Page 16 of The Billionaire's Runaway Bride

I catch Marian glancing at me, and I double down, asking the wife about where they’re from.

Be nice to the customers. Be friendly. Be engaging.

Caleb scoots his chair closer to the table, but also toward me.

I keep my smile pasted on my lips and slant toward the opposite armrest.

“Rolls, Marian?” he asks. His arm comes up as he offers her the plate, thrusting his slightly hairy and muscled limb right in my face.

“You just retired?” Marian asked the husband. “I love Shakespeare.”

They quickly launch into a chat about his profession he just left. Shakespeare. Meh. I’m not a fan. I’ve never been a fan of tragedies and drama because I felt like I lived them. And now that I’m free of it all and my old life is back in a garbage can at a bus station, I feel like I could embark on any new journey of my pleasing.

Caleb shifts his chair closer yet, angling to force himself into my line of sight, but he goes too far. His fingers get trapped between the chair and the table, and I hear him hissing sharply. A curse almost leaves his mouth. Before his antics can interrupt the lovely couple’s meal, I kick my heel back on his chair leg, freeing him from his stupid move. At the same time, my napkin falls down and I lean to pick it up.

He has no excuse to reach for the floor, but he does, bringing his head close to mine.

“Stop being ridiculous,” I hiss under the table. I will not look into his eyes like that. They’re darker in the shadows down here.

“Why’d you sit next to me then?” He scowls right back at me. “If you don’t want to be near me, then why sit here?”

“I can sit anywhere I want.” I feel damned good to say that, to stand up for myself with such a petty detail, and it fuels me to give him the truth.

He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “I not sitting here because I’m desperate to be close to you. I’m just being nice because Marian seems to think you’re lonely.”

Narrowing his eyes, he snorts and sits back up. I linger, feeling silly to have snuck in a little argument with him, and when I sit up, I watch him move his chair back from me.

Oh, now he’s trying to impose distance.

“Oh, Caleb, I haven’t tried those green beans yet,” the wife tells him.

“You’re missing out. Here.” He leans over me again to pass a plate, putting his arm right in front of my face just as I’m about to bring a bite of chicken to my lips. I drop my fork and clamp my mouth shut as his shoulder bumps into mine and his cologne teases my nose.

I bite the inside of my lip at his shenanigans, determined not to show how much he’s getting to me.

He’s just another rich guy who thinks he can get whatever he wants.

And he’s not getting me.

Chapter 7

Caleb

Dalton: Testing. One two three. You alive out there?

I roll my eyes at the text I wake up to.

Caleb: I’m not helpless.

Dalton: Yeah, you kind of are.

Dalton: But it looks like you’ve got reception. That’s good.

Dalton: You can’t get TOO lost out in the wilderness now.

“Wanna bet?” I suffered enough finding the Goldfinch.

Caleb: Ye of such little faith. I’ll have you know I’m going hiking later.

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