Page 73 of All the Drama from New York

“Now, I want you to put on a pair of your killer heels. And if you behave all through dinner, I’ll let you dig them into my back when I fuck you senseless the second, we get home,” he growled.

How on earth was she going to get through this evening without melting into a puddle of unsated lust?

Ryan had read all the reviews for the GT Tavern in Manhattan, knew it was a two star Michelin restaurant, but his detailed research didn’t help prepare him for the opulent sight which met his gaze as he and Camille stepped out of the elevator on the 80thfloor of the soaring tower in lower Manhattan. The wide panoramic view of New York City at night had him fighting not to open his mouth like a gaping fish.

He sucked in a deep breath and sent a silent prayer to heaven.

Lord please don’t let me spill anything on my shirt or jacket tonight.

Camille of course was comfortable in such a place. She happily chatted away to the maître 'd as he checked their booking, leaving Ryan doing his best to appear calm and collected. As they followed the waiter to their table, Camille took Ryan by the hand. He gave her fingers a grateful squeeze.

His earlier words of demand and hot lust were just that right now—a promise to make Camille scream his name when she came in his arms later in the evening. But the sheer elegance and wealth on display in the restaurant quickly stripped Ryan of all his bravado.

I’m nothing more than a guy from East Orange, New Jersey, in a two thousand dollar suit.

As soon as they were seated at their table, Camille ordered them both a glass of champagne. Ryan wasn’t a big drinker ofsparkling wine, but right now he’d take anything that helped to calm his nerves.

They sat side by side, knees touching under the table in a cozy high backed booth which faced out to the dining room. Ryan’s jacket was unbuttoned, and while he did everything, he could to appear relaxed and at ease, it took all his strength not to wipe his sweaty palms on the top of his brand new Italian wool pants. Camille put a hand on his knee, but it still shook.

In his old career, he’d never even been good enough to get his CV through the front door of a place like this. Even bus boys had to fight to work at the GT Tavern.

He was sucking in deep calming breaths when the click of a phone’s camera caught his attention. At a nearby table they’d passed on their way in, another patron was making a less than subtle attempt to take pictures of them.

They might be taking Camille’s photograph.

But then Ryan’s mind shifted back to the woman at the mini mart on Fire Island. She’d definitely been taking his picture. But why? Why the sudden renewed interest in him?

“What’s wrong?” asked Camille.

He hadn’t mentioned it at the time, but this was the second time in as many weeks that someone had pointed their camera in his direction and snapped off a photo. It didn’t make sense. As far as he was concerned Ryan Collins was old news.

“Something weird is happening,” he muttered.

“What’s weird?”

Keeping things from Camille wasn’t something he ever wished to do. If people had suddenly started taking an interest in him once again, she had the right to know.

“The couple at the table to our right has been taking photos of us. I wouldn’t have thought anything about it, but on one of our days on Fire Island I was standing in line to pay for the milk at the grocery store and I spotted a woman pointing her phone atme. I’m one hundred and ten percent certain she was snapping off a few pictures.”

Camille gave a furtive glance in the direction of the other table, then slowly looked back to Ryan. “They are definitely up to something. Lots of looking this way, then pretending they are reading the menu. Did you want me to go over there and confront them?”

The thought of his billionaire boss/lover going toe to toe with some strangers in an upmarket restaurant sent Ryan’s anxiety racing to the edge of panic.

“Oh god don’t do that, then we really would give them something to photograph. It could be bad press for your runway show,” he whispered.

Camille’s brows knitted into a scowl. “No body in this city knows who I am. I have lived as a virtual hermit for four years. You are the one who has a public profile. I’m just a blonde in a show-stopping dress.”

She reached out and gave the back of his hand a reassuring pat. “I’ll let you decide how you want to handle this, but if you change your mind…”

Ryan was in no doubt that his feisty French lover would make her displeasure known to the other guests if he asked her to go speak to them.

Their glasses of champagne arrived, and the drinks waiter set them down while another server handed them both their menus. Ryan remained politely silent during all this time, watching the other guests out of the corner of his eye.

The guests in question now had their heads down and appeared to be tapping away on their cell phones. His gut instinct told him they were sending his photo somewhere.

None of this makes sense. Not unless they do happen to know who Camille is, and they’re wondering who the devil I am.

But that wouldn’t explain the woman at the grocery store on the island. Or the cold sensation that was slowly creeping down Ryan’s spine. Had the universe briefly bestowed its grace upon him, only to now decide it was going to take it all back?

---