HAYDEN: I’m good. Unless your date isn’t up to par?
CLAYTON: This isn’t about my date.
HAYDEN: Well, don’t do it on my account. I’m okay.
CLAYTON: Fine!
HAYDEN: FINE!
I take in a calming breath. “Sorry, it’s my boss checking in.”
“The guy with the hot date behind us?”
I look at the woman in question. I guess she’s pretty. In a snotty way. “Yeah, and she’s not hot.”
“Um, yes she is. If I didn’t want to play you up so badly, I’d go chat her up in the car park. She looks like the type who wouldn’t mind being fucked in a car.”
“Well, good for you, but she’s not his type.”
Reid snorts. “She’s everyone’s type.”
I scrunch my nose up, still watching her. “Why is she laughing? The guy doesn’t even know what a joke is.”
“Holy fuck, you like him.”
I want to wipe the smug smile from his face. “What? That’s absurd.”
He laughs, earning annoyed glances from other diners. “Then why do you keep staring at him and judging his date? You sound jealous. And let’s not forget, you’ve paid more attention to what he’s doing than what I am.”
“Shut up. You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. He’s my boss.”
“What is it that you do? Because I’m seriously fucking enjoying this. Hayden Carter, rattled by her boss.”
I smile sweetly so Clayton doesn’t know I’m about to kick this guy in the nuts. “Don’t forget, I know where you sleep, Reid.” I take a deep breath. “And I work at a station doing a podcast. At the minute, we’re doing a segment on Date Night.”
His expression drops, before a look of disbelief crosses his face. “That’s it? That’s what you do?”
“Yes,” I hiss. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else.”
He holds his hands up. “I wasn’t planning to.” I arch my eyebrow. “Okay, if it was more exciting, then yeah, I was going to brag to your brother that I know and he doesn’t.”
I snort. “It’s Landon. He probably already knows. Not much gets past him.”
“Don’t I know it,” he mutters.
The waitress steps up to our table with a tray of food, and I look at Reid questioningly. He shrugs, seeming as stumped as me. “Here are your starters.”
“We’ve not ordered anything,” I tell her apologetically.
She smiles away my concern. “It was pre-ordered by Mr Cross,” she explains, putting a bowl and a plate of bread in front of Reid. “For you, sir: pea and mint soup. For you: Cornish crab on toasted crumpet. Please let me know if there is anything else you need.”
She leaves, and all I can do is stare at the disaster in front of me, whimpering. “I want a menu with real food on it.”
“I think your boss hates you,” Reid mutters.
“Why do you think that?”
“Because mine looks like a bowl of vomit and yours… I don’t even have words. I can tell you that doesn’t look like crab, more like skinned balls.”
I swallow the bile in my throat at the picture he just painted. Because believe it or not, it does look like a ball sack. Skinned.
I whimper again when my stomach rumbles. “Why would people pay a fortune for this?”
“Where’s the steak?” Reid complains, stirring the spoon in the bowl.
I glare over at Clayton, who is happily sipping on what I assume is soup.
HAYDEN: Do you know what fucking century we live in?
CLAYTON: Yes, of course.
HAYDEN: Then who the hell gave you permission to order for me? I can order my own damn food. A rat wouldn’t eat this.
CLAYTON: Funny. Cassandra is fully enjoying her starter.
HAYDEN: Cassandra can choke on it.
Not one to let food go to waste, unless Charlotte had a hand in making it, I grab my fork, praying it doesn’t taste as bad as it looks. Or for the kitchen to suddenly set on fire and get me out of this whole ordeal. Because if they all come out looking like this, I’ll be grabbing something from a drive-through on the way home.
CHAPTER TEN
The restaurant has picked up somewhat since we first arrived, yet the atmosphere stays calm and relaxed.
The waitress leaves after dropping off a sticky toffee pudding for me and a chocolate, chestnut truffle cake for Reid. I’m not complaining. It’s the most appetising part of the menu. It even smells delicious, and I can’t help but eye it as I lick my lips.
“Is it just me or are they really stingy with the portions?” Reid comments, pouting down at his dessert.
Chuckling, I nod in agreement. There isn’t enough here to satisfy a toddler.
“If this place didn’t cost a fortune, I would think they were rationing the food.”
Reid’s remark goes unheard when, from the corner of my eye, Clayton stands with his date and leads her over to the hostess desk, where the waitress hands over her coat.
He’s seriously going to leave with her? She’s really his type? All she’s done is laugh and basically throw herself at him. Who acts like that on the first date? She could at least pretend to act normal.
“That fucker is leaving me,” I grit out, slamming my fork down once they leave the restaurant together, his arm around her waist.
Reid scans the room, probably looking for the guy who has been giving him problems. “Who?”
“My boss,” I tell him, kicking him under the table when he continues to glare over my shoulder.
Reid shrugs, going back to his pudding. “The dude is probably fucking her in his car.”
“He didn’t drive,” I snap. “And give me that.”
He pulls his plate out of reach, covering it with his arm. “No! I shared all my dinner with you. Sod off. I’m fucking starving.”
“You fed bits to me to try.” I pout, fluttering my lashes. “Just one bite?”
“No. I only did that ‘cause I could feel the jealousy rolling off your boss. I’m surprised there isn’t a knife in my back.”
True. Not about the jealously, but about Clayton not looking happy the few times I caught him looking over. I’m not convinced it was jealously, like Reid, who spent the entire dinner feeding me bits off his fork, lightly touching my hand or running his finger along my arm.
“You’re an arsehole.”
He grins like it’s a huge achievement. “Thanks.”
Picking my phone up, I go to text Lily, to ask her to pick me up, knowing she doesn’t gossip, but Reid snatches it off me.
“Don’t go texting him. You aren’t desperate. Don’t start now.”
“He was my ride home, and since he left, I need someone to drive me home. I was going to text Lily.”
“She and Jaxon have gone ice skating tonight,” he informs me, and I groan. “And isn’t your car outside?”
“Yes, but I’ve had a drink.”
His eyebrows scrunch together. “Did you drink drive here, because I’ve only seen you have one. One won’t hurt.”
“I don’t like drink driving,” I tell him.