His Forbidden Love (Manhattan Billionaires #2) - Ava Ryan Page 0,11

the right thing or not. That is the question.

I sigh, roll my shoulders, try to work a couple of kinks out of my neck—

And spot her standing about thirty feet away, fiddling with her purse and evidently waiting for good old Bruce to bring the car around for her. Her face is downturned. Pensive.

I stare, a spider caught in my own web of longing and ambivalence. I would give a million dollars of my new fortune to know what she’s thinking right now. I would give two million if someone could verify that I figure anywhere in her thoughts.

Abandoning my spot in line and thereby dooming myself to not getting home for another hour or more, I head over to her. I keep my hands in my pockets because I don’t know what else to do with them, and I can’t swear that they wouldn’t reach for her if given half the chance.

She hears my approach and glances up, looking wary.

“Enjoy the cruise?” I ask.

“I did,” she says. “They ran out of the cocktail shrimp by the time I got through the line, but you can’t have everything.”

Can’t have everything. Ain’t that the truth?

“He seems nice,” I force myself to say. “Bruce.”

“He is,” she says, smiling.

I try to figure out whether it’s a standard small-talk smile or a wildly-in-love smile and can’t quite decide.

“Been together long?” I ask.

“About six months.”

“Ah.” I work several frantic calculations in my brain, trying to figure out what that means in terms of relationship seriousness. Living together? Exchanged I love yous? Met each other’s families? Discussed the future? Who the hell knows? “Did I hear him say he’s from D.C.?”

“You did. Although he may be moving to the city. We’ll see.”

We’ll. See.

Why does it feel like those two flimsy words carry the weight of my entire existence?

I try to generate something congratulatory to say and get as far as opening my mouth before she interrupts me.

“Listen,” she says, turning to face me as her tone acquires a new urgency. “You’re back now, and we may be seeing each other here and there at the hospital. I don’t want things to be awkward. I just want to apologize for what I, ah, said the last time I saw you. And the way I, ah, threw myself at you.”

I freeze, my thoughts catapulting back to that night at the bar. To what she said. The way she looked and her passion when she said it. To my own spiraling feelings and the way I ruthlessly repressed them the way modern medicine ruthlessly repressed smallpox and polio.

“You want to apologize?” I ask, my throat tightening. This parking-lot conversation has taken an interesting and unexpected turn. Yes, indeed.

“It was a rough day for me,” she continues, a flush climbing over her cheeks. “I’d been drinking margaritas and I’m not normally a big drinker. The point is, it wasn’t my best moment. I don’t know. Maybe you’ve forgotten all about it by now.”

Not a chance in hell.

“Maybe I shouldn’t even bring it up at this late date. But I don’t want you to think badly of me. So…” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry I was disrespectful to your marriage. It’ll never happen again. And it would’ve never happened in the first place if I hadn’t been drinking so much that night.”

Well, now, hang on.

I cock my head and squint at her, determined to make sure I’m getting these important details right.

“So…you didn’t mean it?”

She forces a smile and her expression locks into place. I see it happen as though she’s posing for a picture and waiting for the photographer to click the shutter.

“Of course not.”

I stiffen.

The voice in my head, meanwhile, grabs a megaphone and shouts in my ear.

Bullshit.

I don’t believe her. Not for a second. I heard what she said that night in the bar. Much as I tried to hide it at the time, it meant something to me. Still means something to me, as a matter of fact. She can’t yank the rug out from under me by taking it all back now. Not when we’ve got unfinished business that I’m dying to resume.

I open my mouth to call her on it but stop myself. Now is not the time. And this is not the place. Not with her boyfriend due to make an appearance any second.

But it’s all good. Our time will come. Soon.

Little does she know that she’s just goaded me out of my ambivalence and helped me formulate a plan. With apologies