Page 58 of Prove You Wrong

Out with the old and in with the new.

The sensation that this is a pivotal moment whispers through me as I shut the office door, leaving the crap behind and heading to something better.

My heels click-clack along the road to the classy quarter. There’s no time to head home and change so I head straight to meet Nate at Chez René.

I have to confess, I let out an uncharacteristic squeal of excitement when his message with the location arrived yesterday.

It’s one of the classiest places in town so I hope my work attire and a new swipe of lipstick will pass muster. I zhuzh my hair a little as I walk to help freshen up.

Already dark, a check of the time shows I should have been there two minutes ago and I still have half a kilometre to go. Picking up my pace, I curse my heels as they wobble precariously.

The windows of the bistro glow warm and welcoming and there’s a happy chatter and clink of tableware as I enter.

The maître d’ greets me, and on hearing the reservation name, ushers me in, taking my blazer and announcing Nate is already here.

I cast my eyes around the room, decorated lavishly in creams, with hints of black and gold, and then back to him. ‘Which way?’

‘Of course.’ He smiles, his mock French accent unconvincing. ‘Follow me.’

He weaves through the room, past cosy nooks and intimate tables. I catch sight of Nate in a smart shirt as we approach andholy shit. I can barely thank the maître d’ as he pulls a chair out for me, too distracted ogling broad shoulders that are to-die-for.

Nate stands as I arrive, eyes sparkling. He’s almost unrecognisable. Clean shaven, collar and tie. He leans in to give me a peck on the cheek and exudes a fragrance so divine, a kaleidoscope of butterflies erupts into my stomach.

His lips are soft and warm on my cheek.

‘Ella,’ he greets me, his deep voice making my thighs clench.

‘Sorry, I’m late,’ I manage to say, almost struck speechless by his appearance. It’s just a shirt, but he’s levelled up from rugged bad boy to a sleek mafia boss in one outfit. I mean, while I do prefer his more casual look, who doesn’t love the morally-grey billionaire fantasy?

‘No,’ he gives me his dimple-popping smile, ‘You’re right on time.’

‘I had to come straight from work,’ I gabble. ‘Sorry, if I’m — ‘ I gesture to my outfit. ‘This place is so lovely.’ I sit down, scooching my chair under the table.

He sits in sync with me, and with a small shake of his head he laughs, ‘Stop apologising. You’re perfect.’ He holds my gaze for a beat and my breath catches. ‘It seems like you’ve had a bit of a day. Can I get you a drink?’

‘Yes, please,’ I agree, a little too enthusiastically.

Nate gestures to a server across the room and they come and take our drinks order.

Watching the waiter head to get our wine, I take in more of the sumptuous decor, real candles flickering on each table. ‘This place looks amazing. Thanks for suggesting it. I’ve been admiring it for a while.’

‘Well, after the floor of a treehouse, I thought you deserved something more refined.’ Nate pours out some water from a carafe for us. ‘So, you’ve not been before?’

‘Are you kidding me? This place is crazy posh.’ I smooth my hand across the pristine tablecloth. ‘And besides, you know me and Josie, it’s always a cocktail bar we head to.’

‘Has it always been cocktail bars?’ Tumbler in hand, he swills his water around the glass.

‘When we were younger we’d head out to whatever club or pub accepted our fake IDs but now we’remuch more mature.’

‘And bymatureyou mean characterising people by scandalous cocktail names?’ He cocks his eyebrow.

‘Exactly.’ I clink my glass to his and get lost in his eyes for a moment. They’re so warm, crinkling at the corners and sparkling with a hint of mischief.

‘So what kind of club?’ Nate asks, sitting forwards. ‘I bet you loved cheesy pop.’

‘Now who’s being judgey?’ I raise my brow and break into a laugh. ‘I was into alt rock back in sixth form, but I have to confess, nowadays you’re more likely to find me listening to Taylor Swift.’

‘Who doesn’t love Tay Tay?’

---