“I’ve got this. Next round’s on you.”
She glanced at me, frowned, nodded, and then made her way out of the vehicle. The lunchtime rush was in full swing when we stepped inside Tom’s restaurant. It wasn’t a fancy place, but it was always busy; and given that it had only been open for two years, it was doing pretty well. Tom and I had gone to school together, and even back then he’d been obsessed with becoming a chef and opening his own restaurant. I don’t think either of us ever expected him to end up running one of the most popular kitchens in New York, but then again, neither did we expect I’d become rugby’s reluctant bad boy.
And yes, I do cringe every time I have to say that.
Placing my hand at the base of Annie’s spine—this time without her flinching—I ushered her in as a waitress led us to a table and handed us two menus. Annie took the seat across from mine and didn’t even open her menu to take a look.
“Not hungry anymore?” I asked, lifting a brow.
She pulled out her phone and ran her finger down the screen, her attention on her messages or whatever she was checking. “I am. I just know what I want already. I’ve been here before a few times.”
I grinned. “Ah, I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
Her new blush was minuscule, but it was definitely there. I heard Tom approach before I saw him. “Well, would you look who it is, Mr. Muscles. I hope you don’t think you’re getting any of that steamed broccoli bullshit again. I refuse to cook food without a taste.”
I stood and patted my auburn-haired friend on the shoulder. “You’ll make what I ask for.”
He only snorted in response before his attention fell on Annie. “And who’s this fine young lady?”
“Annie, Tom, Tom, Annie,” I said, making the introductions.
Annie smiled widely, her attention no longer on her phone. In fact, she seemed overjoyed to be making Tom’s acquaintance. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tom. I eat here all the time. You’re an amazing chef.”
Fuck me. Was she fangirling him?
He winked, took her hand, and brought it to his mouth for a kiss, the chancer. “The pleasure is all mine.” Then he turned back to me and shook his head.
“Look at you, dressed up to the 4 ?’s. Couldn’t you have made more of an effort for beautiful Annie here?”
I glanced down at the jeans and T-shirt I was wearing.
“Oh, we’re not on a date. I’m….”
“She’s teaching me how to twatter,” I interrupted.
“Sounds dirty,” Tom chuckled. “Well, I’d better be getting back to the kitchen. The world can’t wait any longer for my culinary genius.”
He left, and Annie was still smiling at his retreating form.
“You little flirt,” I declared, leaning my elbows on the table and grinning. “So, is that what it takes to bring out your coquettish side, a chef?”
Her expression quickly sobered. “I was being polite to your friend.”
“Uh-huh.”
The waitress returned to take our orders, and Annie asked for the jambalaya. I made a special request for mashed potatoes without the butter and cream, two steamed chicken breasts, and a raw spinach salad. Tom always liked to slag me off about my OCD meal plans; but if I wanted to reach my physical goals, then I couldn’t afford to slack. Yeah, sometimes the food was boring as hell, but my nutritionist tailored my diet to fit my lifestyle perfectly.
Annie was on her phone again, so I reached across the table and touched her wrist. “Hey, I don’t know about you, but in my book, it’s rude to ignore someone when you’re having a meal together.”
Her eyes were on my hand rather than my face when she replied, “Our food hasn’t arrived yet.”
“That’s beside the point, Annie. Put down the electronic tit for half a second, and talk to me. That’s what we’re here to do, isn’t it?”
She set her phone down on the table, and I withdrew my hand. “I apologize, Mr. Fitzpatrick. I was emailing my assistant, Gerta—I believe you two have made one another’s acquaintance via phone and email—about your Twitter account. She’s going to forward you the login information alongside a tutorial on how to use the site.”
“I bet that’ll be riveting stuff.”
She ignored my sarcastic comment and continued to detail the ins and outs of social networking. The topic bored me, but fortunately I was mesmerized by the way her mouth moved when she spoke and the soft, melodic quality of her voice. Plus, it definitely wasn’t a hardship to look at her.
She’d gotten a good ten minutes of talking in when our food arrived, and then she was quiet as she ate. I found myself sitting back and watching her. Similar to when I’d spotted her with the éclair that first time, she was so completely into her food, and it was too fucking sexy. I had no idea why I found it sexy, but there you had it.
Before I met Annie, I’d never really noticed much about female eating habits—probably because my ex, Brona, ate a diet of black coffee and garden salads.
Yeah, that’s right; she took her coffee black to match her heart, I mused bitterly.
“So, what’s with the wardrobe change?” I asked. “Let me guess—those first two times I saw you were laundry days?”
She suppressed a smile, and I was pleased that I’d amused her.
“My boss, Joan, is trying to get me to dress more appropriately at the office. Apparently, my lack of style isn’t good when dealing with…clients.” She seemed a little bit distressed by this which made me think she wasn’t too happy with the idea.
It irritated me because Annie was clearly a beautiful woman, and I thought Joan might be trying to capitalize on that appeal by sexing her up. Despite the fact that I wanted her in my bed, the thought of other male clients being more amenable to working with the firm because of Annie made me clench my fists under the table. My angry protectiveness was a little unexpected, but then again, I’d always hated when people who were too timid to stick up for themselves got taken advantage of.
“Don’t let Joan bully you. You should only ever wear what you feel comfortable in.”
My words seemed to surprise her. “It’s fine. Joan’s just, well, Joan.”
I reached forward and took her hand in mine, and she let me. “I can have a word with her if you want, tell her to back off. Just because she’s a woman doesn’t mean she can’t be accused of sexism in the workplace. I doubt she’s ever told Ian to stop wearing those shapeless brown slacks to work just because they aren’t stylish.”
“That’s not necessary, Ronan. I can handle Joan.”
I tried not to show my surprise when she used my first name. She pulled her hand out of mine and held her chin high. I didn’t push further, sensing she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Still, I was going to say something to Joan, with or without Annie’s consent. Making the girl wear things she didn’t want to was fucked up.
I finished my food, and the next time I looked up, I found Annie staring at me. It was unexpected because usually she went out of her way to avoid eye contact. A slow smile spread across my face.
“Having a good look, are you?” I said and ran a hand down my chest. “This is what you’re missing out on, Annie. I bet you wish you’d said yes to dinner now.” I put extra emphasis on the word to convey that, by “dinner,” I did not mean dinner.
“How did you get your scars?” she blurted, completely changing the subject, and it sounded like she hadn’t meant to ask the question.
I raised a brow and pointed to the one below my eye. “This one I got from falling off a horse when I was a teenager, believe it or not. The family who lived next door to me would have horses every now and again, and like the stupid shit that I was, I thought I’d have a go. Could’ve broken my neck.”
“Ouch.” She winced and then continued, “That must have been a pretty fancy place, to have horses.”
Immediately, I burst out laughing.