Page 6 of Mine This Time
“Oh, did you know Brett? I mean, beyond seeing him this morning.”
“I only met him this morning. Before he showed up unannounced, he reached out about an investment opportunity. As I do with any possible investments, I did some looking into his assets and discovered everything was fluff. I declined to meet with him, but he showed up anyway. I gave him five minutes and escorted him out. I can’t say I know him personally, but I can tell you his finances are nothing more than a game of smoke and mirrors.”
I stared at Nash, anger churning in my gut. Not anger with Nash, mind you. But fury with Brett. I might not know Nash Reynolds well, but I knew he had the resources to assess Brett’s supposed financial wizardry. If he thought it was all fluff, it likely was.
“You’re telling me—” I closed my eyes and shook my head. After a slow breath, I looked over at Nash. I felt like an idiot. “Never mind. It doesn’t really matter in the end. I’ll enjoy my lunch and get on with my life.”
Nash’s gaze swept over my face. It felt as if he could see right into me. Considering the events of the morning, I felt far more vulnerable than I preferred. Complicating matters was my body’s reaction to Nash. My body tingled under his intent focus, and a subtle heat suffused me. On the heels of a deep breath, I reached for my water and took another gulp.
Although I’d just blurted out the humiliating truth of my situation, Nash didn’t know the compounding layers of history behind it. When I had first started dating Brett, my older brother—my bossy, far too together, older brother—hadn’t liked him. Not one bit. In fact, Max had said he thought Brett was using me.
Because I could be stubborn, and because I didn’t want to believe Brett had been using me, I’d ignored Max’s opinion and continued dating Brett. It had only been a year, but the doubts sown by Max’s initial perception had never dissipated. As it was, Brett and I had drifted apart and hardly seen each other for the last few months.
This morning was a spectacular example of why Max had been exactly right. Blessedly, Nash was gracious enough not to push the subject any further. Another interruption from yet another business acquaintance of his gave me enough time to finish eating while he made small talk about some project in New Orleans.
Meanwhile, I was doing mental math, trying to calculate how I could scrape together the funds to cover the bill at Creek’s End Inn. I figured I was going to have to put it all on a credit card and hope for the best. When our waiter arrived, she asked if it was one check.
“Oh, no,” I replied, shaking my head.
Nash arched a brow before glancing at the waitress. “One check, please.”
“I can get my own lunch,” I insisted.
Nash stared at me, once again, his gaze feeling like an X-ray on my brain. I mentally battened down the hatches and pulled my pride into place, tattered though it was.
“Mari,” he finally began. “I would cover lunch with whomever I brought to lunch. I invited you, so that’s what I expect to do.”
I managed a shallow breath, willing the spin of emotions inside me to settle. “I can still cover my own lunch.” I had no idea why I was arguing about this. Given my financial situation, allowing Nash to take care of the bill was the sensible thing to do. But then, I wasn’t feeling particularly sensible.
Nash inclined his head before shrugging. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to run to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”
Our waiter nodded and turned away to check on a table nearby when Nash stood, his stride long and confident as he walked across the restaurant. I told myself not to notice the way his shoulders filled out his shirt, not to linger on the way the faded denim of his jeans hugged his muscled legs, and certainly not to acknowledge that the man had one fine ass.
What the hell are you doing ogling another man right now? In the last few days, you were all worked up thinking you and Brett might get back on track.
Um, back on track? You mean like sex for the first time in over three months? You didn’t even have sex last night.
I couldn’t decide which voice was more critical. My proper, try-to-do-life-right voice, or my more sarcastic tone, always on the ready to point out just how ridiculous things were.
True story: I couldn’t recall the last time I had sex with Brett.
Nash returned before the waiter did. He stopped by the table and glanced down at me. “Shall we go?”
“Our waiter hasn’t brought our checks.”
“I’ve taken care of it.”
I felt my nostrils actually flare as I looked up at Nash. “Wow. So you’re that kind of overbearing gentleman,” I muttered as I reached for my purse.
Nash, being the gentleman in question, pulled my chair back as I stood, not even deigning to offer a reply.
I told myself I most certainly didn’t notice the way his warm touch felt like a hot brand on my low back when he placed his palm there as a group of people passing by jostled me. Flutters spun in my belly, and the heat from his touch radiated outward. I was so flustered by my response to him, and my annoyance with my entire day, I elected to pretend everything was fine.
Once we were outside on the sidewalk, I looked up at him. “Thank you for lunch.”
I didn’t bother to argue about the bill. There was no sense in it. I really didn’t have the money to cover my lunch. It would’ve gone on the credit card that was about to be maxed out if it wasn’t already.
“Anytime,” Nash replied. “Where are you heading now?”
