His Feverish Embrace - Celia Kyle Page 0,17
ready for the truth to come out. Not yet.
“Of course,” she started, guiding him toward the door “but I’m, um, really bogged down at the moment. Why don’t we set up an appointment for tomorrow and we’ll get all of the details nailed down then.”
Thrett scowled at her. “What are you talking about? This is important, Rylan.”
“I know, but I’m busy right now,” she hissed through clenched teeth.
“I have a solution,” Ginette said, far too happily. “Why not discuss it over dinner?”
A mischievous glint appeared in Thrett’s eyes. “Excellent idea. I’ll make a reservation at Chez Henri.”
Rylan stared at him in horror, unable to form coherent thoughts, much less words.
“Ooh la la, fancy,” Ginette cooed.
“I, uh…” Rylan stammered.
“Pick you up at seven?” he asked, his voice lowering to an almost seductive register.
She had to shake herself out of her lustful stupor. “No! I, um, I’ll meet you there.”
Thrett’s face split into a grin. “Excellent, it’s a date!”
Before she could object that it most certainly wasn’t a date, he turned on his heel and swept out of the office.
Chapter Five
Rylan checked her watch for the millionth time. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, the cold snap of humiliation pricking at her spine. She’d been standing on the sidewalk out front of one of the hottest French restaurants in town for approximately ten years already. Okay, maybe it had only been ten minutes. Same diff.
It was time to face facts. She’d been stood up.
Rylan had a tendency to show up early for everything. It was just another facet of what Ginette called her “functional type-A” personality. She was the kind of woman who kept a very detailed planner and relied on it almost religiously. Her oversized purse always had a small notebook and several pens, along with all of the other doodads she couldn’t live without. Rylan liked to be prepared for anything and everything. It was just part of who she was.
But this? Nothing could have prepared her for this.
Another happy couple strolled past her, shooting her curious glances as they entered Chez Henri. She felt like a total fool standing outside like that, but it had been a thousand times worse inside.
As was her habit, she’d arrived fifteen minutes early, so she’d taken a seat at the bar to wait for Thrett. That wasn’t so unusual, but after a half-hour of sipping the same glass of Chardonnay, people around her began to notice.
Their pitying looks burned the back of her neck from across the room. No one ate solo at such a romantic restaurant. They were probably whispering about her, dreaming up all sorts of tragic narratives of what had brought her to such a lowly state.
After the maître d’ had informed her she would either have to take the table alone or give up the reservation, she’d pushed away her glass, thrown down some cash, and walked outside with her head held high. Forget that her insides had turned to red, angry, pulsating mush. She still had one last shred of dignity remaining, and by the time she made it to the sidewalk, it had snapped.
She’d decided to wait for Thrett a little while longer, just so she could rip him a new one, but her embarrassment grew with every passing minute. If he didn’t show up soon, she’d just have to stew in her fury all night. Not pleasant, but at least it would give her the opportunity to come up with the perfect dressing down he deserved.
Pushing off the brick wall that had been holding her up, she took a step toward her house when she heard heavy footsteps approaching quickly. Glancing down the street, she did a double take. Thrett jogged toward her wearing the same clothes he’d had on earlier. Not only was the jerk really late, but he hadn’t even bothered to dress nicely.
She, on the other hand, had spent far too long digging through her closet for the perfect outfit. It had to strike the perfect balance between professional and sexy as hell. In the end she’d settled on a form-fitting black pencil skirt and a loose cream silk blouse with one too many buttons undone. The strappy black heels that were killing her feet had been snapped up on sale, or she never could have afforded them. All in all, she looked good. Too good for the way Thrett was dressed, that was for damn sure.
Rylan struck a pissed-off pose—one fist jammed onto her cocked-out hip, eyes