Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,41

on the entryway table before leading me further into the apartment. Surprisingly, while the colors weren’t warm, it didn’t have the chill I’d expected. The gray couch begged to be slept on with its fluffy pillows and throw blanket. I wanted to slip out of my pumps and dig my toes into the cream area rug designating the living room in the open space.

All of it said comfort, even if it did look impersonal.

To top it all off, the sun going down over Central Park made everything else almost irrelevant.

“This is beautiful.”

“Not a bad view. I’d offer to eat outside, but it rained earlier, and humidity is making the summer heat close to unbearable.”

“Of course.”

“The dining room’s view isn’t bad, though.”

The wall of glass extended the entire length of the open room, encompassing the living room, dining room, and modern kitchen.

I followed him to the long wooden table. “Do you have many guests?”

“No.”

“Oh. It’s just a big table.”

“I didn’t pick much of this out. I had a say in the bedroom, office, and living room since I spend most of my time there. Otherwise, I left it to the designer.”

“Oh.”

So eloquent, I scolded myself, fighting to keep from rolling my eyes.

“Wine?”

My lingering headache almost had me saying no, but my tight shoulders and tingling nerves had me nodding my head.

Dinner melted on my tongue. By far, one of the best risottos I’d ever had.

“This is phenomenal.”

“Thank you. My grandmother loved to cook and made sure I knew all her recipes.”

“You made this?” I almost spit my food out.

“I’m a grown man in his thirties. I know how to feed myself.”

“I kind of just assumed you ordered out.”

“I do, for the most part, but it’s mostly for convenience. I don’t have time to cook like I want to.”

“Well, thank you for this. It really is amazing. My mother made an amazing risotto, but she never taught me.”

“Maybe I can show you one day.”

My eyes lifted to his across the table, the first hint of our conversation to come settling between us. His full lips slid across his fork, and his sharp jaw flexed under the thick scruff he wore so well.

With the sunset behind him, his dark eyes held none of the glints of hazel I’d seen before. They looked so deep I could get lost in them if I went too far.

I dropped my gaze back to my plate, trying to ignore the warm rush in my chest. He may have been relaxed, but we met on his turf. I needed to treat this like a business meeting on enemy territory. If the last day taught me anything, it was that I needed to stand on my own. I needed to let go of the fairy tales and hope that it’d all work out.

Conversation died a quick death after his comment. I avoided eye contact, and the longer the meal dragged on, the more worried I became that he really would say he’d made a mistake and fire me. Maybe I read his comment wrong.

From the corner of my eyes, I watched him calmly set his napkin across his plate and lean back in his chair. I didn’t have to look up to know his eyes were on me. I felt them, like a burning touch—like a whisper urging me to look up and face the truth.

Shit. He was going to fire me. Why couldn’t he have just let me walk out last night?

I held my breath, but when spots danced in front of my eyes, I let it all rush out and sat up, lifting my chin, ready to conquer the situation no matter what it held. “Look, if you’re going to fire me, then just do it. I was drunk, and you were shocked. I understand if you changed your mind. You don’t need to soften the blow with dinner and wine.”

His lips tipped softly as if he found my rant amusing.

When he still didn’t say anything, I slapped my napkin down and waited. “Well?”

“I wasn’t wining and dining you to soften a blow. I was just hungry and thought we could eat before talking about anything too serious.”

“Oh…” Back to being the eloquent graduate from Wharton. Awesome. “So, you still mean what you offered?”

“Yes.”

Our eyes locked as if waiting for the other to flinch first. In the end, it was me because one question burned that I couldn’t figure out in all of it.

“Why? Obviously, I get out of a marriage to a monster. But, then again…”