I don’t know why.
He sees me and I can’t stop my heart from kicking faster. “Twice in two weekends?” He smiles, his eyes glinting in the evening light. “Somebody up there has a sense of humor.”
“No kidding,” I agree.
He’s wearing slacks and a gabardine, and he looks decadent. Making it even harder for me to stay calm.
We begin walking side by side toward Washington Square.
“You didn’t call,” he says. He eyes me sideways.
“I will. I just have other things on my mind. My roommate was really distraught last weekend. I’ve been looking for more clients so that she can join my dog-walking escapades.”
I realize what I said sounds lame. I don’t want him to think I let other things keep me from doing what I really want to, so I add, “And I’ve been quoting an office space, a marketing budget, the works.”
“Good. I was concerned I’d discouraged you.”
“You have a lot of experience. People with experience have been discouraging me for a while.” I shrug.
“Who are these people?”
“Losers, all of them. Just richer.”
“’Fess up. Names. Addresses,” Christos says.
“Oh haha.” I smile. “The loaning institutions.”
He frowns, then he leads us into a small café and summons a waitress, giving her a warm smile. “Hi, there. Would you hold this little pooch for us, please? Thank you.”
She seems flustered by him, for the waitress nods dumbly and takes the leash from my hand without a glance in my direction—her eyes never leaving Aaric’s face.
He sits down at a small table and kicks the chair out so that I can sit with him.
“I’m supposed to be walking Missy, not talking to you,” I object.
He winks at the waitress. “Would you walk her up and down the block for a few minutes?” He hands her a bill. “I’ll double that if you bring her back safe and happy in fifteen minutes.”
“Aaric.” I’m amazed, shaking my head. “I think you’re having trouble realizing this”—I motion—“is not your office. You’re not her boss, mine, or the dog’s, or the dog’s owner.”
He leans back and looks at me with smirking eyes.
“You can’t just do what you want and get away with it!” I say.
“See…if you want to own your own business…those invisible lines you want to keep yourself inside?” He moves his head sideways decisively. “Need to disappear. No limits to anything you can do. Or have.”
I smile as we order drinks. I order more coffee, hoping to keep working tonight, but he orders wine.
“So why did you look me up?” he asks, watching me across the table.
“Bankers don’t go into this sort of thing.” I shake my head. “Not big risks and definitely not from someone with hardly any credit to her name.”
“You’re right.”
“You think I’m crazy?” I ask.
He just stares at me, his watchful gaze making me nervous.
“A lot of people have thought of crazier stuff that works,” I say.
“You can make anything work in this day and age with hard work and a good marketing campaign. I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re crazy if you don’t call me tomorrow. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get me to hear anything?” His brows go up cockily.
“I do.”
“I’ve got a full schedule for weeks. If you stop by 6:30 we can discuss some more,” he says then.
My stomach dips in excitement and dread. “Okay. Yes. 6:30 p.m. on Monday.”
I purse down on my smile and bite it from the inside, trying not to let my nerves and joy show too much.
“Can’t believe you still do that,” he mutters.
“What?”
“Bite down on your lips like that—from the inside. Beneath your top lip.”
I release my lips. “I don’t do that,” I counter.
“You just did.”
“I didn’t.”
He signals with his index finger. “You just did again.”
“Ugh! I’m so annoying,” I cry, laughing.
He chuckles. “You’re adorable,” he says plainly.
We are laughing one second—and the next we are sober.
“So you’ve been with her for long?”
“Miranda?” he asks. “Six months, give or take.”
“A record for you?”
He shrugs. “You could say that.”
“Soul mates?”
“I don’t believe in that.”
“Really?”
“Come on. I’m practical.” He frowns. “Do I look like someone who gets caught up in the fanciful stuff?”
I shrug.
“I’m thirty-two, bit.”
“So? One can be romantic at any age.” I laugh when he doesn’t even smile in agreement. God, this man is gorgeous. Gorgeous and very hard to read. “My best friend Becka and I discovered a site called the Soul Mate Site. I love reading it. It preaches that you won’t meet your soul mate until you’re on your soul’s path—so we all better do what we came here to do.”
“What did you come here to do?” he asks. He sounds interested.
“I suppose what makes us happy is a good indicator.”
“Sometimes it’s what we’re good at,” he says.
I laugh. “Yeah. Maybe. But then you’re not thinking you’re with your soul mate. You might not be on the right path yet.”
“It’s the only path I’m going to be on.”
I smile. “I heard about you when you made your first million. I was happy for you. You deserve it. While everyone partied you worked, but when you got to the parties you partied hard.”
He leans back and crosses his hands behind his head. “I like going all out on everything,” he says cockily.
“So are you going all out with your girlfriend?”
He drops his arms. “We’ll see,” he says. Gruff.
He scrapes his jaw as he stares at a spot past my shoulder in frustration. I realize it’s little Missy coming back from her walk.
“I better go. I should probably go to bed early, catch some rest,” I say. “You too. I mean. Not together. Alone.”
“I know what you mean,” he says, taking care of the tab and handing a bill to the waitress.
We head out of the café. I lead Missy to the sidewalk where I see his car is pulling over.
It’s a cool night. I feel like curling into him for warmth. My nose feels red, and it’s only fall. Christos looks tall and powerful and so warm that it is a feat not to throw myself at him.
“See you Monday,” I say.
“Does Missy want a ride?” he asks.
“Oh no, she’s good,” I say.
“How about Wicked Miss Kelly.”
I laugh, blushing so hard the cold fades away.
“Hop in, I’ll drop you off,” he says.
“I’m fine, thanks. Really,” I insist. “Let’s keep it professional.”
His eyebrows pull down, and he takes a step, looking down at me in a mix of confusion, frustration, and amusement. “I offered you a ride, Bryn. Not a hotel room.”
I laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” I take a step back and trip over a break in the sidewalk. “I’m within walking distance.”
He frowns and steps forward, putting his hand over my waist to keep me from falling. His hand feels so warm I suck up the warmth like a junkie. “You really frustrate me sometimes,” he confesses. “You always have.”
“What do you mean? Always?”
He smiles, and his hand remains on me for a heart-pounding second. He gradually pulls it free, and I walk away as reluctantly as he removed his hand.
Christos
9 years ago…