Page 43 of The Player + The Pact = I Do

“And a half. Don’t forget the half. It represents five hundred dollars. Anyway, I’m not keeping the bag. Changing the subject, are we expecting to meet anyone at this restaurant? Do you know the owner or something?”

“Not expecting to meet anyone, but Manhattan’s a small place.” In a city of over a million people, it should be easy to be anonymous, but gossip spreads quickly in this town. You never know who’s watching and whispering. My profile’s higher than ever in the business community. Even if I don’t know someone personally, they always know someone I know. “I would normally say no to this kind of thing.”

“Yeah, you rarely say yes to anything. It always surprised me about you when I was your assistant.”

“I like what I like. I have my favorite restaurants and bars. I have a small circle of friends who I trust… Everything else is just noise.”

She doesn’t answer right away. I turn from the window to find her staring at me. Our eyes lock.

“Is your family still in Brooklyn?”

“Moved down to Florida, although they have a place up here. Heading south started off as something they did in the winter and now… my dad’s golf handicap is seven.”

“That sounds like he’s really bad at golf.”

I chuckle. “It means he’s reallygoodat golf. Much to my mother’s annoyance. Last time I was down there, she toldme she won’t miss my father when he’s dead because he’s never around anyway.”

“Wow,” she replies, and I try not to focus on her pout as she speaks.

“Yeah, she’s brutal. But she also loves him. She’s a pretty good golfer too. She just doesn’t want to do it every day.”

“It’s nice that they’re still together.”

“It doesn’t sound like it, but they were made for each other.”

“They must be very proud of you.”

She looks at me with a softness I’m not used to. “They’re proud of meandmy brother.”

“Oooh a brother,” she says.

A lick of jealousy crawls up my throat. “He’s married,” I reply. “Happily.”

She laughs. “I wasn’t asking for his number. You’ve just never mentioned him before.”

“We’re not close. He’s quite a bit younger than me. Went to college in state. My parents had a bit more money by that point. Met his high school sweetheart, settled down in Long Island. He has a good life.” I can feel her heavy gaze turn assessing. “What about you? Any siblings whose numbers I need?”

She grins. “Only child, I’m afraid.”

I nod. “And are your parents still together?”

“Absolutely not. My father…” She pulls in a breath like she’s steeling herself for something. “He wasn’t around much when I was growing up. He’d blow in and out of town. Not very reliable, to put it generously.”

Shit, that doesn’t sound good. “Sounds like a bit of an asshole.”

She shrugs and I want her to say more. Maybe now isn’t the time.

“New York is full of assholes. Hell, if the hotel manager thing doesn’t work out for me, I might try and develop a spray to keep them at bay.”

She deflects with humor. Noted. I’m going to go with it.

“I think they did that already? It’s called pepper spray.”

She smiles just as the car rolls to a stop outside the restaurant.

“Stay put and I’ll come around and open your door,” I say.

There are a couple of photographers outside, probably trying to grab a shot of some celebrity. Most of the journalists will be inside.

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