Now he was talking about giving love a chance. A man like him who didn’t deserve shit. But he wanted Rosalind. It pained him just thinking about it, because he knew how selfish he was being. But he wanted her.
He wanted her so badly, and in such a great way, that he had been excited all day about her arrival. He hadn’t been excited about anything in years, but he was excited about her arrival. He sent his plane for her, and the plan was for him to meet her at the airstrip when the plane arrived. But the breach took precedent and he had to leave it to Deuce, his best and most trusted driver, to get her safely to his home. Then the plan changed again when he ended up on the outskirts of town handling the breach. He couldn’t do dirt like that and then go straight to her. He needed time alone. To decompress. To feel human again. So the plan changed again. But no more changes, he thought. He hadn’t seen Rosalind in weeks. He missed her. It was her time now.
And when she walked into the restaurant, he realized why he felt warmth just thinking about her. She looked stunning to him. The way she wore that dress. The way her hair, worn straight with a fluff of curls at the tip, bounced as she walked. The confidence she exuded would put supermodels to shame. But it was more than that. He missed her. He missed the way she made him laugh. He missed the way she knew how to put matters into perspective. And yes, he had to admit, he missed the way she made him feel when he fucked her.
He stood up as she smiled and made her way to his table. And the way, once she saw him she hurried to him, as if she was as excited to see him as he was to see her. It warmed his heart all over again. And when they met, they hugged and held each other for a long time. The Ma?tre d, who escorted her to the table, just stood there. But Mick didn’t care. He was not a man given to public displays of affection ever, but this was Rosalind. Everything was different when it came to her.
They finally stopped embracing, did a simple kiss on the lips, and sat down. And Mick was right. Rosalind was excited too.
“May I get you anything, ma’am?” the ma?tre d asked.
“Yes,” Roz said, handing him the glass of wine that sat in front of her. “A fresh drink.”
The ma?tre d seemed offended. “But ma’am, the drink in question was just brought to your table. It is fresh.”
Mick looked at him with those cold eyes Roz noticed he could turn on in a flash. “What did the lady tell you to do?” he asked.
The ma?tre d nearly lost his lunch. He saw the boss escort this man into the restaurant. “She told me to get her a fresh drink.”
“Get her a fresh drink,” Mick ordered.
The ma?tre d bowed, and left.
Roz didn’t think it was all that serious for Mick to intervene that way, but she was fairly certain that was just his way of doing business. Iron fist all the way. “Not that I think anything was wrong with that drink,” she pointed out. “Or that you did anything with it. Heavens no. But some creep put a roofie in my drink once. He didn’t get away with it. One of my girlfriends saw him and called him out on it. But I’ve been cautious ever since.”
Mick lifted his drink to her. “And so you should,” he said, pleased that she was nobody’s fool. “I would be disappointed if you weren’t.”
He sipped from his glass. She smiled. “So,” she said, unable to suppress her excitement. “We meet again, Mr. Sinatra!”
He couldn’t suppress his either. “Yes, we do, Miss Graham!”
“When I told my dad about you, and that I was coming to Philadelphia to spend some time with you and get to know you better, he---”
“He had many questions I’m sure.”
“Always.”
“Such as?” Mick asked. “No, let me guess. He wanted to know why I didn’t take my ass to New York. Why did you have to come see me? He said that, didn’t he?”
Roz laughed. “He did. Yes, he did.”
“I’m psychic,” Mick said. “For my services I should charge.”
“He also asked if you were some kin to, and I quote, ‘the great Frank Sinatra.’”
Mick nodded. He got that all the time too.
“I asked him who in the world was Frank Sinatra,” Roz said. “Well after he got up from the floor, he’s a musician, you see, he took me to school on who exactly Frank Sinatra was. But of course I already knew. I love teasing my pops that way. When I told him I was teasing, he laughed. He was more relieved than angry.”
Mick smiled. “He sounds like a good guy.”
Roz nodded. “He is. He’s my best friend. He still has his struggles with his career, and I have struggles with mine. We can relate to each other. We look out for each other.”