Charles saw me first. "Mr. Wood, thank you for agreeing to have dinner with us."
“Of course,” I replied smoothly. “And call me Grant, if you will.”
“I’m Trip,” the younger man said, stretching out to shake my hand. He had blue eyes and a pleasant face, the typical American boy look. Perhaps she liked that.
I held his hand in a firm grip. “Grant.”
I took the seat they'd left free next to Ada. The sweet scent of perfume hit me, along with the view of skin. She was wearing a silk shift that clung to her frame, enhancing collarbones and fair skin and flushed, rosy cheeks. Thank God I was sitting next to her, and not across, I thought to myself as I picked up the wine list. I would never be able to concentrate on the food.
But then, that meant Trip was opposite her. There really were no good options here tonight.
“The chef has already informed us of the specials,” Ada told me. “Magret du Canard, which is duck, really quite good. Or the fish of the day - Alaskan halibut."
“Thank you.”
Trip leaned forward. “I’d forgotten - you used to study French at school?”
Ada nodded. “But it’s many years ago now.”
“Still, you were really quite good. That doesn’t just go away. Our waiter is French - why don’t you test it?”
“Trip,” Charles chided. “Ada doesn’t have to.”
His son gave a playful laugh. “Of course not. But she was the one who actually paid attention in school.”
I glanced between them. Paid attention in school, did she?
Ada turned to me with a raised eyebrow as if to say, what, do you doubt me?
“By all means,” I said. Prove me wrong.
Ada read the challenge in my eyes - I knew she did - and turned back to Trip. “I think I will, then. Go on, gentlemen. Decide what you want and I will do the honors.”
One after one we gave our orders to her. Trip made a show of taking what she was having, and I very nearly felt bad for him. Pathetic attempt at flirting if I’d ever seen one.
“Bonjour, monsieur,” Ada said to the waiter when he returned. His eyes lit up in anticipation.
“Bonjour mademoiselle! Parlez-vous français?”
“U peu,” Ada laughed. “Alors, nous voudrions une bouteille d'eau plate et une bouteille de vin blanc - le Sancerre, s'il vous plaît. Je prends le magret de canard et il aura le même. Pour ce monsieur, le poisson du jour. Et pour l'homme à côté de moi-“ here Ada indicated me with a grin to the waiter- “steak avec des pommes de terre.”
“Super,” the waiter said, scribbling on his notepad. “Comment le monsieur aimerait-il son steak?”
“Medium-rare. Il a des normes très strictes.” Both the waiter and Ada laughed at that. At my expense, it appeared.
“We’ll do our best to accommodate you then, sir,” he said to me with a wink and took our menus.
Charles was laughing too, chuckling in his seat.
“You speak French?”
“Enough,” he replied, smiling at Ada. “And enough to know that was actually a compliment.”
I raised an eyebrow at Ada. Right. She looked back at me with too-earnest eyes. “I just said you had high standards.”
The dinner progressed well, after that. The conversation flowed easily around the old man’s interest in collecting - he was truly fascinating to speak to. A genuine love for the artifacts, and with a keen interest in what was going to happen with them after the auction.
I assured him we would only part with them in accordance with his own guidelines.
“I look forward to being there,” he said. “At the auction.”
I hesitated. That wasn’t always a good idea. “You’re very welcome, naturally. At the same time, I have heard from others that it can be difficult to see the bidding when you have an emotional connection to the items.”
He nodded. “I understand them completely. But I think I have to. To make it real.”
I glanced over at Ada and Trip. They had been discussing old memories for the past half-an-hour, Charles seemingly content to let them reminisce. I was not likewise content with this division of conversation.
He saw my sliding focus. “Beautiful, isn’t it? With old friends?”
“Yes,” I said. “Just beautiful.”
Ada saw that we had gone quiet. “We’re discussing old teachers,” she said. “Not necessarily the most interesting of subjects, but fun nonetheless.”
I recognized my moment. The wine had been flowing and the dinner had clearly become more friendly and less professional than I had anticipated. “What was Ada like in school, Trip?”
He gave a wide smile. “Studious, I’d say. Always the belle of the ball, but that hasn’t changed, has it?”
“Oh, stop it,” she said, but I could see that she looked undeniably pleased.
“They were good kids,” Charles said. The fondness in his voice was clear, both for his son and for Ada. Jealousy tore through me, hot and unexpected.
“Yes. Though we didn’t have too many classes together, Ada.”
“Only math and biology, I think,” she mused.
“Yes. I had more classes with Max.”
She shrugged, irreverent as always. “I knew there had to be a reason why you were best friends.”
Both Trip and Charles laughed, and I smiled too, even as relief rippled through me. So that was why they had a long history together.
Then I took a deep sip of my wine and told myself to quit. She was not mine to feel possessive over - she had never even expressed an interest in me - and that was for the best. We would never work. And I had no interest in wanting to try to make it work.
But that was not what my body told me every time she leaned past me to reach for the salt, or the bottle of water, and her bare skin brushed against my arm or her hair swept a fragrant scent past me.
“It’s truly awful what happened,” Trip said. “I still think about him all the time.”
Ada took a sip of her wine, staving off the need to reply for a moment. “So do I,” she said finally.
“What do you do, Trip?” I asked. He blinked, dragging his gaze away from Ada to me. That’s right, asshole, I thought. Eyes over here.
“I work in real estate,” he replied. “Mainly in Rhode Island.”
The conversation flowed on, and I did my best to engage him and Charles in it. Ada returned to the conversation after a beat, the same sassy manner as always. But I noticed that she was drinking the wine faster than I was - had she been going at that speed all through the dinner? I hadn’t noticed.
Dessert came and went. I settled the bill.
"This was a pleasure," Charles said. "I'm looking forward to the auction tomorrow. I trust your judgment implicitly, Grant. Couldn't have found a better custodian."
I was oddly touched by the words. “Glad to hear it.”
“We should be heading home, son.”
Trip looked over at his dad, and then back at Ada. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d want to go grab a drink after this? Reminisce some more?”
I had to fight the urge to say no, to say we had to work, to do anything at all that would stop them from spending alone time together. It wasn’t my place - and it was decidedly not in my interest - but damn if I didn’t want to interfere.
And, yet, I’d never heard a sweeter sound than Ada refusing him.
“No thank you, Trip. Grant and I have some things to discuss for work before tomorrow. But it was nice seeing you again, both of you.”
They left the restaurant after that - Ada somehow managed to send them on their way, with us staying behind. “Have a nice night now,” she told them. “See you tomorrow, Charles.”
They’d just disappeared from view - with Trip giving a little glance back like an abandoned puppy - when she downed the rest of her drink and put her head down on the table.
I gazed at her for a moment, blond hair spilling over smooth arms and linen tablecloth. “So what work thing do you wa
nt to discuss?”
She gave a sigh and looked up, only to see that I was smiling. Her frown disappeared. “Thanks for playing along,” she said. “I didn’t know how to get out of the thing with Trip.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“God, but he can be annoying.”
I took a sip of my water to try to hide the grin I felt threatening to spread across my face. "I thought you liked him."
She shook her head slowly, almost lazily, staring at the empty wine glass. “All he wants to do is talk memories and school. Talk talk talk. Incapable of taking a hint, too.”
“You’re not really friends, then?”
She snorted. "He was one of my brother's idiot buddies growing up. Only ever interested in the high life. Come, let's go. We've given them enough of a head start."
The retort hovered on my tongue - isn’t that your life too these days? - but I didn’t want her to close off. To my own intense annoyance, I found her fascinating.
“He seemed interested, though.” I rose to let her slide out of the seat next to me.
“I was always off-limits as Max’s sister. I guess I’m not, anymore.” She stumbled slightly on her heels when she stood. I caught her, wrapping my arm around her waist to steady her.
“How much wine did you have?”
“As much as I needed to endure that.” She shook her head, bombarding me with her scent again. “Gosh, I’m sorry, Grant.”
It was probably the first time I’d heard her speak to me without challenge or menace. “Come. Let’s get you home.”
“I can walk home, I don’t live far from here.”
But when I released her she walked slightly unsteadily, so I stepped closer and threaded her arm under mine. “I’ll walk you home. Where to?”
She gave a small, almost helpless chuckle. “Where to?” She repeated. “Grant’s taxi firm.”
"At your service." I pretended to tip an imaginary hat, and she laughed again. God, but she never had with me before. I could see why fools like Adam and Trip and Sarah wanted to make her laugh again and again and again.
“Bon soirée mademoiselle et monsieur,” the waiter told us as we left the restaurant. “Vous faites une tres beau couple.”
Ada smiled at him widely. “Merci,” she said, but as soon as we left the restaurant she broke into laughter.
"What did he say?" I was almost hesitant to ask - I didn't speak French, but I had picked up enough of an understanding of the Latin languages to be able to make out words and meanings.
"That we make a beautiful couple. Oh, Grant, I didn't have the heart to tell him."
“That we hate each other?”
She laughed again, and I couldn’t help but smile. Whatever it was in her that found me amusing tonight made me feel ten feet tall. I needed to get out from under the spell she had me under, and fast.
Ada nodded. “But it was a white lie. I couldn’t ruin his night.”
“Come along now, you drunkard. Where do you live?”
“Fifth and 92nd. I thought you knew."
“How would I know that?”
She shrugged. “You just seem like you’d know.”
I didn't quite know how to interpret that comment - but I decided to take it as a compliment. Taking her arm again, I set us off at a brisk pace toward her apartment. She walked next to me leisurely, uninhibited and happy in a way that had me guessing she'd be asleep within half-an-hour.
“Why you’d get into auctioneering?”
"Why do you ask?" And there she went, diving into personal things. She'd practically just admitted to disliking personal discussions, for Christ's sake.
“It’s a good job,” I replied. “Hathaway’s had potential, and I enjoy expanding it.”
Ada leaned in closer, so close I could feel the warm exhale of her breath when she spoke. "Lie."
“What?”
“I think you love it. The heat of the auction. The preservation of old artifacts, the chance to see and touch them before they head off to a new owner. The thrill of a new purchase.”
“You speak as if you know these feelings.”
“I’m a Hathaway,” she said lazily. “We are given a paddle and a gavel as toys long before we can walk.”
I snorted. “Right. Guess I forgot.”
We turned a corner. The night air was crisp, a hint of snow in the air, the streets mostly empty.
"You're right, though," I told her after a minute. "I do love it."
"Aha! He finally admits it!"
“Admits what?”
“You do have a heart.”
I shook my head at her antics, thrilled nonetheless by the wide smile on her face. Stupid, so stupid, the way I was reduced to a schoolboy around her.
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m tipsy,” she replied. “But I know I’m right. There is something beneath that gravelly, hard exterior.”
Gravelly? She was looking more at me than the road ahead - it was a good thing I decided to walk her home. I raised an eyebrow at her. “You make it sound like you’ve been studying me.”
“Perhaps I have.” She tried to shrug, but it was hard, her arm still intertwined with mine. “You’re interesting.”
This was getting dangerous, now. “I very much doubt you really think that.”
She stopped dead, turning to me with wide eyes.”Why ever would you say that? Do you think I’m lying?”
I rolled my eyes and pulled her along. “Not in so many words, no. But you’ve always made your dislike of me clear.”
She was silent for a few moments, probably because this was irrefutable. Ada had practically said it to my face on multiple occasions, and she and her brother had gone out of their way to avoid me at any company events we had attended together before Arthur retired.
“That’s not true,” she said finally. “I just didn’t understand you.”
I had to laugh at that. “And you think you do now?”
“Better, at least.” Ada shook her head as if to clear it. “You don’t make it easy to get to know you.”
My mouth settled into a hard line, despite myself. The words were very similar to what someone had once told me, many years ago. You don’t make it easy to love you, boy. And that was in one of the foster homes I’d stayed in the longest.
“Come along. We’re almost there. Which number are you?” I dragged her forward, perhaps more brusquely than necessary.
“Number seventy-three. Wait.” Ada stopped dead again, looking at me with wide eyes. I sighed, exasperated and suddenly very eager to get her inside and go. I felt like running, though it was nearly midnight.
“What now?”
“I didn’t insult you now, did I? Oh, I don’t want you to close off again.” She sighed. “Sometimes I speak first and think after. Actually, that’s what I always do.”
I gave her a smile. “Of course not. Come, we’re almost at yours.”
She took my arm again and walked on in contemplative silence. I could practically feel the thinking going on inside of her head, and half-dreaded, half-anticipated what she’d say next. Uninhibited like this, she seemed like an entirely different person to me. As if she’d just forgotten that it was me she was talking to, behaving instead like I was one of her good friends.
It scared me that I enjoyed it, being seen like that by her.
"You're good at what you do," I told her. "At the firm."
“A compliment, Grant? To little ole’ me?” She smiled up at me, momentarily flooring me with the force of her wide smile, entirely devoid of any mockery. “Thank you.”
I managed a nod. “Why didn’t you do more of it? Before this, I mean.”
Ada gave a deep sigh, just as we stopped outside the entrance of her building. She opened her purse and fumbled, slightly. I stepped closer and held the straps as she reached inside. I heard the jingle of keys.
A doorman stood outside her building. “Good evening, Miss. Hathaway.”
She smiled widely at him. “Good evening, D
ave. Had a good night?”
“I have. You too, miss?”
Ada nodded at him and reached over to grab my arm again. I hesitated. Technically she didn’t need my help anymore. But the gentlemanly thing would be to follow her all the way inside, to her actual front door. It seemed to be what she was expecting.
Logic and emotion warred inside of me. It pained me to watch the former - my constant comrade-in-arms - lose.
We walked into the warm lobby and to the elevators.
“What floor?”
“Twenty-three,” she replied, and I pressed it.
“So.” Ada leaned against the dark wood of the elevator. “You asked me why I… why I was just drifting before this internship.”
I gave a cautious nod. Drifting was a nice euphemism for what the tabloids and Arthur himself had stated regarding her actions. The girl I had heard of then, spoken about in hushed whispers at certain charity events or dinners, didn’t square up with the healthy-looking one standing before me with resolve in her eyes.
"He died right before my graduation," she said. "Only seven months before. And I fell into my schoolwork as I'd never done before. Yale became the reason I lived and breathed. I think I slept in the library some days because writing essays and memorizing facts was the only way to keep my mind from returning, inevitably, to what I was avoiding."
“But then graduation came,” I murmured.
“Yes. And the ground opened up beneath me, and I fell.” The elevator door opened and I took her arm - habit now, almost - as she swayed lightly on her feet.
“Number sixteen,” she said. “That’s me.”
I was quiet behind her as she tried to fit her key to the lock. The sudden air between us was heady and I knew that a wrong word from me might break it or make her retreat back into her shell.
“Whoops.” The key slid from her fingers. I bent and took it, finding the keyhole easily. The door swung open.
She walked inside and I followed, hovering hesitantly by the door. A large living room opened up to floor-to-ceiling windows, the view the same one I had from my apartment.
Look But Don't Touch: Enemies to Lovers Page 6
