need for a conversation like this, I slide my finger across the screen, and my voice wobbles when I say, “Hello?”
“Hi…” The voice sounds surprised I answered. I’m just as shocked. We always let these calls go to voicemail. We haven’t talked on the phone in years; I usually leave voicemails to say what needs to be said.
After brunch with the girls, I finally gave her a call before my flight and left a voicemail. Much like I do every year. Though I didn’t expect to hear back from her. A text message? Sure. A formal email? Most likely. Definitely not this.
“I heard your message. I guess I just … I wanted to see how you were doing.”
I step farther inside the quiet, dimly lit restaurant, taking in how gorgeous and modern the décor is.
“I’m doing fine. How are you, Mom?” I ask. The word mom tastes bitter on my tongue.
“That’s good,” she says quietly, not answering my question. “Are you busy? It sounds like I may be interrupting you. I hope I didn’t ruin your night.” Her voice sounds tired, sad even. And goddammit if it doesn’t make my heart twinge. Of their own accord, my legs take me deeper inside the restaurant, farther away from the vibrant voices in the hotel.
“Uh, yeah. Well, no, you didn’t ruin my night. I was just on my way out with a few friends for dinner and drinks.”
“That’s … wonderful. I … I’ll let you go, Mackenzie.”
For some odd reason, sadness engulfs me. It squeezes my chest in a vise, filling my already battered heart with ice.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Then the line goes dead.
I pull my phone away from my ear and stare down at it, trying to piece together how I feel. Part of me wants to feel angry. How dare she call me like this, after all these years. But the other part of me, the bigger part—the Mackenzie I’ve worked so hard to hide—feels like going home and falling into her arms. Just as I did so often when I was a kid.
She’s my mother, and I love her. No amount of time away from her can change that.
A throat clearing behind me has my heart lurching in my throat and me whirling on my heels toward the source.
“You obviously don’t read very well.”
My eyes widen when they land on the owner of that rich, decadent voice. A man, a very handsome man, dressed in a pristine gray bespoke suit is seated at a table, apparently enjoying a private dinner. Well, that was before I walked in.
“I-I wasn’t … I-I didn’t …” I manage to say in a noncoherent sentence. Not even one minute with this guy, and he’s turned me into the blubbering loser from high school all over again.
He cocks his head to the side, a blank expression on his face. “Not very articulate either.”
His words irk me. “I … well, I …”
He raises his brow in challenge as if I’ve just proven his point.
Well, surprise, surprise, he’s devastatingly handsome and a complete asshole, too. I know his type all too well.
“Sorry,” I mumble, clearing my throat, “I guess I wasn’t expecting to crash in on someone’s dinner, and I certainly wasn’t expecting that person to be such a royal asshole.”
Surprise shadows his features. A small, sexy smirk plays on the corners of his lips.
Good god. That smirk is doing things to my body that should not be happening right now.
His eyes rove over my body, sending a chill down my spine. It’s not an unpleasant chill, though. It’s actually quite the opposite.
“Royal asshole?” There’s a hint of inflection in his tone. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
This time, it’s my turn to raise my brows. “Yet?”
Like gasoline on a fire, his smirk spreads to an all-out smile that has my breath hitching.
“Sit.”
My body jolts at the order—no, the command—but I don’t give in, even if the strangest sensation burning down my spine is begging me to do it. To give in to this darkly handsome man.
“I don’t take orders from assholes.”
My remark makes him chuckle. The sound is raspy, dark, and oh, so enticing. My gaze is riveted to his Adam’s apple that bobs deliciously to accommodate his humor. He’s … gorgeous. Completely gorgeous in a dark, rugged way. His hair is black—not brown or dark brown, but black—and unkempt. The color mirrors mine except his is natural. His chiseled face is reminiscent of a Greek god. His cheekbones are sharp, and his lips are full, and, if