The Fortunate Ones
Page 59

I take a deep breath and finally enter. It’s very strange to walk through a place you used to work as a civilian. Dinner service is in full swing, and I have the irrational fear that Brian is going to throw a polo at me and tell me to refill waters. Ellie’s manning the hostess stand, and when she sees me arrive, she nods her head toward the dining room and mouths, Good luck. I turn and my stomach flips when I see James sitting alone at a table for two near the fireplace. A part of me feared he wouldn’t show up, even under the guise of a pretend meeting, but there he is wearing an impeccable navy blue suit. He’s added all the required accouterments—pocket square, tie clip, watch—and he’s never looked more handsome or more unattainable. It’s enough to make me want to turn around and run back home. He’s going to be a formidable opponent, and maybe I’m not quite ready to face him yet. I glance down and reassess my outfit. Nothing in my suitcase was nice enough, so I raided Ellie’s closet. Her flirty blue dress and nude, strappy heels are sexy, but are they enough?
I look back up to find James checking his watch, and his handsome features contort into a frustrated scowl. I’m late thanks to Austin traffic, and it doesn’t help that half of the wait staff recognizes me as I begin to weave through the dining room. They want me to stop and chat, but I smile politely and keep it moving.
I’m a few feet away from stepping into his line of sight when another member of the club—an older, well-dressed man—walks up to James’ table and claps him on the shoulder. James glances up and smiles, offering a handshake and a few words I can’t hear. I falter, unsure if I should proceed or not. I don’t really want an audience for this conversation, but I can’t delay any longer. I don’t want him to use my tardiness against me.
I have no choice but to continue.
“I hear you’ve been working on your short game,” the older man says.
James chuckles. “If only to distract from how I’ve been slicing it off the tee the past few—”
I step up to the table, drawing James’ brown eyes to me midsentence. His friend turns as well, and their reactions are polar opposite. I get a warm, welcoming smile from the older man and a confused, angry scowl from James. His hard gaze rakes over me, and my knees actually quiver.
“What are you doing here?”
I swallow and speak up in a barely audible whisper. “I came to see you.”
His friend clears his throat and extends his hand out to me. “I’m Leonard West. Pleased to meet you.”
“Brooke Davenport.”
His eyes light up. “Ah, are you Brad’s daughter?”
I nod, too caught up in the moment to manage a smile.
He scans back and forth between James and me. “And you’re a friend of James?”
“Yes,” I reply cautiously.
When James doesn’t speak up to confirm that fact, I add, “Well, I think I am.”
Leonard chuckles good-naturedly. James exhales a long, defeated sigh, obviously too much of a gentleman to toss me aside in front of an audience. He tells Leonard he’ll catch him on the links sometime soon. When we’re alone, I glance at the empty seat, wondering if it’s still a good idea to sit down.
James, having followed my gaze, hardens his own and shakes his head. “I’m afraid our reunion will have to wait. I have a business meeting.”
I draw in a tortured breath before working up the nerve to reply, “Exactly. Let’s talk business—unfinished business.”
He leans back in his chair, surveying me with a bemused scowl. “What do you mean?” He connects the dots before I can explain, shaking his head and waving away his question. “Beth.”
He tosses his napkin on the table and surges to his feet, prepared to leave after all the work I did to get him here.
“James! Please…please hear me out.”
I wish so badly that we were in private. I’m aware of the other diners around us, and now I wish I’d concocted some way to have this meeting somewhere else, but it’s too late now. This is the opportunity I’ve been given, and I won’t let it go to waste.
A muscle in his taut jaw shifts as he clenches down, no doubt trying to keep his temper in check.
I knew he wouldn’t like being tricked, but what choice did he give me? The only other option was to camp out at his house until he finally showed his face. This, while unbearably awkward, is at least efficient. By the time we walk out of this dining room, I’ll have my answer about how he feels for me one way or another. He’ll either give me a second chance or he won’t.
His gaze shifts to the door and my heart drops. He’s actually going to leave. He takes his first step just as Marissa strolls up with a small notepad in hand. She’s been assigned as our waitress, no doubt on purpose.
“Good evening!” she announces cheerfully. “My name is Marissa and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” If she thinks it’s weird that we’re both hovering beside our chairs instead of sitting at the table, she doesn’t let on. “Can I get either of you a glass of wine? We have some excellent new appetizers.”
James shakes his head sharply. “I won’t be staying for dinner.”
Marissa beams, unbothered by his sharp tone. “Then wine it is. Red or white?”
“White,” I snap quickly, hoping he’ll feel compelled to stay if I order us a drink.
We both turn to him and wait on baited breath to see what he’ll do. He doesn’t nod or agree, but he does yank his chair out and take a seat. I let out a relieved sigh and follow suit. We sit across from each other in tense silence as Marissa sprints off for the wine and returns in record time.
“I know you mentioned you wouldn’t be staying for dinner, but our chef would love your opinion on some new starters, Mr. Ashwood. I’ll bring them out, courtesy of the club, of course.”
He isn’t amused by her meddling, but I love her for it. She pours our wine quickly and then dips in a little bow before leaving us alone to talk.
I reach for my glass of wine and realize a moment too late that my hand is shaking. It’s evident to the both of us, so I clench it back and hide it beneath the table. I don’t need wine that badly anyway.
“I’ll give you until the food arrives to explain the purpose of all this cloak and dagger,” he announces sharply.
Jesus, an elevator pitch. I’d hate to face him in a conference room.
“Oh! Right. Um, well you s-see…” I stumble over my words in my effort to explain myself before Marissa returns. The appetizers won’t take long, especially if the kitchen knows they’re going to Mr. Ashwood’s table. I fight back a cringe. It’s not nearly enough time to vindicate myself. This could take all night, but his rigid expression and hard frown prove he intends to keep his word. “I br-brought you here because I wanted to let you know I’m not going back to Spain.”
He arches a brow. “I’m sure your family is happy about that.”
He doesn’t seem that enthused, and I realize I’m going out of order. My well-planned speech has turned to scramble in my brain.
“Oh no! You see—well, that is, I’m not going back to Spain because I want to give us a second chance.” Wrong, unfiltered words spill out of my mouth as quickly as they come to mind. I feel like I’m going to explode in my attempt to gain his forgiveness before he leaves. “I should have never left like I did. When you asked me to stay, that was—that took bravery, and I was so stubborn and set on the idea of leaving.”
His gaze flicks over my shoulder and my heart rate kicks up—surely the appetizers aren’t already on their way?
“There’s Marissa now—”
I lean forward over the table. “James! Please!” I cry desperately. This is ridiculous. If he really intends to get up and leave the second the food hits the table, I won’t let it arrive. I’ll fling it out of Marissa’s hands before she has the chance to put it down in front of us. “Honestly, we can’t keep doing this to each other! For once we both need to put our pride away at the same time. I just want you to see that I still care and I know you do too! Do you really have no interest in giving this a second try?”