Page 15 of A Beginner's Guide to Forever
Unknown number:It’s Hart. I figured I should clarify because a woman like you undoubtedly has many admirers.
Is he flirting? Is that what’s happening here?
My stomach flips.
I finish combing out my damp hair and watch my reflection as I apply serum, eye cream, and then facial moisturizer with SPF. Whenyou’re on the cusp of turning thirty-eight, your skin-care regime is no joking matter.
Alessia:I did enjoy the cookies. Thank you again.
Alessia:Are you having fun in London?
Part of me knows I shouldn’t encourage him. I’m old enough to know better, but I have to admit, his attention is ... kind of nice. Flattering, to say the least.
Rather than reply to my text, he calls. My stomach dips and I quickly answer.
“Hello?” I sound nervous, almost breathless.
“Hello, Alessia.” His voice is deep, smooth. Confident.
“How did you get my number?”
He chuckles. “Your assistant graciously offered me your business card when I was leaving the office on Monday.”
Joslyn.Of course she did. I make a mental note to fire her tomorrow. I’m kidding, I love Joslyn, but I have no idea why she’d be encouraging whatever this is.
“Have dinner with me.” It’s a statement, not a question. “Tonight.”
Dinner? That could be awkward. Awkward isn’t the right word, though, because talking to him is actually very comfortable. Maybe it’s that he makes me feel things I’m not entirely comfortable feeling.
“I can’t tonight. I have a business dinner.” My dinner tonight is with a consulate from the British embassy. It’s certainly not something I’m going to reschedule on a whim.
“Tomorrow then.” I must hesitate too long because Hart adds, “I’ll meet you in the lobby of your hotel at six. Where are you staying?”
“The St. James’s,” I reply.
“See you at six tomorrow.”
I shrug out of the hotel robe and dress for a full day of business meetings with potential donors, a check-in with my staff in Indonesia,and an interview with a journalist. Plus, I need to make time to work on my blog.
I can’t help but wonder about Hart’s intentions, though—about whether our dinner tomorrow is related to his family’s investment that I’m still waiting to hear about, or something more personal. Is his sudden interest in me business or pleasure?
The following day, the weather is mild, and I opt for a denim minidress in red—my favorite color—that ties at the shoulders. It’s dressy but also casual, and I couple it with a pair of black Valentino booties. My hair is styled in long waves, and I’ve touched up my makeup, applying red lipstick and a spray of light perfume on my wrists.
At five minutes to six, I take the elevator down to the lobby of my hotel. Hart didn’t mention where we were going, though he did check in with me last night—just a simple text saying he hoped my meetings had gone well, and that he was looking forward to dinner tonight.
It was polite, but still provided no indication of how he viewed tonight’s date. A business dinner? Something else?
Stepping off the elevator, I stroll toward the exit, my heeled booties clicking across the marble floor. I spot Hart standing near the bellhop desk. Everything about him radiates confidence, wealth, and power.
He’s wearing a tailored black jacket, a fitted white shirt, and dark-gray trousers. He looks young—his skin is perfect, and his hair is artfully messy. When he turns and spots me, he’s quiet for several minutes, and I worry I’ve underdressed.
I stop in front of him, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “Hello,” I say softly.
“You look stunning,” he murmurs finally. “Youarestunning.”
I look down, overwhelmed by his undivided attention, before blinking back up at him. “Thank you.”
“Should we go?”
