Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(28)

“You two have a great working relationship.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“Seriously?” I put the delivery bag on the bar, and I notice that Delilah already has mint leaves muddling with sugar and lime juice in two crystal glasses. “Seems like you should hire a guard you trust.”

“Gosh, why didn’t I think of that?” There’s an edge to her voice that’s unfamiliar to me. Everything she says seems to push me away.

But her body language tells another story. Even now, she’s coming closer, standing right beside me at the bar, where I unpack the food. We bump hips. She’s like a puppy that barks to put you on notice that it’s ferocious, and then immediately wags its tail, begging to be friends.

I wrap an arm around her. It should have been a simple, friendly gesture, but we both go still. Touching isn’t something we used to do. But I’ve been waiting for such a long time. The moment she opened the door on me an hour ago, the sight of her almost stopped my heart. I still want her so badly.

And even worse—my gut is still convinced she’s mine. I turn my head to the side and drop a kiss on her temple. The sweet scent of her shampoo almost moves me to tears. But I force myself to take a sidestep away from her. “I’m going to find some real plates,” I tell her, my voice thick. “This suite is crazy.”

“No need for china,” she says. “I’m not the snob that this hotel room makes me out to be.”

“Let’s not eat this glorious food with plastic forks, though. And you can finish making those drinks.”

She gives me a quick glance and then peels the seal off the rum. She’s still a little unnerved by me. Not afraid, but stunned. I guess that makes sense. I’ve been seeing her face everywhere, but she hasn’t seen Ralph the bartender in years.

“I don’t know how much rum to add.”

“Put the ice in first, and then add about this much rum.” I pinch the air to show her about an inch and a half.

“Got it.”

“Are you still…” I clear my throat, trying to find the right question.

“Crazy?” she offers.

“No. Come on. Phobic is the word I was looking for.”

“Yes.” She sighs. “It hasn’t gotten worse, but it hasn’t really gotten better, either. I still don’t drink anything that I haven’t opened or poured for myself.”

I hand her the unopened bottle of soda water and smile at her.

“Thank you, Ralph,” she whispers.

“Anytime,” I whisper back.

We’re staring at each other. I know this whole night is crazy and not what she expected. But it’s already perfect. All I ever wanted was to apologize for standing her up and to make another drink for her.

“We should probably eat this food while it’s hot,” she whispers.

“Yup.”

We give our lingering, hungry gaze one more long beat. Delilah looks away first. She opens a drawer to reveal knives and forks.

We arrange ourselves on the sofa, side by side, our plates on the coffee table. She gives me a shy smile as she cuts her first bite of food. Then I watch Delilah tuck away a healthy portion of fine roast beef and plantain fritters.

It’s almost embarrassing how much satisfaction it gives me to feed her. “Better now?” I ask, popping a fritter in my mouth.

“Much better.” She puts her fork down and leans back with a sigh. “This day, though.”

“Do you want to tell me why you’re kind of a wreck?”

Her laugh is bitter. “Is it that obvious?”

“Was your meeting awful?”

“Yes. But that’s only one symptom of the problem.” She crosses her legs on the sofa. “It’s…everything. Brett Ferris was so integral to my life that when I finally left him for good, everything got more stressful.”

I didn’t really come here to talk about that asshole, but maybe there’s no choice. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” She sighs. “Everyone that makes my week easier is his employee. My former assistant worked for him. My security company was hired by him.” She points at the door, indicating the bodyguard outside. “He’s probably spying on me. But what do I know about hiring a security company?” She puts her head in her hands. “My accountant is Brett’s accountant. You get the picture. Only Becky has defected. She quit her PR firm to work for me full time. I didn’t even know how to hire someone or how to run a payroll. The first week I stopped by an ATM and paid her in cash.”

“So there’s a lot of admin stressing you out?”

“Yes.” She looks up at me. “And then there’s the stalker.”

“The—what?” I set the remains of my dinner down. “You have a stalker?”

She nods, and picks at the cuticles of one hand. “I get a lot of weird mail. That’s been going on for a while. But there’s this one guy who found my home address somehow. He writes these creepy notes about how we’re going to get to know each other better.” She shivers. “He writes them on cocktail napkins. So that’s fun.”

I cannot hide my flinch. “Cocktail napkins. From anywhere specific?”

“It’s from a different bar every time. There was an interview in Spin once about how I wrote lyrics on a cocktail napkin—” She gives me a shy glance. “Your cocktail napkin. I’d forgotten my notebook.”