Love Like Her (Against All Odds #3) - Claudia Y. Burgoa Page 0,15

him and Dan. I’m trying to keep him happy. He’s not thrilled that after visiting Mom, I’m going to check out the University of Toronto.

If it were up to him, I’d go to Stanford or UCLA.

Staying in the suite waiting for Eros to visit would’ve been a thousand times better than two hours sitting cramped in a chair. Then again, what if he didn’t even show? He has a girlfriend. Why does he even want to see me? It’s Friday. He must be on a date and forgot about me. Okay, I can see I’m slightly bitter. He might not have a wife and children, but he has something to show. I don’t have anything that says, “Look, I’m older.”

When we enter the hotel, I spot Eros sitting on a leather couch. There’s a tumbler filled with amber liquid on the table in front of him. His attention is on his phone. I’m unsure if I should go to him or ignore him. The concierge approaches us and says, “Ms. Sierra, the gentleman over there is waiting for you.”

Dad cocks an eyebrow and stares at me. A second later, Eros is right in front of us. He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that molds like a second skin against his torso.

“Eros Brassard. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.” He extends a hand to Dad, who shakes it. “Otto Sierra, and this is my husband, Dan.”

Dan and Eros shake hands. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Hi,” I greet him.

“Would you like to take a walk around the city?”

“It’s a little late, don’t you think?” Dad says in a snippy tone.

“Otto.” Dan shakes his head.

I kiss his cheek, then Dad’s, and say, “I’ll be back soon.”

“Olivia,” Dad grunts.

I wave and pull Eros with me.

“Sorry,” I apologize, unsure if it’s because of my father’s scowl or for not being here when he arrived. “Were you waiting for long?”

“No. I had a few things to do at the office. The concierge told me you’d be arriving soon, so I chose to wait.”

There’s a red light, and while we are waiting for it to change, I glance at him and dare to ask, “No date night today with the girlfriend?”

“Things with Tiffany are just starting. We both work a lot, so it’s convenient to grab something to eat when we have some free time or go for a drink on a Saturday night after finishing a long day at work,” he pauses, “but it’s nothing serious.”

“You work on Saturday?”

He nods. “And Sunday. If I want to make it big, I have to work my ass off. Some weeks I work almost eighty hours.”

The light changes, and as we start to walk, he grabs my hand. “It’s kind of like paying my dues. Everyone has to do it.”

“Obviously, I don’t understand,” I claim. “But that’s a lot of time working on… I mean, who are you helping while you do it? I’m not judging.”

I stop because maybe he’s like Dad. My grandma was a single mother who had to work two or three jobs to pay the rent and bring food to the table. Dad worked hard since he was able to have a newspaper route. Though, in the past few years, he’s changed the vision of his company. He went from being just a construction company to planning and building developments that are sustainable. He uses recycled material. They have solar panels, windmills, and so much more. I recall Eros’s parents didn’t have much money. Maybe he’s a lot like Dad in that sense. They want to build a future where their families won’t lack what they did.

“At some point, you might want to figure out a way to slow down before you turn forty and realize that you’ve been spending all your life working and not enjoying it.”

He grins. “It’s not all work. There’s the occasional weekend when I go to Colorado to visit my family, hike a fourteener, and skydive.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Do we need a destination? I really don’t have anything in mind. I just wanted to catch up with you. Fifteen minutes wasn’t enough.”

“It wasn’t.”

“We could have a drink. There’s a bar close by that’s quiet.” He arches his eyebrow. “You can drink, right?”

I burst into laughter. “I’m twenty-two.”

“You’re still a kid.”

“And you’re close to reaching senior citizen status.” I shrug. “It’s the circle of life.”

“I’m not that old.”

“I’m not that young,” I argue. “I kind of understand why you freaked out, but