The Wrong Right Man - Aurora Rose Reynolds Page 0,7

takes the next exit. “His band plays at her club every Friday and Saturday.” I watch him turn into a hidden driveway and up to the valet parking lane out front of a restaurant named Altura.

“Are they any good?”

“Pardon?” I look at him, finding his eyes on me.

“Your brother’s band, are they any good?”

“The best.” It’s not a lie. They are one of the most popular bands in Seattle, and if things go as planned, they will soon be signed to a record label and sent out on tour.

“I’d like to hear them sometime.” He graces me with a smile before opening his door. He leaves the engine running and gets out, walking around the hood. I see him shake his head at the attendant who approaches my side of the car to let me out, and my stomach flips as he opens my door and holds out his hand.

I take it, allowing him to help me down, and then walk at his side into the restaurant. “This place is nice.” I look around the dark interior that is decorated in warm browns and golds, with each table seeming private and intimate, lit with only candlelight. “Really nice.” I tip my head back to look at him and catch his eyes flash with desire.

“Good evening, do you have a reservation?” the maître d’ asks when we reach the podium.

“We don’t have a reservation,” I whisper, and Adam chuckles before he turns toward the older balding man wearing a suit with a red bowtie.

Recognition fills the man’s expression and he clears his throat. “Sorry, Mr. Adams, of course.” He dips his chin at Adam—or is Adam his last name? Then he smiles at me. “If you’ll both follow me.”

“You made a reservation for tonight?” I ask as he takes my hand and walks with me through the open room toward a set of stairs that lead to what I’m guessing is the top floor.

“I have a standing reservation.” He lifts my hand and kisses my fingers, catching me off guard, and judging by the look on his face, he didn’t do it on purpose.

“You have a standing reservation here?” My tone is filled with surprise, because I am surprised. Who has a standing reservation at a place like this?

“I like the food here.” He shakes his head at the maître d’ before he can pull out my chair for me and comes around to stand behind me to do it himself.

I take the seat when he nods for me to do so then accept a menu. I hold it up, nibbling my bottom lip and trying to figure out who this guy is. I know I was a little drunk as I listened to Maggie tell me about him, but I feel like I would remember her saying he’s loaded. Okay, I don’t know that he’s loaded, but judging by his ride and the cost of an appetizer at this place, I’m going to assume he is. Then there’s the fact that the maître d’ addressed him as Mr. Adams, meaning Adam is his last name not first. Why would Maggie tell me his name is Adam?

“Is Adam your last name?” I blurt the question, looking at him over the edge of the menu.

“It is.” I study him as he places a napkin on his lap.

“So what’s your first name?”

“Braxton.” Interesting, that name fits him better, but it still doesn’t make sense. “A lot of people call me Adam, Maggie being one of them.”

Okay, I guess that makes sense. “And you’re in banking?” I remember Maggie telling me that, or I’m pretty sure I remember her saying something about it.

He leans forward, not answering my question, placing his elbows on the table. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I lick my lips then glance around, feeling like being in his presence and in a restaurant this nice is too much for me to handle.

“What’s wrong?”

I focus on him, and before I can think, the truth spills out. “It’s just, Maggie told me that you were handsome, but she didn’t prepare me fully, and then your car, and this place…” I wave my hand around. “I feel like I should have had a little more warning about you.”

“You don’t like my car?” He sits back, raising a brow.

“I’m not saying that.” I shake my head. “I just know it’s expensive, and everything on the menu here is more than I spend on groceries in a week.” I look around the empty space and wonder if