hadn’t looked in her direction at all, so it took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her. She lifted her eyes to his and had to grip the bar’s counter to steady herself when his hazel gaze met hers. A little pop exploded in her tummy and she suddenly felt like she was a fizzy bottle of champagne whose cork had just been released.
He was handsome. More than handsome. His clenched jaw was chiseled, yet serious, and his sad eyes didn’t look the least apologetic. Nor did they seem very predatory.
Her eyes were drawn to his hands again and she noticed something funny about the way his suit jacket hit his wrists. She realized the man was wearing cufflinks—and expensive-looking ones at that. They were small gold-plated squares that had some type of an insignia embossed on them—an anchor maybe, but she couldn’t tell for sure without getting too close.
And Mia knew better than to get too close.
Whoever this GP guy was, he seemed more upset with his father than intent on hitting on her. She kept her purse clenched tightly next to her side, but exhaled enough to loosen some of the tension in her body.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, as the bartender set a small leather folder in front of her. “I was just getting ready to go anyway.”
“Please, don’t leave on my account. I didn’t mean to disturb you. In fact—” he reached for her bill “—let me pay for your drink.”
“No,” she said a bit too loudly. “I’m not leaving.”
He looked at the bill she had scooped up before he could grab it.
“I mean, I was leaving. But not because of you.”
He smiled and his even white teeth softened his expression, making him appear more boyish, rather than hawkish. Swiftly, that fizzy sensation bubbled throughout her entire bloodstream. Wow. How strong had her vodka and tonic been? She would’ve stood up and ran out of the lounge, but she now couldn’t trust her normally well-muscled legs to hold her petite frame.
Harry Chapin began singing from GP’s pocket again. “Crap. I’m sorry, I have this new phone and I can’t figure out how to turn it off.”
He held up the ringing device with the contact name of “Dad” lighting up the screen. It was the same model as hers, and she was an expert at screening calls.
“Here,” she said, taking it from him. “You just tap on this red dot and then, once the call goes to voice mail, you go to Settings...” He leaned in toward her and she could smell his musky citrus cologne. She didn’t dare make eye contact with him again—not when they were this close. Instead, she stared intently at the screen as her fingers keyed in all the appropriate commands to effectively silence his phone.
“Then how do I turn it back on? You know, like next week when my dad calms down a little and finally accepts the fact that I want to live my own life and not follow in his footsteps?”
Yep, this guy definitely had daddy issues. But really, who was she to judge?
“Well, if he’s anything like my mom—” she couldn’t stop the shudder that raised bumps on her bare arms “—I doubt it will only take a week.”
“You don’t know the half of it. But I do need this phone for work, so as tempting as it might be, I can’t stay off the grid forever.”
She nodded at his true statement. As much as Mia had tried to hide out these past couple of years, it was impossible to disappear completely. At least not without losing a part of herself. And if she lost any more of herself, she wondered what would be left.
“In that case, you can just block his number like this, but still get calls from everyone else.” She tapped away at his screen. “Of course, this will only work until he catches on and tries calling from an unblocked number.”
“Hmm. Sneaky. But my father’s pretty resourceful, so I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“My mother learned to call me from my great-aunt Nonnie’s rest home, knowing I couldn’t not answer. I’m sure your dad will figure out a way eventually. I find it’s best to just take the call, let them lecture you for exactly two and half minutes and then pretend you have a UPS delivery at the door that you need to sign for and disconnect the call.”
The man who’d been called GP laughed loudly enough to draw the attention of the piano player and the bartender. If she thought his smile made her insides all bubbly, his laughter made her want to melt.
Seriously, what kind of person made jokes about wacky family members with someone she’d never even met? Apparently, the same person who was still sitting here grinning like a giddy schoolgirl at the good-looking man.
He slipped his phone back inside his inner jacket pocket and when he did so, his hand rooted around before pulling out something else. He tossed a velvet-covered box on the bar and then looked up to the ceiling before running his hand over his forehead. The case looked like something that would hold jewelry—an engagement ring perhaps. The thought that this man was walking around with such an item, yet appeared to be so frustrated and let down, made her wonder what exactly had happened to him earlier this evening.
“That’s a pretty swanky-looking box,” Mia said.
“My father thought so when he gave them to me.” The man opened the case to reveal a set of black onyx cuff links, the initials GPM embossed in gold over each one.
“They’re very nice.” Mia forced a polite smile, wondering why the man had such a wry look on his face.
“He said they’re to remind me of who I am and where I came from.” GP, whose last name must begin with an M, took another drink of his scotch. “The irony of the gift is that my father detests cuff links. In fact, he hates the way I dress altogether.”
Mia leaned back so she could get a better look at his suit. As far as she could see, the man was dressed impeccably. Sure, maybe it was a little too tailored, a bit too metropolitan chic for Idaho standards. After all, this was Boise. Who wore such luxurious accessories in this part of the country?
Bolo ties, yes, but cuff links, no.
Maybe his father was some potato farmer who thought his son had gotten a little too fancy for his britches. Her own mother was the exact opposite. Every time she saw Mia, she chastised her for wearing her workout clothes around town and told her she had the potential of landing the coveted position of trophy wife, if only she’d put in some effort with her appearance.
“I take it your father isn’t a suit man?”
“You could say that. Dad likes to describe himself as anti-establishment. He’s what you’d call a free spirit and prefers to dress like he’s just been eighty-sixed from a Beach Boys concert. Which never made sense to me, considering his education and what he does for a living. He calls me his rebel child.”
“You don’t look like much of a rebel,” she said. He looked like an international businessman about to close a multibillion-dollar deal.
“I’ll tell him you said so next time he calls.” He gave the jewelry case a slight tap and it slid down the smooth bar a couple of inches. “So two and a half minutes, huh?”
He took another sip of the single malt scotch that was the
