He turns toward me, and my attention narrows further, focusing on him. The line of his nose, his dark brows, and those eyes.
“Both.”
The air crackles between us. This time, I know I’m not wrong. Friends do not look at each other like they’d prefer to be naked in bed together over socializing in an empty room of a restaurant.
“We should probably get back upstairs,” he says, but I can tell he doesn’t really want to do it.
So many possible responses come to mind.
Why?
Let’s not.
How about we find a dark corner and make some bad decisions?
“Devon will be looking for us,” he presses.
So that’s it. My brother.
Fuck it. You don’t get what you want by being a wallflower. Look at Enzo. He’s a prime example of what a person can accomplish if they go after what they want and make it happen.
“You’re worried about what he’ll think?” I ask.
Enzo is standing too damn close for me to think straight.
“Nah. But you know Devon likes to be first at everything. He’ll be pissed if he finds out you saw the downstairs before him.”
Which is totally true. I could never even get on the bus first without my brother pushing me behind him. The car, the stairs. Always Devon first.
But is he seriously worried about that? Is it possible I’ve read this wrong? A moment of panic steals over me before I notice his grin.
He’s teasing me.
His shrug is an admission. “I’m not sure what he’ll think. About showing you around, I mean.”
Oh God.
Enzo moves toward me, and my entire body is aware of his proximity. I need to get a grip, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult with every step he takes.
“When we were kids, you used to stick up for me,” I say. And he did. He used to insist on the ladies first rule, not that Devon ever listened.
“We’re not kids anymore, Chari.”
No shit, Sherlock. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t still stick up for me.”
My meaning is as clear as his: Enzo is worried about my brother’s reaction to us; I’m not.
Their friendship is a totally different relationship than whatever is happening between us. I should say all of this, but my mouth refuses to open.
“I will always stick up for you.” He takes another step, and now we’re really, really close. “Always.”
“Um, Chari,” a voice calls. “Enzo?”
It’s Lisa.
“Tris is about to give a speech.”
The moment is over. And make no mistake, it was a moment. I thought I wanted to kiss Enzo before, years ago. But now I want him to ravage me, the thought so overwhelming I can’t even muster a response to Lisa.
“We’re coming up,” Enzo says. But then he leans in and whispers in my ear, “We aren’t done here.”
7
Enzo
When I’m at work, I’m thinking of work. End of story. Or at least that used to be the case. But this afternoon, as I wait for my five o’clock appointment to arrive, I find myself thinking of Chari. Of the look in her eyes on those stairs. Of her sweet mouth, opening ever so slightly. We aren’t done here, I’d promised her. And I’d meant it, all the way. Only, Chari had called to check in with her mom after Tris’s speech, and apparently Mrs. Atwood was burning up. Her new boyfriend was around—her new doctor boyfriend—but both Chari and Devon took off to see to her.
Apparently neither of them trust the guy. Based on what my brothers and sister knew, the boyfriend’s reputation doesn’t warrant their concern, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to them about it.
“Excuse me, sir. Your five o’clock appointment is here.”
I swivel my leather chair around as my executive assistant waits for a response.
“Send him in.”
Standing to greet the visitor, I’m surprised when Hayden strolls into my office instead. He’s rarely in the building. I’ve asked him more than once why we even pay for him to have an office. Being “stuck in here,” despite having one of the best views in the city, is as painful to him as sitting through college classes. He enjoys roaming free, contributing to Angel, Inc. “out in the field.” Which is fine by me. The guy gets it done.
“You’re not my five o’clock.”
“Nope, I’m not.” Hayden heads for the refrigerator concealed in the wall behind me. “You can thank me later.”
Grabbing a bottle of water, he closes the fridge and sits on one of the chairs overlooking Manhattan’s West Side. There’s a conversation area set up over there, with a few chairs and a coffee table, for more casual meetings.
“While you finished your call, I held your meeting in the waiting room.”
“You’re saying you met with the FDA’s Associate Director of Regulatory Affairs, in the lobby, for all of”—I look at my watch—“five minutes. And he’s already gone?”
“Until next year. Who sets up a meeting at five o’clock anyway?”
Looking more than a little pleased with himself, Hayden guzzles down the water. Water, at five o’clock. This despite the fact that we own an alcohol company and my business partner lives for happy hour. Or lived for happy hour, past tense.
This new Hayden—the family man—is hard to get used to. But I’ll give him one thing. No one can sweet-talk a client or federal regulator like Hayden. Or Ada.
I smile at that particular memory, the first time he and his wife met. Until I look more closely at Hayden’s expression. “So are you taking the rest of my meetings tomorrow too?”
“I’ll take your meetings, sure. Tomorrow, and for the rest of the week.”
Yep, I’m right. Hayden wants something.
“Spill it. What do you want?”
I can see he’s looking for an angle, some way to spin this, so I cut him short. “Why don’t you save both of us time and cut to the chase?”
“All right, then I’ll just ask. Switzerland, later this month.”
I know where this is going. “No. I can’t go. Hayden, with the vodka giving us problems . . .”
Why doesn’t he argue with me? It’s as if he has an ace up his sleeve.
“If we’re going to get it to market by next summer, I need to get the kinks in the formula worked out . . . Why do you look smug as shit?”
“My father-in-law needs a bypass, so we had to move the christening up. We tried for this weekend or next, but no dice.”
Ah fuck. “Let me guess. You rescheduled for the weekend you’re supposed to be in Switzerland?”
Hayden shrugs.
Ace in the hole. Family trumps my busy schedule, something we agreed to early on.
I heave a sigh. “What day is the meeting?”
“Friday the 26th. I’d planned to fly out to Zurich on a red-eye Wednesday night, stop over in Lucerne to take meetings, and then drive south for the launch.”
Which would make it a five-day trip.
“You’ll have to take all of my meetings,” I say, having already given up.
“Done.”
“Including MCM.” The largest liquor distributor in the U.S. The owner’s a total dickhead.