Page 71 of His To Erase
I don’t have time to ask him about it before the waitress shows up. She still won’t look at me as she drops another round of drinks off and vanishes.
Frank lifts his glass like nothing happened. “To finally getting that date.”
I hesitate, then raise mine too—because not clinking glasses with a man who acts like he owns half the damn city seems like the kind of mistake that gets you a missing persons report.
I set my glass down slower than necessary, studying him. “Where’d you disappear to when you left town?” I ask.
“Business,” he says. The same non-answer he always gives. His fingers curl around the rim of his glass like he’s holding a secret—and enjoying every second of it.
I arch a brow. “That vague response is doing all the heavy lifting tonight, huh?”
His grin gets wider. “Are you asking because you care?”
I scoff, but it’s a beat too late.
“I’m asking because people don’t usually disappear for weeks.”
He lowers his voice so I have to lean in just to hear him. “Didn’t know you were keeping track.”
“I wasn’t.”
He hums. “Could’ve fooled me.”
I roll my eyes, settling back into the booth—only for his hand to land on my thigh under the table.
I go still.
“That wasn’t a no,” he murmurs, voice dipping low enough to send a chill down my spine. “You’re curious. Finally.”
I lift my drink, just to keep from saying something I’ll regret—or worse, something honest. But he doesn’t stop.
“I knew this date was a good idea,” he adds, smiling. “One night out and you’re already trying to peel back my layers.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I mutter, ignoring the way my pulse skips when his thumb starts drawing lazy circles just above my knee.
He leans in, closer than necessary, cologne and danger bleeding into the air between us. “Too late, doll. I’m feeling very flattered right now.”
His gaze drops to my mouth—when the waitress comes up asking if he wants anything else. Something like anger across his face at the interruption before he blinks it away. I take the out, straightening, and brush his hand off like it didn’t short-circuit my common sense.
“So, hypothetically… if someone wanted to know what the hell you actually do for a living—where would she even start?”
His smile doesn’t slip. Not even a crack. “You could start by asking what I like in a woman,” he says smoothly. “But I think you already know.”
God. He’s insufferable.
I snort. “Right. Because that’s definitely the first thing I want to know about a man who might be the mayor or something.”
His eyes spark, but he just shrugs.
“I’m not the mayor,” he says, brushing his thumb along the rim of his glass. “That would suggest someone else has a say in how things are run.”
I blink. “Oh good. A man with a God complex. That’s fresh.”
He laughs, but underneath, it’s all steel.
“Relax,” he says, leaning in. “I work in investments. Management. That sort of thing.”
I stare at him. “Vague as usual. Classic.” I tip my head, keeping my voice flat. Can’t have him think I care too much or it’ll go to his head. “What kind of management? Clubs? Restaurants? Hitmen?”
