“Is everything okay here?” Lachlan approached the hostess podium, his posture rigid.
I didn’t know when or how I’d become so adept at reading his body language, but it was obvious he didn’t appreciate me being here despite the fact that he'd told me I could come.
“He says he talked to you earlier and you gave him the table the Patterson party booked,” Jenny told him, her voice dubious.
“It should be in the computer," he told her. "I entered it myself.”
Jenny undocked the iPad and turned to him, her finger pointing out something I couldn't see. “There must be some mistake then because it says here that the Pattersons confirmed their reservation at two o’clock today.”
Lachlan studied the screen for a few seconds before he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered, closing his eyes and sucking in a deep breath.
If it had been just me, I would have told him it was no big deal and walked out. But after the debacle in the locker room earlier, I needed to prove to my teammates that I was one of them.
Lachlan dropped his hand from his brow, and his eyes landed on mine. “You can’t book for tomorrow, can you?”
“We could probably find somewhere else but …”
“But you want to impress them.”
Yes, I did, but he wouldn't understand why. “Something very much like that.”
“Just so you know, I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.” He crossed his arms over his chest, making the muscles in his biceps pop beneath his rolled up shirtsleeves.
“But we don’t have space for them!” Jenny blurted. “We’re booked solid.”
“We’ll do it upstairs then.” Her eyes went wide with surprise.
“Upstairs?” she practically squeaked.
He turned to her, his jaw ticking with suppressed frustration. “Is that a problem?”
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Of course not. We just usually prep for something like that. You can’t just do it on the fly.”
His dark eyebrow arched. “Can’t I?”
Jenny’s cheeks turned even redder, if that was possible. “No, of course you can. I’m sorry. I’ll just … just …”
“Why don’t you grab Cole and Dean and bring them here?” His tone brooked no argument.
“Yes, of course,” she stammered. “Right away, Chef.”
Jenny scampered off, and Lachlan turned back to me. “It looks like tonight’s your lucky night.”
“Oh yeah?” I tried not to read too much into his words. He’s not flirting with you, I told myself. He doesn’t mean what you want him to mean, even though you know you could never take him up on the offer.
He pulled a pen and small pad of paper from the front pocket of his monogrammed apron and quickly jotted something down. “You just lucked into a private chef’s dinner I only do three times a year.” His lips lifted in a small smile that tugged at something deep inside of me. “And best of all, I won’t even charge you the £1000 fee.”
Holy shit.
“No way. I can’t let you do that.” All I’d wanted was a table. I didn’t need preferential treatment—much less for free—and I certainly didn’t want to put him out.
That sexy eyebrow lifted again. “You’re not letting me do anything. I’m offering.”
“It’s too much.”
He nodded. “It is. But I want to do it anyway.”
“Why?” I croaked.
Lachlan didn’t answer for a few beats while his eyes raked over me. When they landed back on my face, he looked sad. “Because in another world, you’d be mine and I’d get to do things like this for you. I’d look forward to them. Because your friends would be my friends.”
For fuck’s sake. Was he trying to flay me alive? Tear out my fucking guts? Leave me a raw, quivering mess? Because that was how his words made me feel. I longed for the same things.
Briefly, I let myself imagine what it would be like to be his—to be able to stand proudly and unabashedly with his hand in mine—and it made my heart race with anxiety.
It also made it pulse with something I’d never felt before, something no one—man or woman—had ever brought out in me. I didn’t know what it was, but if pressed to give it a name, I’d say it was hope.
