Claire gripped the table, forcing herself to not turn around. Instead, she watched Will’s reflection in the glass of a huge black-and-white photo of the New York skyline. He wasn’t alone.
“Oh my God,” Heather whispered. “He’s with that model chick. The tall, black-haired one with the legs for days whose picture was on that billboard at the Astoria station a couple of years ago. You know the one. The ad for those designer jeans with the rhinestones on the ass?”
Claire squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed the lump in her throat. I will not turn around, I will not turn around, I will not turn around.
Will’s reflection slid off the side of the glass as he was seated at a table somewhere behind her.
Heather flagged the waiter down. “Two more glasses of merlot.” She tapped Claire’s arm. “Unless you want something stronger.”
“No. Nothing for me, thank you,” she murmured. Her chest felt too tight to breathe.
The waiter nodded and headed off, and she released her white-knuckle death grip on the edge of the table and slipped her purse from the back of the chair to her lap. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Not unless you want him to see you. So far, he’s looked at nothing but the hot model.”
“So?”
“So, you have to face him at work tomorrow and you have a date. How awkward do you want it to be? Sit still a moment.” Her eyes flitted back to the couple somewhere behind and to the right of Claire. “They refused menus, so they’re probably just having drinks. If they leave first, he won’t know you saw him out with Sparkle Jeans the same day he hit on you.”
“He didn’t hit on me. He asked me out. And the only reason you want me to stay is to see what happens.”
“Damn right, I do. Don’t you?”
“No.”
The waiter delivered Heather’s wine, and Claire buried her face in her hands. Maybe she’d call in sick tomorrow. Hell, she wouldn’t be too far off. Her stomach was about to heave-ho. “I’m not sticking around to see if he scores. Thanks for dinner.” Claire stood, gathered her purse, and without glancing in the direction she knew Will had gone, exited the restaurant.
Chapter Six
Well, shit. Will should’ve known someone from the office would spot him in this restaurant. He just wished it had been someone other than Claire. Anyone but Claire. She hadn’t made eye contact as she’d rushed for the door, but there was no way she’d missed seeing him. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Suzanne cleared her throat. “Earth to William.”
“I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll be in the city for a while.”
She ran her finger around the rim of her glass in a calculated, sensual stroke and met his eyes. “How long?”
From the moment they’d met up, she’d been coming on way too strong. She had no interest whatsoever in just chatting. She had an agenda, and it wasn’t to catch up on old times. “I’m not sure yet.”
She reached across and placed her hand over his. “Well, you’re here tonight, at least.”
This was a terrible idea. He should never have agreed to meet. He shifted in his chair, pulling his hand away from hers, and glanced over at a table occupied by a lone redheaded woman fiddling with her phone. A bowl and an empty wineglass sat abandoned at the place opposite her. The woman met his eyes and grinned. Shit.
“Something wrong?” Suzanne asked, withdrawing her hand from the table.
“No. I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted.” His eyes snapped to hers. She wasn’t wearing the smoldering, seductive look she’d been using on him since they met outside the Anderson Building; it was a sympathetic smile.
“It’s okay, Will. I get it.” She gestured to him, then back to herself. “There’s nothing here. You’re not ready.”
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. She smelled like one of those expensive clothing stores his mom used to drag him to when he was little. “Thanks for the drink.” She collected her purse, rose, and took a few steps toward the door. “Call me if anything changes.”
Suzanne’s tall heels clicked on the tile floor as she sauntered toward the exit, but her practiced gait did nothing for Will. He closed his eyes and pictured Claire scrambling awkwardly to collect the items that had spilled out of her purse on the elevator. And then there was the glimpse of that pink thong through the rip in the back of her skirt. Yep. That did it. He placed his napkin higher on his lap to cover the rising bulge in his pants and took another sip of his drink.
When he glanced to his right, the redhead saluted him with her wineglass, then chugged the contents. He turned to glance out of the restaurant window, see if he could spot Claire anywhere outside, but he was met with a sidewalk full of strangers. Maybe he could find out her companion’s connection to Claire. As he rose to go speak with her, she scooted out the door just as Claire had—as if she’d seen a ghost.