Perfectly Scripted (37 page)

My eyes met his as I handed the folder back to him. “This will be taken care of?”

“I assure you, it will,” he answered.

“Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“You are quite welcome.” He nodded before walking towards the door.

“Dean, one more thing” I waited until he was facing me again. “Has this information hit the tabloids yet?”

“No sir,” he answered, clearing his throat. “I received a message from one of my contacts at the FBI.” A small smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

“I guess it’s good to have people on the inside.”

“Yes, I suppose it is. Enjoy your evening.”

I’d known Dean Winters for many years, and I’d thought I had known almost everything about him. But I did not want to know any further details about this. I was, however, going to give him a raise.

“Are you finally going to tell me where you’re taking me?”

“Not a chance, my beauty.”

She pretended to pout. “No fair. At least you let me know the dress code for this Saturday night affair.”

“Trust me. If I had my way, you wouldn’t be wearing anything and we most certainly wouldn’t be eating.” I smirked. “Well, not food, anyway.”

Her musical laugh floated through the air as she pulled at the hem of her mint-colored skirt. God, she was beautiful. The moonlight bounced off her glossy, dark hair, passing over her lips, which were slicked with a deep shade of pink. I fought the urge to kiss her at every stoplight.

“Mr. Connolly,” Blake said, his voice crackling through the speaker of the limo. “We will be arriving at the location in about five minutes.”

“Thank you, Blake.”

Tonight, I was taking Holliday to a restaurant owned by my friend, Alexandre Masson, called Saffron. We were going to have a four-course meal, but in a very unique way.

The limo came to a stop outside the Ironwood Building, a newly renovated space I’d happened to broker the deal for. Then we took the elevator to the top floor and were immediately greeted by Alexandre himself.

“Holliday, this is Alexandre Masson,” I said, motioning to him.

They exchanged pleasantries, and we were led to a private room with a terrace overlooking the Hudson River. The room was lined with walls of wine, incredible handstitched leather chairs imported from London, and a stunning brass chandelier.

We selected a bottle of red wine, and I swirled the contents before taking a drink. With a nod, I let the server know that it was perfect, and he poured a glass for Holliday.

“Miss Prescott, has Ronan explained to you your dining experience for the evening?”

Her lips twisted upward, and her eyebrows scrunched together. “No, he has not.”

I laughed at her growing curiosity.

Alexandre shot me a knowing glance. “Very well. I shall the leave two of you to discuss,” he said, bowing slightly and then exiting the room.

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “So, Connolly, care to tell me what this is all about?”

I nodded, sampling more of the wine. “Four courses of the most impeccable French cuisine you’ve ever tasted, but with a twist. For our appetizer, we will be eating in the dark. Blackout shades will come down, allowing us to dine surrounded by total darkness. I’ll feed you, and you can feed me. No talking, we’ll have to find a way to tell each other if we like what we’ve tasted or not.”

“I see. It’s about trust,” she replied.

I smiled. “Course two: our salads. The lights will come up, but we will eat in silence. We can communicate with each other, but without talking.”

“Ah, a communication lesson.” She smiled brightly. “I knew you were clever, but this is impressive.”

“For the entrée, the tables will be turned and we won’t be able to look at one another or speak. Finally, we will enjoy our dessert together, discussing anything and everything we can remember about the meal.”

She eyed me suspiciously over the rim of her wine glass. “This is a very interesting way to eat dinner. It’s like trust falls with food.”

“More than that, it’s an experience.”

“All right, Connolly. I’m up for the challenge,” she said with a clink of her glass to mine. “Let’s do this.”

After dinner, Holliday and I enjoyed our drinks and talked through dessert.

“You pinched me pretty hard, during the appetizer,” I remarked, rubbing the reddened skin on my forearm.

“It serves you right for trying to make me eat frog legs.”

“How did you know they were frog legs?”

She scrunched her face and stuck out her tongue. “What else in French cuisine is shaped like that
and
on a bone?”

I tried to think of another French appetizer that possessed those qualities, but my mind was blank. The only thing I could seem to focus on, though, was Holliday and getting us back on track. I swallowed my emotions, along with the drink I was currently nursing.

“I suppose that is true enough.”

“I think this custard tart has effectively erased the appetizer portion from my mind,” she said before taking another bite. “It’s delizioso.”

These were the moments I cherished, the conversations. It was easy to talk to Holliday. It reminded me of the nights we had spent getting to know one another at The York. Not being able to speak, to touch, or to even look at her during dinner was difficult. Surrounded by darkness and silence, this evening was a chilling view of what my life would be like without Holliday.

There was no way I was going to be a fool and let this woman that I had been so fucking lucky to find, slip away from me. I’d give her anything I could. There would be no fear or doubt where the subject of us was concerned.

Holliday stood, and pointed towards the windows. “Can we continue this evening on the terrace?”

“Absolutely.” My hand brushed the small of her back, leading her to the door.

“Oh I forgot to mention, Emma called me the other day.”

“What did she want?” I asked, sliding into a chair.

“That’s the thing, she didn’t
want
anything. Just to talk, and apologize for her rude behavior over the last few months.”

“Well, that’s progress. We’ve had a few nice chats recently. Emma had hand-delivered her “save the date” invite when she dropped off the girls last evening.”

“Oh, I missed the girls last night?” Her smile faded.

Her expression said more than her words. I needed to drive this conversation in a different direction. There were far too many things to talk about. Not the most pleasant of items, but I started with Heather’s confession that she hadn’t been pregnant with my baby—or any baby. And about how she had used Grady.

Her face twisted, as if she’d witnessed a horrific accident. “Who would do something so vile?”

It was a rhetorical question, so I shrugged.

“I’m so sorry, Ronan,” she said, taking my hand in hers. “Do you think she and Grady will stay together?”

The question had crossed my mind as well. On one hand, I thought Grady should run for the fucking hills. But, then again, if he serves as positive support for her, maybe they should remain together.

“She said he was helping her to get her life back on track, but I don’t know.”

“As long as she is getting better, that is really all that matters.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

On the ride back to The Addison, we talked about Derek’s arrest, and I told her everything I knew. News had spread across social media late last night, and today, it had hit all the papers and news outlets. I confessed that I had nothing to do with it and suspected that Dean could have, but I truly wasn’t sure.

“I believe you,” she said, taking my hand in hers “Remind me never to cross Dean.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” I replied before helping her step out of the car.

As the limo left us at the private entrance, we stood barely a foot a part. My throat tightened at the thought of her leaving. Christ, I didn’t want her to leave. I wanted to her stay the night with me—better yet, move home. This
was
her home—
our
home—and it wasn’t a home without her.

I took a slow, deep breath. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Yes. Thank you for a lovely evening. It’s one I won’t forget.”

“Stay with me,” I whispered, taking her face in my hands. The pads of my thumbs stroked across her cheeks.

She gazed on me with heavy-lidded eyes.

“I don’t think I can take another night being away from you,” I confessed. “I had a dream that you were standing at the top of a set of stairs. You looked beautiful, like an angel. The sunlight was shining behind you. The breeze was tousling your hair. I climbed higher and higher to reach you. Every step I took, I couldn’t get to you. My legs were heavy, and I looked down and there was a wooden sign around my neck with the word
trust
etched in the grain. No matter how high I climbed, you were always just out of reach.” I placed my hand over her heart. “It was my penance for breaking your trust and your heart.”

“Oh, Ronan.” Her voice was barely a whisper as tears slid down her face. “The albatross. You were thinking about the poem.”

“I was afraid you’d get used to your daily routine without me and it would be so easy for you to slip away. You’d decide this life wasn’t what you wanted.” My chest ached and tightened at the thought of her not being in my life.

“No,” she sobbed. “I want this life with you. We just lost our way for a little while. I’ll never be out of reach. I love you.”

“I love you,” I breathed. “Please, say you’ll stay the night. I want to ask you to move home, but if it’s too much—”

“I want that too, Ronan. More than anything.”

Desperate for her, I sealed my mouth over hers. I kissed her, sliding my tongue with hers, my hands tugging her hair.

“Get a room!”

The stranger’s cackling voice broke through our kisses. We both laughed at the realization we were still standing on the steps of the building.

“I’d like to take you home now.”

“I’d really like that.”

“Be prepared, because once I get you in bed, I may not let you go.”