The waitress came back and poured their wine and another server brought a large salad bowl to the table.
Ivy sipped her wine.
Xavier began using tongs to put salad on her plate and then his, as he spoke. “That must have been difficult for you,” Xavier said. “Having no father, being raised just by a single parent.”
“I didn’t know anything else. And my mother was very attentive and loving. Maybe even too attentive. I was always incredibly sheltered growing up. She was afraid of anything happening to me—I was her only child. We were quite close.”
It was strange, Ivy thought. She’d had sex with Cullen and yet he’d never asked her any of these questions about her life. She was so much more comfortable in Xavier’s presence.
Yet she felt somehow guilty for enjoying the conversation, for being so relaxed and at ease with a man who was showing romantic interest. As if she was betraying Cullen.
“Are you still close with your mother?” Xavier asked, swirling his wine in his glass.
“Yes, but now I’m an adult with my own life, sort of.” She laughed. “It was hard for her when I went away to…college…” the last of Ivy’s sentence trailed off as she stared out the window.
Cullen Sharpe was outside the restaurant, pacing back and forth. He was maybe ten feet away, and he looked intensely upset. His face was drawn and pale, his eyes staring ahead, not looking at them.
But she knew he’d seen them eating in the window. Why else was he out there?
“What’s wrong?” Xavier asked, turning in his seat to look out the window at what she was seeing.
“He’s here,” she groaned.
“Of course he is,” Xavier muttered in frustration, throwing his napkin on the table. “Is he making you nervous?”
“A little bit,” she admitted, trying not to stare at Cullen Sharpe as he stood there in front of the restaurant, looking like a man possessed. “But we should maybe just ignore him.”
“Sharpe and I go way back,” Xavier told her. “We’re not just running similar businesses now. We also were residents together at Boston City Hospital.”
She was having a hard time focusing on the conversation, because she couldn’t take her eyes off of Cullen.
“Were you friendly?” she asked.
“Somewhat,” Xavier said. And then he leaned forward and his hand grabbed her hand firmly but gently on the table. “I also know a lot of people who’ve worked with him over the years. The man is not what you think, Ivy. He has skeletons in his closet—big ones. And when they’re exposed to the light, I worry for anyone who might happen to be near him when the shit hits the fan.”
She didn’t know what to say. Xavier withdrew his hand and sat back in his seat as Cullen finally approached the door of the restaurant, opened it and came inside.
“Shit,” she whispered. “Here he comes.”
Xavier started laughing, shaking his head in amusement. “This should be interesting.”
But Ivy wasn’t laughing. Her entire body was numb. Why was he here? Was it yet another ridiculous coincidence?
Either way, she told herself to stop freaking out. She wasn’t doing anything wrong.
Of course, she knew Cullen probably wouldn’t see it her way.
He came into the restaurant with a purpose, and from the moment he entered, his eyes were locked on her.
Cullen was dressed in a stunning dark suit—his usual look, but somehow today he looked sexier than ever. Maybe it was his fury, his anger, his intensity.
His eyes were like a cold, empty sky—and his lips stood out against the paleness of his skin and the darkness of his suit and hair.
When he reached their table, he didn’t bother saying ‘excuse me’ or ‘sorry for interrupting,’ or even to acknowledge the presence of his rival.
“Get up,” was all he said. His tone was clipped, his lips hardly moved.
Ivy swallowed drily as she looked up at him. “What are you doing here?”
“That doesn’t matter. Now get up,” he said.
Xavier chuckled. “Relax, Cullen. We’re just chatting over some light Italian food.”
Cullen didn’t turn to look at Xavier. His gaze was still fixed on Ivy. “Did you hear me?” he asked.
She frowned. “You have no right—“
“Three seconds,” Cullen said.
“What?”
“You have three seconds to get up and come with me. Or else—“
Xavier reached out to touch Cullen’s arm. “Buddy, chill out for a second, will you? You’re making the girl very nervous.”
Cullen jerked his arm away from the man and his fists clenched. He swiveled his head and looked at his rival for the first time since coming to the table. “Touch me and so help me, Montrose. I’ll put your head through the plate glass window.”
“That would be your style, Sharpe,” Xavier said, but the humor had left his voice. “Although maybe I’m not convinced you could do it as easily as you seem to think. Perhaps you’re head will end up going through that window first.”
Cullen’s lips curled. “I like my odds.”