“No, this is fine.” I take a seat across from him, lifting my cloche and placing it aside. The familiar peppery scent of the seasoned steak fills my lungs and for a moment, I glance across the candlelit table and see Hunter seated across from me. My stomach knots until Jude’s face comes into focus. I’d take him up on that pizza offer, but he already put so much thought and planning into this dinner.
“All right, so tell me about your business,” he says, rising over the table to pour our wines.
Sitting straight, I say, “It’s a not-for-profit organization called Agenda W. We’re aimed at helping women get on their feet and find financial independence.”
His lips press together and he nods. “All right. I like that. Continue.”
“We’ll offer scholarships, resources and referrals, childcare for women attending job interviews,” I say. “We’ll have a clothes closet for women needing professional wardrobes as they look for jobs. Basically, in my mind, it’s a one-stop shop where we can help women rise up, find freedom in their independence, and take care of themselves and their families without relying on anyone or anything else.” I pull in a deep breath as the candlelight flickers against his face, lighting a glint in his green eyes. “I know places like this exist all over the city and I know I’m not bringing anything new to the table, but I don’t think it’s possible to have too many of these. One more is one more, and that’s a good thing.”
“Agree,” he says, brows meeting. “And how are you funding this? Donations?”
“It’ll be fully self-funded,” I say, not wanting to get into specifics. I’ve already spoken with my accountant, who confirmed that the interest from the first year of my alimony alone would more than cover start-up costs and should sustain us for the foreseeable future.
He doesn’t act surprised, doesn’t show a hint of disbelief. “And what about staffing?”
“We’ll start with the basics,” I say. “A front desk person, a counselor, a social worker, an education advisor, a childcare provider. We’ll add as we grow.”
Jude slices into his steak. “It sounds like you have it all figured out.”
“I know,” I say, “but I keep feeling like I’m missing something. Kind of just winging this thing.”
“You’ll need liability insurance, payroll,” he says, pointing his fork. “And a marketing plan. Some PR, too. But this isn’t really what I do, Love. Typically, I guide companies toward decisions that help place them above their competition and optimize their profitability. You’re not-for-profit. Competition isn’t a thing for you. Your biggest hurdle will be spreading the word and making sure everyone knows who Agenda W is and what they do.”
He speaks with confidence, shedding his boy-next-door-ness and switching into the skin of a businessman with the unstoppable ability to make difficult decisions and get results.
I’d be lying to myself if I ignored how sexy that is.
“I really appreciate this,” I tell him, forking a tender scallop. “I know this isn’t your area of expertise, but just knowing I have someone to talk to about this takes a little bit of the pressure off. I mean, I have Tierney and she runs her own business, but she inherited it from her aunt. She knows nothing about starting from scratch, you know?”
He nods, reaching for his wine glass. “I’m happy to help anyway I can, Love.”
Jude smiles before taking a sip, and I relish the way he says my name, so soft, so natural, like it belongs right there on his tongue and on that full mouth of his.
He’s disarming me like a bomb technician dismantles an explosive, with the kind of skill and patience that make it seem natural and easy.
I need a deep breath.
I need to look away.
I need to harden my resolve and stay strong and not get swept up in this man’s charms.
“Anyway,” I say, “I’ve got a meeting with a graphic designer next week to go over logo mockups …”
I take the wheel of the conversation, ensuring we’re headed in the right direction, not stopping for any non-business-related detours, and by the time we finished dinner, I’ve managed to bring us safely to our final destination.
I’m not sure what time it is, but the city view from his window is aglow with a full moon, cherry-colored traffic taillights, and Central Park street lamps. Rising, I take my wine glass and head toward the picturesque view, the same one I have from my bedroom as our apartments must intersect, wrapping around this corner of the building.
“We share this view, you know,” I say, only he wouldn’t know. He’s only been in my place once, and I had my bedroom curtains drawn. “Isn’t it incredible?”
Hunter always wanted to live in the trendier neighborhoods with the younger crowd. Once when I brought up living uptown, he scoffed at me and told me I had terrible taste in locations. So of course, as soon as the divorce papers were served, I called up my real estate agent and had her find me the perfect place with a view of Central Park.
“It is,” he says, taking the spot next to me. “A million-dollar view reserved only for the fortunate few.”
The tiniest hint of resentment lies in his tone, and he shakes his head as he stares out the window.
“We’re lucky,” I say. “That’s for sure. We didn’t have views like this back in West Virginia.”
I wait for him to ask me something personal, but a question never comes. And actually, this entire night he’s yet to divert a single conversation into a “getting to know you” session. It’s like he’s actually respecting my “this is not a date” stance.
Exhaling, I fight a smirk before hiding it in my wine glass. I don’t even think I could find something to dislike about him if I tried. He’s polite, professional, and charming, and I’m one hundred percent at ease with him.
But I can’t help thinking about that old cliché my mother used to say all the time. “If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.”
Jude is absolutely too good to be true.
And maybe that’s the thing I should dislike about him?
No one is this perfect, this flawless. No one’s this kind and this genuine and this easy to be around and ridiculously attractive on top of it all.
Feeling the heaviness of his stare, I turn and glance up at him.
“What?” I ask, not knowing how long he’d been watching me. It’s been a long time since anyone looked at me like that—studying me like I’m some fascinating creature, drinking me in like I’m a sight to see. “What are you thinking about right now?”
He smirks. “Nothing.”
Rolling my eyes, I bump my elbow into his arm. “Right. So you’re staring at me and thinking absolutely nothing.”
“People can do that, you know,” he says. “Just like they can throw coins in a fountain for no reason at all.”
“Touché. Seriously though, I can’t leave here tonight without an answer,” I tease, knowing full well it doesn’t matter what he was thinking, but my curiosity is going to keep me awake at night if I don’t find out.
“You’re leaving?” he asks, head jutting back as if I’ve just shocked him.