Page 98 of It Destroys Me

Want to go out tonight?

Sure.

Have a place in mind?

Scarlett’s restaurant is always a good bet.

I was hoping you’d say that.

Why?

He never answered.

He drove with his hand on my thigh because nothing had changed in the last twelve months. His touch was always subtle but always possessive, except when he grabbed my ass the way he plucked a peach from a tree.

We walked into the restaurant, and Theo seemed to have made reservations in advance because he didn’t demand a table. We were taken to our table, and he pulled out the chair for me before he dropped into the chair across from me. Instead of ordering an old fashioned or a scotch, he ordered a bottle of wine for the table.

He looked at the menu in his hands, his head tilted downward slightly to read the specials.

I stared at his face instead of the entrees, mesmerized by how damn handsome he was. Maybe it was the glow from the candle on the table or the shadows in the restaurant, but his jawline was as sharp as glass and the veins in his neck were plump.

He seemed to feel my stare because his eyes flicked up.

I immediately looked down at my menu and acted like it never happened.

But I could feel his stare, feel it burn into my flesh like a heat lamp.

I lifted my eyes and looked back.

His eyes were intense, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips…like he knew.

Of course he did.

When the waitress returned, we ordered our dinner then enjoyed our wine while we sat alone together.

“How was work?” I asked.

“Just a bunch of meetings.”

“Isn’t that your job? To meet with people.”

“These people were boring.”

After a couple of months spent unemployed, he got into the finance world. In the past, he’d only been interested in accumulating wealth and diversifying his assets. He used to do it with drugs, and now he decided to do it with index funds and stocks and the market. He’d started his own company and had a few people who worked for him.

And none of them had a clue who he was.

“How was the gallery?”

“Good. Someone bought one of my paintings.”

He grinned. “They did?”

I sold my own paintings in the gallery, just never told anyone that I was the artist. The first time someone bought one, I almost dropped to my knees and cried.

“Which one?”

“The one with the sunflowers.”