take the chance that Gracie and Roman might reunite? Wouldn’t he want them as far apart as possible?
And what did that mean exactly?
Roman heard a soft snore and realized that Sutton had fallen asleep.
Dude, it doesn’t even matter. Sutton was dying, and Gracie had set very clear parameters for their relationship. They would go back to being good friends, like before, with the added bonus of incredible sex.
What man in his right mind would turn down a deal like that?
* * *
Roman didn’t call Gracie after the meeting. Which she took to mean that he couldn’t talk about what had been discussed. She understood confidentiality agreements. Every one of her employees was required to sign one. The fashion industry was rampant with espionage and backstabbing. It was the nature of the business.
Whatever had happened in there, her father didn’t want her to know about it, but she couldn’t deny that she was dying of curiosity. Yet she felt torn between wanting the truth and wondering if she was better off in the dark. All she did know for sure was that her father had divulged the information necessary for Roman to continue his search for Graham and Brooks’s father. Eve had called to let her know. She just didn’t know what that information was.
She had decided that if Sutton wanted her to know, he would tell her. Which was why when Roman picked her up later that evening she didn’t bring it up. It would only put him in an uncomfortable position, and she wanted this to be a good night. Though they had spoken on the phone every day since last Sunday, neither had had time to see one another. They’d both been too busy to take the time away from work.
But tonight was all about them. He was taking her to one of the hottest new restaurants in downtown Chicago. And one of the priciest. And he must have been in some sort of hurry because he was driving like a maniac, whipping around corners and going over the speed limit.
“You know that the restaurant isn’t going anywhere,” she told him, clutching the door as he took a turn at high speed.
Roman glanced her way, a wry grin on his face. “What’s the point of having a sports car if you can’t have fun with it?”
“There is a fine line between fun and idiocy,” she said, knowing that he had always been a thrill seeker, and fearless, which was probably why he had done so well in black ops.
He whipped around a curve in the road while she held on for dear life. “I’d like to get to dinner alive if it’s not too much trouble.”
With a smile he slowed and downshifted. Why did she get the feeling he was trying to rattle her chain? And why, deep down, did she kind of like it?
“You used to love going fast,” Roman said.
“Then I grew up.”
“That’s too bad. The Gracie I knew liked to take risks.”
She couldn’t help but feel defensive. “I’ve taken tons of risks. My business plan was aggressive, and extremely risky. I invested everything I had into my clothing line.”
“I’m not talking about financial risk. Money doesn’t count. Money isn’t real. If you lose it you can always earn it back. A real risk is the possibility of losing something priceless.”
She didn’t mean to say them, but the words just popped out of her mouth. “Like when you lost me.”
She expected a snarky reply or a witty comeback; instead he nodded, eyes forward, voice low, and said, “Yes, just like that.”
His words dripped with so much regret her heart hurt. What was wrong with her? She had been looking forward to this night all week. Why was she trying to sabotage it?
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. It’s the truth.”
“I know, but—”
“Gracie,” he said, reaching over to take her hand. “Don’t worry about it. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what I did and regret it. I would take it back if I could. But all I can do now is move forward.”
“I want to let it go,” she said. “I want to be over it. I want to trust you.”
“And you will when you’re ready.” He gave her hand a squeeze then let go to shift. “Just let it go tonight, so we can have a good time.”
“Okay,” she said, but still felt lousy for bringing it up in the first place. It was against her nature to hurt people, and when she did, she always felt awful. She was sure that right now she felt far worse for saying what she’d said than he had hearing it. Or maybe not.
They pulled up to the restaurant, a seafood and steak house that was receiving rave reviews, and the valet opened her door. Roman handed over his keys and they walked inside.
It would have made her night if he had taken her hand as they walked in, but friends didn’t do that sort of thing. She couldn’t be seen with him in public, looking so close and intimate. She could just imagine the chatter and gossip that would surely follow. Honestly it would be better if they weren’t seen in public together at all. The last thing she wanted was for this to get complicated.
The hostess greeted Roman by name and took their coats, then led them immediately to a table in a dimly lit enclosed patio away from the chatter, with a stunning view of Lake Michigan. The night sky was clear and the surface of the choppy water shimmered in the moonlight.
A candle illuminated the cloth-covered table, and rose petals lay scattered across the surface. Champagne sat chilling in a silver bucket beside it, and a single long-stem rose lay across her napkin.
Simple and elegant, and it stole her breath. This kind of gesture was the last thing she had expected from a “friend.”
Just getting the reservation must have been a feat. She knew for a fact that they were booked months in advance, and anyone getting in on a few days’ notice had to have some pull. And they were sitting in the absolute prime seats of the establishment.
Roman had pulled out all of the stops and she had nearly ruined the night with her big mouth, by making him feel bad for something he already clearly regretted. Though she hated to admit it, there were times when bits of her father came out in her own personality. She loved him, and respected him as a businessman. But as a person, he’d done nothing but let her down, and served as a terrible example of how a man should be. Which was probably why she’d been so attracted to Roman. He couldn’t have been more different than Sutton in practically every way.
Their waiter, a youngish and very attractive guy—probably a college student—appeared immediately. He greeted Roman by name, offered them each a leather-bound menu and poured the champagne. Without even looking at the menu Roman ordered what had always been her favorite appetizer. Though she considered herself a modern and independent woman, knowing that Roman still knew her so well, she didn’t mind that he’d ordered without asking what she wanted.
“To new beginnings,” he said, toasting the night with a gentle clink of the delicate crystal flutes.
She took a sip then set her glass down. “I’m curious. How did you get a reservation
