His eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel as if you don’t believe me?”
Because I didn’t. But I didn’t want to tell him that. “Fifty percent is a really high percentage rate for pro bono work. It’s hard for me to see how you could be profitable if you’re working for free half the time.”
He was getting money from somewhere and a good amount as well. Anyone could tell that simply by looking at what he wore. I didn’t think it would be untrue to say most people who gave fifty percent of their time to doing things for free didn’t walk about with expensive Swiss watches around their wrist.
“That’s the normal assumption people have,” he said. “And mostly I’d say that you’re right. Very few businesses could do what I do and not fail.”
“You are aware of how cocky you sound right now?” Though truthfully, if fifty percent of his work was pro bono and he still looked like a runway model every time I saw him, he certainly had cause.
“Is it still considered cockiness if it’s true?” There was something in the tilt of his head or the slight up curve of his lips when he asked that told me he was teasing me while being completely honest at the same time.
“I don’t know about all that,” I said. “But I know everything about you screams cocky.”
“Damn straight,” he said, and I swore his eyes grew darker and he inched forward just a bit farther. His gaze dropped to my lips. My mouth went dry, and in that moment, I realized I’d never wanted anything as much as I wanted Piers to kiss me.
I think he wanted it too. But before either of us could make a move, our server appeared with our entrées.
“Let me know if I can do anything else for you,” she said once we each had a delicious-looking plate in front of us.
I gave her a smile and a thank-you because what I wanted was for her to have waited ten more minutes before bringing our meal to the table. Ten more minutes and I’d have felt Piers’s lips on mine. I’d have known their taste. I was certain he’d been mere seconds away from kissing me.
Part of me screamed it was a good thing the plates had been brought out when they had. And that it was a damned good thing I hadn’t kissed him. In public, no less. Right where anyone and their brother could have seen us.
I took a deep breath to steady myself because even though I was loath to admit it, the part of me that had been screaming I was an idiot and a half was right. If there was a top ten list of things I better not do with Piers, having any sort of connection, be it physical, emotional, or a combination of both was assuredly number one.
“This looks fabulous,” I said, trying to pretend as if nothing was wrong.
“It does, doesn’t it?” he asked, though he wasn’t looking at his plate but watched me instead.
I felt my cheeks heat, and I dipped my head so he couldn’t see, but I don’t think I did it fast enough. Undeterred, Piers refocused his attention away from me and on his dinner. I thought that meant we could settle in for small talk and chit-chat while we ate. But he had other plans.
“The key to having a profitable business while continuing to work pro bono is all about math.”
The reference to that fateful day he’d left without saying a word, no matter how subtle it was, shook me to the core, and before I could find a way to get myself together, the fork I’d been using slipped out of my hand and clattered to the table.
“I hate math,” was all I could get out wordwise. Across the table, Piers chuckled.
“It’s simply a case of ensuring the resources coming in exceed those going out,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “And it probably helps when you charge your paying clients a gazillion dollars an hour.”
“Nonsense,” he said without missing a beat. “I stopped charging a gazillion dollars an hour years ago. I’m worth one point six gazillion an hour now.”
That actually got a smile out of me. I wanted to say there he went, getting all cocky again, but I was afraid he might try to kiss me.
Scratch that. I was afraid he wouldn’t try to kiss me. And I didn’t want to think about what that said about me. Not then anyway.
“Was the call from the foster mom about a pro bono case?” I asked.
“No.” He ran the fingers of one hand through his hair. “That wasn’t about any sort of business. It was personal.”
I hadn’t been expecting that to be his answer, so I was speechless. What could be his personal connection to a foster mom? The answer that came to mind was preposterous, but I had to ask. “Is the foster kid in question yours?”
“No,” he answered quickly. “He isn’t. But I spend a significant amount of time with him.”
“I can tell by the way your expression changed when you started talking about him.”
Piers gave a little smile. “He reminds me of myself.”
Chapter 8
Piers
It didn’t surprise me Bri had been able to tell so quickly how important David was to me when she mentioned the call I’d received from his mother. It was exactly as I’d told her. David reminded me a lot of myself when I was his age. At thirteen he was a mess of peer pressure, hormones, and weighed down with the baggage of abusive biological parents.
I’d been fortunate to have Bri in my life up to the age of thirteen, and she’d helped to keep me settled and grounded. David had wonderful foster parents, but he was leery of authoritarian figures, and so far, they’d been unable to reach him. I’d signed up with a nonprofit organization to help with at-risk foster kids. So far I’d only had marginal success in getting the young teen to open up to me.
While it wasn’t surprising she could read my expression so easily, what did surprise me was the way she reacted when I brought up math. And it left me with numerous questions. Did she regret not speaking to me when she left with her grandmother? Did it bother her even now when she thought about it? I was tempted to ask but feared Bri would shut down completely or leave without a word. For the time being, I decided, I’d simply watch and see.
“Tell me about your pro bono work,” Bri said, perhaps picking up on the fact that I wasn’t too keen on talking about David at the moment.
However, I was almost always ready to talk about how proud I was of how hard the small business owners I’d helped over the years had worked. Most of them still lived in the area. I was getting ready to tell her about one in particular when a familiar man stopped by our table.
“Piers,” Manuel, one owner of the restaurant, said. “You sly dog. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming in for dinner? I’d have had Robert create something spectacular for you.” He didn’t give me a second to answer but turned to address Bri. “And you brought a date? When Robert finds out, he’ll probably refuse to speak with you for a year.” He held his hand out to Bri. “Hi, I’m Manuel, and any friend of Piers is a friend of mine.”
For her part, Bri didn’t shy away from the charismatic young man. She shook his hand while giving him an incredible smile. “Nice to meet you, Manuel. I’m Brigitta, an old, old friend of Piers.”
“Please, you can’t be that old,” Manuel said. “I don’t believe you’re a day over twenty-five.”