Chapter 29

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Chapter 29

The host seats me just twenty minutes shy of the reservation put in place for Blake and Phil's dinner. Of course it's a table in the private, side room of the restaurant, a room where only the cream of the crop are allowed to eat. Everything is pristine, and the waiter offers me a complimentary glass of when as I pull my chair up to the table. Free liquor? Hell yes.

A second glass in which Blake or Phil will have to pay?

Bring it on.

My foot bounces up and down, eager to see the look on both Phil and Blake's faces when they see me sitting at their table. After securing the reservation with the concierge of the hotel, it was easy enough to call the restaurant to request that an additional chair be added to 'Mr. Benson's reservation.'

Neither of them has a clue.

Really though, what's the issue?

Blake dropped me off at the hotel earlier as a favor, or so he claimed. He could see how tired I was getting and wanted me to get some rest before allowing me to do as I pleased with my evening. Besides, Blake never specifically said he didn't want me around for those later appointments.

So here I am – rested and prepared as fuck to 'enjoy my evening.'

In just under five minutes, both of my wine glasses find themselves empty and in need of a refill. I glance around the sparse tables in this private room. Most of them are empty except for an older couple seated near the back. Both of them look bored, neither caring that every bite of food they slip past their crusty lips costs more than a new TV.

The waiter visits my table again, this time offering me a piece of bread.

"I'll pass on the bread," I say. "But I'll take another refill. On each."

He blinks and studies my overactive foot tapping. A curious grin tugs on the edges of his lips, but he simply gives a nod of consent before walking away. Dude must think I'm a lush. Or a Wine-O, at the very least. Truth be told, I've always hated the taste of wine. Jared used to tell me that once you got used to the flavor, the beauty of wine is endless.

I lick my lips, the remnants of the bitter liquid festering in my mouth and reminding me of the smell of week-old garbage. But hey. It's expensive as hell and racking up the bill for Blake's dinner tab. In other words, it's bittersweet garbage.

A familiar voice catches my attention, and all thoughts of wine disperse for the main attraction of this evening. My heart thrums against my chest and I stand, turning to greet the other two members of this dinner party.

But it's just Blake.

His glances around the room, his gaze ending with me. Just having his eyes clashing against mine turn my insides to liquid. Half of me wants to greet him with open arms, begging him to take me back to the hotel and pick up where we left off this morning. The other half wants to clock him square in the jaw.

I can't help but notice that my boss did in fact take the time to change his outfit. His earlier suit has been exchanged for an all gray one – gray slacks, gray pants, a light gray undershirt shirt, and a dark gray tie. He looks 'fuck me' good.

Yea, never said that before. I heard Jared say it a few times, and I never wasted the opportunity to chide him for it. This time though, it kind of fits.

Blake adjusts the cufflink on his left wrist and breaks our gaze to study the multiple glasses of wine in front of me.

"I see you've been waiting on me for awhile?"

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