Page 35 of I'm Looking for a Man in Finance
Unsure if I could trust my voice to remain steady, I gave a silent nod and left the apartment, my palms sweating.
“You two kids have fun tonight!” Roxie called from the kitchen, her voice sing-songy as I closed the door behind us.
With James and me suddenly standing in the hallway of my tiny apartment building dressed like we were about to walk a red carpet, everything was becoming far more real. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw James fidgeting with his bowtie, his fingers uncharacteristically clumsy. He stole a brief glance my way, a nervous blush creeping up his neck. This was already starting off far more awkward than any first date I’d ever had before.
The tension between us was apparent, and James cleared his throat nervously. “Uh … a car is waiting downstairs.”
“Right.” James’s towering frame took up most of the hallway as we made our way down the stairs.
A town car waited outside, and a driver opened the doors to the rear of the vehicle as we approached. “A driver?” I whispered.
“You wanted the full experience.” James extended his hand as I lowered myself into my seat. Only once he was sure I was comfortable did he lean in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. “And you look stunning tonight, Hallie.”
His words were gasoline, igniting a furious blaze within me, the sound of the car door slamming a futile attempt to contain the inferno.
James Rossi is a charmer, you know this. You’re just falling victim to his tried and tested scheme.
But the reassurances died in my mind the moment his hand landed on the seat between us, his pinky brushing against mine.
The silence in the car was heavy, and I could feel the tension in the air as we both fidgeted in our seats. James opened his mouth at the same time I did, then quickly shut it when our words collided, an awkward laugh escaping his lips. We both fell quiet, the hum of the engine filling the gap between us.
Outside the window, the city was alive. Manhattan’s skyline gleamed like a collection of dreams stacked high into the night, neon lights flashing by in a blur. Streetlights painted the pavement golden. I’d seen these streets on television, watching as Carrie Bradshaw made a crosswalk look more like a catwalk. I’d spent my teenage years reading about some of the biggest fashion names in magazines, but never in a million years did I think I’d be here—hurtling down these very streets, next to a man whose name seemed to command attention, while mine barely made a ripple.
How had I gone from that little town in Ohio to thisfast-paced city of ambition and excess, with one of the richest men in the city in the seat beside me?
I shook my head, trying to focus on the present. Focus on the mission. But the soft brush of James’s pinky against mine had me questioning everything I thought I knew about control.
I was in over my head. And yet, somehow, I couldn’t help but wonder if I was starting to enjoy it.
After another long stretch of silence, James cleared his throat as he focused on his cufflinks. I could see his fingers shake slightly, just a hint of unease creeping into his usually confident demeanor.
“I think we’re both pretending to know what we’re doing,” he said, his voice suddenly more vulnerable than I expected. “Maybe we should just … let it be?”
I gave a small, almost reluctant smile, the weight of the night sinking in. This wasn’t a date. It was a performance, one we were both learning how to play.
The city outside the window kept rushing by, a reminder that time was moving faster than either of us was prepared for. When the car finally rolled to a stop, I had to do a double-take to make sure I was seeing things correctly.
“This is—”
“Crepitio,” James supplied, offering me his hand with a confident smile.
“But the reservation list is months long,” I blurted, my fingers grazing his—a spark of excitement shooting through me.
The attraction to James Rossi was undeniable. He was incredibly handsome, charming, and, as I was beginning to see, surprisingly thoughtful.
Don’t forget, this is just for the article.
That didn’t mean a girl couldn’t have some fun. Right, Cyndi Lauper?
I stood at the entrance to a newly Michelin-starred restaurant, so exclusive, you either had tobesomeone orknowsomeone to get in. Not evenSophisticatehad covered this place yet.
“But how?” I asked as James led me through the front door where a smiling hostess greeted us.
James gave his name to her before leaning in close and whispering in my ear, “I know people, Hallie. Did you forget?”
I did my best to look unphased as we were seated in the corner booth—a section for exclusive clientele only. As I settled into the plush seat, I caught a glimpse of Theodore Drake dining in the center of the room, the rumored next heir to Rooster.
How had James pulled this off?
