure.

If that weren't unfair enough, tie or not, he still looked better than any other guy in the whole place, including Paisley's favorite TV star, who was dining with a stunning redhead a few tables away.

Across from me, Zane was still texting, looking less enthused with every message he received in return.

Just great.

Probably, when he finished – if he finished – I'd be bearing the brunt of whatever news had irritated him. Who knows? Maybe in the end, he'd be telling me to shove off.

Between texts, he'd ordered a bottle of wine and dinner for both of us – without consulting me, I might add. It was bossy and arrogant, and yes, in a way, almost a relief, as much as I hated to admit it.

My menu had no prices, and I'd been oddly nervous about ordering the wrong thing, especially because most of the dishes were unfamiliar and written in a script that was so fancy, I could hardly read it.

I couldn’t imagine why we were here at all, unless he wanted to discuss work – or to prove once again how rude he could be by texting throughout wine, dinner, and dessert, assuming we stuck around that long.

He'd been lying to Tiffany. Zane and I didn't have plans. And this, as much as anything, made no sense at all. Obviously, he didn't care two bits about sparing her feelings. So, why the lie? And why drag me up here at all?

Was it just because he could?

Finally, he finished texting and – holy hell – not only turned off his phone entirely, but said something that caught me off guard. "Sorry about that."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry," he repeated, "but it couldn't be helped."

Wow. Two sorries? Right in a row? From Zane Bennington? I almost didn't know what to say. I glanced around before murmuring, "That's all right."

He gave me a long, calculating look. "So, you know Tiffany."

There it was again, a question without a question mark. Funny, I was almost getting used to it.

I replied, "A little."

"So what do you know about her?"

"Not much," I admitted. "It's not like we're best friends or anything."

Especially now.

Zane said, "But you're more than acquaintances."

"I guess." Maybe I was being evasive, but honestly, there wasn't much to say.

"How about her fiancé?" he said. "The senator. You know him, too?"

I shook my head. "I've seen him, but that's it."

"Yeah? Where?"

I gave a shaky laugh. "Other than in the lobby a few minutes ago?"

"I'm not talking about tonight," he said. "You saw him before. Where?"

I bit my lip. I almost didn't want to say, mostly because that whole night had been so incredibly embarrassing. Still, there was no sense in lying about it. "Actually," I said, "it was the night we met. At your party."

Zane leaned back in his seat, and his mouth tightened. "Uh-huh."

The way it looked, he wasn't any happier with the recollection than I was.

Happily, I was spared from saying anything in response, thanks to the appearance of a wine steward, who went the whole ritual of opening the wine and pouring each of us a glass.

I was excessively grateful, and not only because I could definitely use a drink. The interruption, as short as it was, gave me some time to figure out why I was here.

At last, I thought I knew.

Obviously, for whatever reason, Zane wanted to know more about Tiffany and the senator. And, in true Zane fashion, he couldn’t bring himself to wait until tomorrow.

So here I was, at his beck and call.

As usual.

Maybe he'd send me packing the moment he learned whatever it was that he wanted to know. No wonder he hadn't let me order. For all I knew, he didn't plan on letting me stick around long enough to actually eat.

It would be just like him, too. When the steward left, I couldn't stop myself from tormenting him, at least a little. "So, 'Shove off' huh? Is that your new catch-phrase?"

To my surprise, he didn't look tormented at all. In fact, he looked almost amused. He gave something like a shrug. "I was trying to be nice."

Zane Bennington? Nice? That would be a first. And yet, it did make sense in a Zane sort of way. After all, the phrase was a lot nicer than what he usually said to those who irritated him.

I had to admit, "I guess it is an improvement." I took a sip of my wine and savored its sweetness for a long, drawn-out moment before asking, "So, how do you know Tiffany?"

Yes, I was being bold, and maybe a little nosy, but the way I saw it, he had it coming. And besides, I was curious. Zane and Tiffany had, after all, been caught doing something at his own party.

Zane studied me from across the table. His gaze didn't waver as he took a slow drink of his wine and then set down his glass before saying, "How do you think I know her?"

I felt myself swallow. Intimately.

But I didn't say it, because even now, I didn't quite have the nerve. So instead, I tried to laugh. "No fair. I asked you first."

"Yeah? Too bad."

"Why?" I teased. "Because you're my boss?"

He shook his head. "Forget that."

It seemed an odd thing to say. "Forget what? That I work for you?"

"That's right."

Now, I was really confused. "Why?"

"Because I want the truth."

Was that an insult? I wasn't sure. "Hey, I'm always honest."

"Maybe," he said. "But honest and unfiltered aren't the same thing."

"So?"

"So, I want to know what you're really thinking."

I almost laughed. "No, you don't."

"Why?" He leaned toward me across the table and said in a low, compelling voice, "Because you think I'm an asshole?"

Talk about a loaded question.

Instinctively, I reached for my glass, but Zane snagged it first. He pulled the glass away and said, "First, answer the question."

I eyed the glass with a surprising amount of longing. I couldn’t decide if I was annoyed or amused by his cunning move. "Or what?" I asked. "You won't give it back?"

As an answer, he gave my glass a slow, hypnotic turn, making the liquid swirl enticingly as I watched in stupid fascination.

It wasn't just the wine that had captured my attention. It was his fingers, long and firm around the stem of the glass. I recalled all those salacious rumors. It wasn't just that he was physically gifted. It was that he made very good use of his gifts – one gift in particular.

Against all logic, I felt my tongue dart out between my lips, even as I tried to form some sort of protest. He was holding my drink for ransom. I should be irritated. Instead, I was utterly hypnotized.

In hopes of breaking the spell, I looked up to meet his eyes.

Big mistake.

He wasn't watching the wine at all. He was watching me. And, if I didn't know any better, I might've believed, if only for an instant, that he found me incredibly fascinating, and maybe even beautiful.

It was official. I was going insane.

Distracted, I heard myself murmur, "You're not always an asshole." As soon as the words left my lips, I wanted to take them back – not because they were untrue, but rather, because just then, he did something I never would've expected.

He laughed.

And just like that, his whole face changed. Gone was the jerk who'd been making my life miserable. And, in his place sat a guy I'd never met. His gaze was warm, and his mouth looked so kissable that I could hardly think.

On my own lips, I felt the tug of a traitorous grin. "What's so funny?"

He stopped laughing and leaned forward to say, "If I've gotta explain…" He let his words trail off and once again, leaned back to study me from his side of the table.

In the process, he'd set down my glass, and I took the opportunity to snatch it up and take a long, desperate drink.

I needed something to calm my nerves, and for once, it wasn't because he was doing something awful. It was because, in his own personal way, he was drawing me in, making me see him as something more than a jerk, something more than my billionaire boss, and yes, simply, something more.

And it scared me half to death.

After all, I'd seen how coldly he treated the women in his life. Even if I hadn't known this all along, my firsthand view of him kicking What's-Her-Name off his private jet would've told me everything that I needed to know.

He was one of those guys – charming before and a prick after.

As a relationship type of girl, I'd never experienced that particular dynamic, but I'd heard plenty from my more adventurous friends.

I couldn't help but think of Tiffany. During our impromptu lunch date however many weeks ago, she'd mentioned that she was meeting up with Zane later on that same night.

At a hotel.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what they'd been doing.

And now, how was Zane treating her?

Badly.

Shove off?

At the time, it seemed rude enough, but now that I thought about it, it was more than rude. It was heartless.

And yet, it was exactly what I should've expected from the same guy who'd gotten me fired, who'd kicked his cousin out of his family home, and who'd given me way too much grief already.

I gave a little shake of my head. To think, I'd almost fallen under his spell.

Idiot.

Not him.

Me.

I felt my gaze narrow as I eyed him across the table. Oh sure, he was gorgeous. And rich. And sexy as hell. But inside, he was as cold as they came.

Nothing ever ruffled him, and it was easy to see why.

It was because he had no heart. And if he'd ever had a soul? Well, he'd probably sold it southward a long time ago.

As if reading something in my eyes, Zane's expression darkened, and an icy chill settled over the table. After a long, intense moment, he said in a low voice, "Whatever you're thinking, you're about to be proven right."

I felt my eyebrows furrow. Was that a warning? It sure sounded like a warning.

What was he truly telling me? That he'd seen the way I was looking at him? That he was getting ready to make his move? That I wouldn't be spared from his usual charm-them, fuck-them, dump-them routine?

Talk about arrogant.

I made a scoffing sound. "That's what you think."

Suddenly, I didn't care how sexy he was, or how utterly mesmerized I'd been for those few brief moments. I was no longer charmed. And, whatever he'd been anticipating, it wasn't going to happen, not that he'd outright asked.

But still, a girl knows, right?

His gaze shifted to the view outside, and for the briefest instant, I saw an expression that looked an awful lot like regret.

I gave a mental eye-roll. Regret? Oh, please. Probably, his only regret was that he'd bothered to order wine.

With a look of grim resignation, he returned his gaze to mine and said something that, once again, caught me off guard. "I'm sorry."

What was that? Three apologies? All in one night?

But the truth was, I had no idea what, specifically, he was apologizing for. For being a jerk? Or for making me forget, if only for an instant, that he wasn't a nice person?

Whatever it was, I wanted to make him say it. I said, "For what?"

He looked down and closed his eyes for a long moment before saying, "For what's about to happen."