by Lynn, Sandi
“Good evening, Mr. Black. Thank you for inviting me, but it really wasn’t necessary. Please call me Elle.”
“Isn’t your name Ellery?” he asked.
I took a sip of water. “Yes, but my friends call me Elle.”
He took his menu and opened it, and I was astounded by the next words that came out of his mouth.
“But we aren’t friends, Ellery.”
Okay, I take back the whole man-has-manners thing. He was just downright rude.
I opened up my menu. “All right then, Mr. Black. Why don’t we just stick to Miss Lane?”
I saw him slightly grin from behind the menu.
“Order anything you like. It looks like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”
I narrowed my eye at him.
“I eat every day, Mr. Black; not that it’s any of your concern.”
He suddenly looked intrigued as he set his menu down.
“It’s just that you’re very thin.”
What the fuck was this man’s problem? First, he said we aren’t friends, and then he called me anorexic.
“This is the way I was born. I’ve always been thin.”
He pressed his lips together as the waiter came to the table with a bottle of Pinot Grigio. He poured the wine in each glass and proceeded to take our order. I looked at Connor as he sat there, staring, as if he was assessing me. It was making me intensely uncomfortable, but it was turning me on at the same time. My heart started to beat rapidly, and a familiar ache rose from down below. Two could play this game.
“So, what’s your story, Mr. Black?”
He brought his wine glass to his lips and took a sip, never taking his eyes off me.
“My story?” he simply asked.
A small smile escaped my lips. “Yes, your story.”
“What’s to tell? I’m a thirty-year-old CEO, I have more money than I’ll ever need, I don’t do relationships, I usually get everything I want, and I do whatever I want.”
I sat there, staring at him the entire time he boasted about himself.
“Now that we got that out of the way, what’s your story, Miss Lane?”
“I don’t have a story, Mr. Black. I’m twenty-three years old. I moved here with my boyfriend a little over a year ago, I work part-time at a small record company, I paint pictures, and I volunteer at the soup kitchen.”
He sat and pondered whether or not he wanted to ask me the next question.
“What does your boyfriend think about you having dinner with me?”
“He doesn’t. We aren’t together anymore. He moved out over three weeks ago.” I looked down at the table.
I could sense a tiny bit of sympathy in his voice. “Oh. May I ask how long you were together?”
I found it particularly odd that he was trying to get so personal.
“We were together four years. We met at college and moved here from Michigan.”
“Four years is a serious length of time.” His brow raised.
I decided just to lay it all out there for him since he seemed so interested. It didn’t matter anyway. I probably would never see him again after tonight.
“Yep, he came home from work one day and said he needed space. He packed his bags and walked out.”
I knew the real reason he left, but I wasn’t about to tell Connor that. He struggled with his next words, and it caught me by surprise.
“I’m sorry he did that to you.”
I waved my hand in front of my face. “Don’t be. Nothing lasts forever.”
He was taken back by my choice of words, but it was the truth, and I wasn’t afraid to say it.
Chapter 7
Le Sur was just as beautiful as I thought it would be. The ambiance was breathtaking with its low lighting and romantic feel. The marble floors were exquisite, as were the paintings that hung on the walls, representing Paris. The tables were lined with satin cloths, and the meals were served on delicate china.
“Do you like it here?” Connor asked as he noticed me looking around.
“Yes, it’s a beautiful restaurant.” I smiled.
The waiter brought our meals just as Connor was about to ask me a question.
“You said you volunteer at the soup kitchen; may I ask why?”
The look on his face told me that he was a bit intrigued by it. I took my fork and knife and cut up my chicken as I proceeded to answer his question.
“I like to help people in need. You should know that by now, Mr. Black.”
He lightly nodded his head. “Yes, I guess it was a dumb question to ask.”
“I had a rough childhood. Let’s just say nobody was there to help me.”
His eyes never left mine as he listened closely to every word I said.
“What about your parents? Didn’t they help you?”
I looked down and away from him, trying to find the right words.
“My mother died of cancer when I was six, and my father was an alcoholic who passed away right before my eighteenth birthday.”
The look on his face changed; it went from hard to soft in a matter of seconds.
“Is that why you helped me last night? Because you think that I’m an alcoholic?” he asked.
I took the last bite of my dinner and set down my fork.
“No, my father choked to death on his vomit during one of his drunken nights. I found him dead in his bed the next morning. I didn’t want that same fate for you. What people don’t realize is how easy it is for something like that to happen. I spent my entire life taking care of my father who absurdly drank himself into oblivion almost every night because he couldn’t get over my mother’s death. So, it’s just second nature for me to help people in need.”
He didn’t know what to say. I think I shocked him. He held up his glass and motioned me to do the same.
“Well, thank you for your help last night, and as mad as I was this morning to find you standing in my kitchen, I do appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” I smiled.
As we were leaving the restaurant, I noticed several women looking at Connor with what appeared to be sex in their eyes. Some were licking their lips as we walked by, and others were eyeing him up and down. It was rather disgusting, but I could see why they did it. He was undoubtedly something to be admired. We walked outside, and I had an idea.
“Want some ice cream?” I asked.
He looked at me with a puzzling look like I was crazy or something.
“No, I don’t want ice cream. I’m taking you home and then I have somewhere I have to be.”
Here came his rudeness again. I was surprised it took this long.
“Oh, come on! It’s my treat. I know this cute little ice cream parlor a couple of blocks away that’s open twenty-four hours.”
“Miss Lane, I don’t want any ice cream. Now get in the car so Denny can take you home.” His tone was adamant.
I ignored him and started to walk down the street. I wanted ice cream. If he didn’t, that was his problem, but I was getting some with or without him.
I waved my hand as I walked away. “Thanks again for dinner, Mr. Black. I’ll see you around sometime.”
“Miss Lane, get back here!” he shouted down the street.
I rolled my eyes and kept walking. Suddenly, he was beside me mumbling.
“Miss Lane, I will not tell you again to get in the car.”
I stopped and turned to him, shoving my finger into his chest.
“I don’t take orders from anybody, Mr. Black. Especially people that I’ve only known less than twenty-four hours. I’m not your responsibility. You thanked me for my help with a nice dinner, and now it’s time for us to part ways. I’m going to get some ice cream, and then I’ll call a cab to drive me home.”
He stood there stunned and unable to speak. I continued walking, and he followed behind me.
“Denny, it looks like we’re getting ice cream. I’ll call you when we’re leaving.” The tone of his voice was angry.
“You d
on’t need to come with me if you don’t like ice cream,” I said.
“I never said I didn’t like it. I just don’t want any.”
“Then why are you following me, Mr. Black?”
“It’s not safe in this city for a beautiful young woman to be walking alone, especially at night. How many times do I need to explain that to you?”
I caught the “beautiful” part and couldn’t help but smile. My feet were starting to kill me in my four-inch heels, so I stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and took them off.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
“I’m taking off my shoes because my feet are killing me,” I said as I used his arm for balance.
“You’re going to walk barefoot on this dirty sidewalk?”
I laughed. “Yes, I am, Mr. Black.”
I could tell he hated the idea. He was so prim and proper. We walked up to the door of the ice cream parlor, and I slipped my shoes back on.
“Hello, how can I help you?” a cheery young girl behind the counter asked.
I looked at the different ice creams behind the glass.
“I’ll have a single scoop of chocolate chip in a waffle cone, please.”
“And for you, sir?” the cheery girl asked.
Connor looked at me and sighed. “A single scoop of cherry vanilla in a cup.”
I smiled at him and bumped my shoulder against his. I went to grab my wallet and pay, but Connor had already handed the girl his money.
“I told you it was my treat.”
“Don’t worry about it, Miss Lane. I can afford to buy you ice cream.”
I rolled my eyes and sat down at the wrought-iron table. As Connor sat across from me, I watched him eat his ice cream while hiding a small smile. I could tell he was enjoying it.
“How long has it been since you ate ice cream?” I asked.
He looked at me with a puzzled expression. “I don’t know; since I was a kid, I guess.”
“Are you kidding me? You haven’t had ice cream since you were a kid?”
“No. Is that a problem?”
“No. I’m just surprised.”
“I think you’d find a lot of things surprising about me,” he said.
I twisted my face and glared at him.
“So, where are you going later?”
Not that it was any of my business, but he made a point to let me know he needed to be somewhere.
He raised one eyebrow. “Miss Lane, I don’t think you really want to know the answer to that.”
We finished our ice cream as I saw Denny pull the limousine up at the curb. He got out and opened the door for me.
“Thank you, Denny. You are such a gentleman,” I said as I glared at Connor.
Thank god I didn’t live too far because it was awkwardly silent the whole way home. The limo pulled up to my apartment, and I could see Connor leaning over, checking it out.
“You have your own outside entrance?” He frowned.
“I don’t live in a fancy apartment building with a doorman and private elevator. This is it, Mr. Black; my little apartment with its own outside entry.”
He looked at me in irritation.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. I just think it is unsafe, and anyone can break in.”
I looked at him and thanked him for putting that thought in my head. I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. I found it odd that he flinched at my touch.
“Thank you for dinner and ice cream. I had a nice time.”
“You’re welcome. Have a nice night, Miss Lane.”
I climbed out of the limo, leaned forward so that I was facing him, and gave him a wink.
“Have a pleasant night, Mr. Black.”
I shut the door and walked into my apartment. I took off my killer shoes and threw them down. God, my feet hurt, but it was worth the pain to eat at Le Sur. My suspicion about Connor and him having to be somewhere was that he was going to pick up some woman for sex. I had the distinct feeling he was that type of guy. He said he didn’t do relationships, but he was a man. Every man had needs, and he was going to make sure his were filled.
I pondered why anyone would want a relationship with him anyway. He was downright rude and arrogant, and not to mention, he seemed a little controlling. Oh hell, I’d never known anyone so controlling, but why did my heart flutter when I was around him? I laughed to myself, thinking about the night, and how, on more than one occasion, I pissed him off, as I climbed into my bed and fell fast asleep.
Chapter 8
I spent the next few days going to work and volunteering at the soup kitchen. Saturday came, and it was a beautiful September day. Peyton had called and asked me to go shopping with her, but I told her that I already had plans. Of course, she wasn’t happy with my answer, but I was going to Central Park.
Growing up, I would escape my house and find a quiet place to sit and draw. It was the only time that I didn’t feel lonely. I liked to draw and paint pictures of places where I could go and hide. My father used to tell me that I got my artistic ability from my mother. I thought about her almost every day and how my life would be different if she hadn’t died, but like I said, nothing lasts forever. You can either roll with it or let it kill you. I grabbed my drawing pad and pencils and headed out the door. The walk to Central Park wasn’t long, and I enjoyed the fresh air. It made me feel alive.
I’d spent more time in Central Park since I moved to New York than anywhere else. The playgrounds were filled with children playing in the warm New York sun. I made my way to the Conservatory Garden. The magnolia and lilac trees filled the air that provided a soothing and calming effect. It was easy for me to escape the world and take in the beauty of the gardens. It was like a sanctuary for me; a place where I could go and draw just about anything.
I sat down on the bench and noticed a bride and groom over to the right of me getting their picture taken by the fountain. She was beautiful in her white wedding dress, and he was equally handsome in his black tuxedo. They looked happy. I smiled. This was the perfect place to get married, and that would make the perfect painting.
I was halfway done drawing them when my phone rang. I looked at the unfamiliar number and ignored the call. A second later, the phone rang again, displaying the same number. I was sure whoever it was had the wrong number, so I answered it to tell them to stop calling. I froze as I heard the voice on the other end.
“Hello, Miss Lane. Are you enjoying Central Park?”
I started to get creeped out as I looked around from side to side and then behind me. That was when I saw Connor walking towards the bench that I was sitting on.
“I am, Mr. Black, and it looks like you are too.” I hung up as he approached me.
I gasped when I saw him. He had a way of making me do that, and I hated it. He was dressed in a pair of khakis and a button down, white cotton shirt with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair, as usual, was perfectly tousled, and his sun-kissed skin glowed in the sunlight. I frowned at him as he sat down next to me.
“What?” he asked.
“How did you get my phone number? I don’t remember giving it to you.”
“I have my ways of finding out anything about anybody, Miss Lane.”
“So, you’re a stalker, then?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “No, Miss Lane, I’m not a stalker. I just wanted your number in case I needed you to help me home some night.”
I glared at him but was secretly smiling inside.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Denny pointed out that he saw you walking down the street, and I asked him to stop.”
“Why?” I curiously asked.
He pursed his lips together as I could tell he was getting irritated with my questions.
“I don’t know. I guess I just thought I’d say hi.”
“Then you could have just called, since you have my number and all.”
He heavily sighed. “Miss Lane, enough with the questi
ons, please.”
I silently laughed because I was pissing him off again, and I loved it.
“Can I ask you one more thing?”
He looked at me narrowed his eye. God, he was sexy when he did that. It was a sin to look that good.
“What is it?”
“Could you please stop calling me Miss Lane and just call me Ellery?”
He smiled and cocked his head. “It would be my pleasure, Ellery.”
I liked the way my name rolled off his tongue. Connor glanced over at my pad and saw the scribble of two people on it.
“What are you drawing?”
“The bride and groom over there,” I said as I pointed.
“Why?”
“Why not? They’re a cute couple, and I think it would make a good painting. I’ll call it ‘A Wedding in Central Park.’”
“And what makes you think someone would buy that?”
I rolled my eyes at his bluntness. I knew it was only a matter of time.
“People love weddings, and I’m sure any couple that got married here would buy it as a memory of the beginning of their life together.”
Connor lifted his chin. “It’s all a bunch of shit, if you ask me.”
“What is?” I asked as I looked at him in confusion.
“Weddings, starting a life together, relationships; all of it. You even said yourself that nothing lasts forever.”
I was surprised by his words and his hatred for relationships. I could see the pain in his beautiful green eyes that told me he must have been badly hurt. I looked down and continued drawing.
“Well, a lot of people believe in the happily ever after and the fairytale relationships. Let’s not take that away from them.”
“Do you believe in any of that?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I thought I did once, but I’m not so sure anymore.” I continued drawing.
He took his hand and lightly grabbed my wrist, turning it over and softly rubbing my scar with his thumb. I wanted to pull away, but his touch froze me. It was warm and soft, and sent a burning fire through my body.
“Tell me about these scars,” he said in a low voice.
