from where Adeline sits, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Despite her response, Grant nods his head in agreement, no doubt preparing to open his mouth and say something that will drag across my nerves like sandpaper.
“You and I think alike, Harrison. It took some work,” he looks at Adeline, smiling, “but she’s finally figured out a good routine that keeps her busy.”
Hand fisting on my lap beneath the table, I imagine all the ways I can kill him with the silverware sitting in front of me. I have a preference for the spoon, only because it would take longer and be more painful.
Fate prevents the slaughter when a server steps up to the table, interrupting our conversation with a practiced voice that is required of the staff in places like this.
“Welcome to Gardenia...”
The rest of what he says is white noise in my head, the specials and recommendations lost on me as I stare at Grant Cabot with a level of hatred I rarely feel.
Forcing my attention away from Adeline’s husband, I glance up at the server in time for him to ask if we’re ready to order. He’s a decent looking man, probably ten years younger than me, making him Adeline’s age. Dressed in a white dress shirt with black slacks, he has a white cloth napkin draped over his arm, his expression patient despite wanting to move us along.
Grant isn’t alone in having no idea what half the crap on the menu is. I’m not a vegan like I claimed, so rather than giving a damn what I order, I stab a finger at one the selections, the server’s eyes dropping before he nods and says, “Excellent choice.”
I should hope so. The dish costs fifty dollars and will amount to a salad sprinkled over whatever the hell smoked aubergine is.
As confused as me, Grant looks my direction. “What did you order?”
The server answers for me, “He selected the smoked aubergine salad. It’s a personal favorite of mine.”
His brows tug together, an apologetic grin stretching his lips. “You’ll have to excuse my ignorance, but what’s aubergine?”
“Eggplant,” Adeline answers and my thoughts go directly to the emojis Grant used to describe their return flight home from their honeymoon.
For fuck’s sake. I won’t be able to eat now without thinking of his dick.
“Why not just say eggplant?” he asks.
Good fucking question...
“You know what, never mind. I’ll just take the same thing.”
I shouldn’t have chosen this place, but I did it as a special fuck you to the asshole sitting across from me. As a passive aggressive stab at his efforts to change everything there is about Adeline.
But when I learned Adeline would be joining us, I saw it as a happy coincidence and a way to endear myself to her.
Now, I will suffer the decision with a fake smile on my face.
Adeline rattles off her order before the server walks away, and we return to the conversation.
“When do you think you’ll be able to join us for dinner, Harrison?”
I hate how Grant keeps saying my name. It’s a psychological trick, one used by people attempting to sell you shit by making you feel included and important. He doesn’t realize it, but I see through his every attempt to lure me in and manipulate me.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I scroll over the screen like I don’t already have a date in mind, AKA: as soon as fucking possible.
“How’s tomorrow night? My schedule happens to be clear.”
“Wonderful,” he exchanges a glance with Adeline and snaps his fingers at her. “Make that happen.”
He actually snapped his fingers. Like she’s a dog there to fetch his slippers or roll over for whatever treat he might toss.
Prior to setting up this charade as a potential investor in Grant’s company, I’d considered killing the man and being done with it. Two reasons stopped me from taking that course of action.
One: I’d already killed Adeline’s father and caused suffering in her life. If there was a chance she truly loved her husband, I didn’t want to repeat the same mistake.
And two: I may be damn good at my job, but there’s an inherent risk to it, one that can’t easily be dismissed unless large sums of money are involved. It’s the difference between an assassin and a murderer. The former is worth the time and effort. The latter is a lack of emotional control in a psychopath, which I refuse to become.