Moonlighter (The Company, #1)(94)

Grumbling, I get into the back seat of my own car. “Is this some kind of joke? Are you the third seat at lunch?”

“It’s not a joke at all,” he says, hopping into the front and slamming the driver’s side door. “You’re sitting down with someone we believe to be a dangerous cybercrime lord. Since he’ll remember me from Hawaii, he’ll just assume that you take me everywhere you go.”

“You’re trying to pass yourself off as my employee?”

“I know I’m too ruggedly handsome for that. But I can make this play, coach. Besides, I’ll be wearing a recording device, so that Max can review it later.”

“Fine,” I grumble. “If Max wants to browbeat you into escorting me around, I’m not getting in the middle of it.”

“He didn’t browbeat me,” Eric says, pulling into the stream of midtown traffic. “I volunteered.”

“Oh.” I study the back of Eric’s handsome, kissable neck. “Thank you,” I grumble. But how am I supposed to focus now?

“Do you have a moment to hear my apology?” he asks, stopping for a traffic light.

“I suppose.” Seeing as I’m trapped here.

“I am sorry about my ridiculous behavior. I wasn’t myself the other night.”

“You sure weren’t.” I love you and I think we should get married. That did not sound like the Eric I know.

“If I recall, though, you said the same thing to me after that party in Florida. You weren’t yourself.”

“I wasn’t,” I admit with a sigh. “Fine. It’s the same. We’re even.”

“Not really,” he says, turning onto Sixth Avenue. “It’s not the same at all. You were telling me to get lost, and I was only professing my love for you. So you should probably be less insulted than I was back in April.”

“But I didn’t hope you’d get lost,” I point out. “I just didn’t really deserve you at that moment. So I lied. And since you don’t actually love me, it really is the same.”

Unfortunately, he has to stop for another light. With his foot on the brake, he turns to look me right in the eye. “I do love you, though. That was true. Still is.”

My stomach flips over as his warm gray eyes crinkle at the edges.

The light turns green, and someone behind us leans on his horn. Eric turns around again and drives through the intersection. “I meant a lot of what I said, Engels. I can’t give you a precise figure because I, uh, don’t remember all of it. But I didn’t show up there to hurt you or make fun of you. I don’t have a lot of lightbulb moments. Except in hockey. So I think I just needed to get that off my chest.”

“You always said that hockey was your true love,” I point out. “You never sang a different tune until your cousin showed up and passed you the tequila.”

“I know,” he says, following the traffic up sixth. “And that’s unfortunate. But the young pup helped me realize a few things, so it’s hard to hold it against him.” The car glides to a stop on Fifty-Third Street. “But now we have to concentrate on Xian Smith.”

“No kidding?” I give him an eye roll. “You’re the one who wanted to go off topic.”

“Thank you for indulging me,” he says, handing his keys to a valet. “Now let’s go run up your expense account.” He offers me his arm. “Can I begin recording now?”

“Of course.”

He pulls out his phone and opens some kind of app. His finger hovers over the screen. “It’s not switched on yet. If you wanted to say anything filthy, you should get that out of your system right now. Like—your ass looks spectacular in that suit.”

I snort. “No thanks, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself. But I’d like to say that you look especially ravishing today. And I’m going to spend the whole lunch thinking about kissing you.” He taps the screen, turning on the recorder. “Everywhere.”

I feel myself blush, and he gives me an evil grin. “Could you focus on my personal safety now, please?” I say.

“Oh, always.” He opens the restaurant door for me. “Mr. Smith is thirty feet away at the hostess stand, and he’s looking out into the garden.”

“Thank you,” I say, straightening my spine. “Let’s go buy some motherboards.”

“I love it when you get feisty,” he whispers.

I can’t even glare at him because Xian Smith has turned around, and he’s watching us approach. So I put on my business face.

“Hello, Mr. Smith. I’m sure you remember Eric.” I don’t plan on explaining why he’s here. “Thank you for flying in from California to meet with us.”

“Ms. Engels, it was my pleasure,” he says silkily. “I’m glad you were feeling well enough to suggest lunch.”

“Oh, I feel just fine, thank you. And lunch is a big priority for me lately.”

I’m tired of people commenting on my pregnancy. But I’ve also reached a point where I feel like it’s never going to end. That I’ll always be this size. That I’ll never bend over again.

“Follow me, please,” the ma?tre d’ says, and I waddle toward a perfect table for three.