Exposed by Fate (Serve #2)(32)

Jesus, he was already f*cking up the plan. He pasted a casual expression on his face and strode into the ballroom, his attention locked on Eliza’s smooth, exposed back. He could do this. Convincing women of his worth was his thing, right? Yeah. It actually mattered this time, though. If he failed, he lost the girl.

A knot tightened in his stomach. I can’t fail.

When Oliver was ten feet away, he watched the bartender prop his elbows on the bar in front of Eliza, lean close and smile. Oliver’s step faltered a little under the hot, blast of jealousy. His hands curled into fists, his jaw clenched. Easy, man. Sweaty, clenchy jealous guy isn’t exactly charming. Damn, if he felt like this over a flirting bartender, he’d have to be put in an asylum if she went out with Porter. Smoothly—he hoped—Oliver moved in beside Eliza and let a hand slide across her back to settle on her hip. When the bartender’s eyes snagged on his hand, he gave her a hard squeeze through the silk. Eliza sucked in a breath and sent him a questioning look, obviously thrown by his possessive behavior. Hang on, babe, I’m just getting started.

“I…um.” She gestured toward the bartender. “Oliver, this is Jerry.”

Oliver tipped his head in greeting. “Thank you for keeping her company.” In other words, f*ck off.

“It was my pleasure.” Jerry tossed a white towel over his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to overstep, it’s just that not a lot of customers order ouzo at the bar.”

“I understand.” He almost pulled off a friendly tone, but not quite. “Although I’m sure her being the most beautiful woman in the room didn’t hurt, either.”

“Not even a little.” Jerry laughed and walked off, presumably to pour their ouzo. Oliver felt Eliza’s gaze on him and turned. Her expression reminded him of earlier, right after he’d informed her of his research on Conrad Sterns. Maybe simply telling the truth about how he felt was the answer? Definitely something to explore. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” She smiled as Jerry set down glasses in front of them. “I just forget sometimes how easy you make it look.”

“I don’t understand.” But he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. “What do I make look easy?”

She drew a pattern on the bar with her index finger. “You say things that would sound like a line coming from anyone else. It’s an incredible talent.”

“Nothing I say to you is a line.”

“See?”

Attempting to hide his frustration, he tossed back the ouzo Jerry had poured. “I don’t need to use lines on you, Eliza. We’ve already gone to bed together.” They both flinched at his words. Mayday. Mayday. “That came out wrong. Completely.”

“I spoke too soon. You’re not as smooth as I thought.”

“Good,” he said on a pent-up breath. “I don’t want you to think I’m smooth.”

She stared at him. “I am so confused right now.”

He massaged his forehead. “Have lunch with me on Monday?”

“So not helping with the confusion.”

In fifth grade, his mother had found the Cliff’s Notes to Cyrano de Bergerac in his book bag and forced him to read the entire book, cover to cover. Right now, he wished like hell he had someone feeding him poetic words. The right words. He’d take a pass on the giant nose. He hadn’t really thought this through, had he? Why would he be asking Eliza to lunch? They had never gone out without Caroline as a buffer before. Their arrangement didn’t include a prix fixe. Of course she’d be thrown off.

“Oh.” Her smile seemed strained. “Lesson three. I wasn’t expecting it in the middle of the day. I guess you want to make it quick.”

“No, I—” Oliver cut himself off. It hurt him to know she thought he wanted to hurry up and end their arrangement, but as long as he got her out to lunch, he could worry about correcting her assumption later. Let her think it was about sex. When she got there and realized he just wanted to feed her and look at her, maybe grab a kiss or two—he wanted to be her boyfriend, not her priest—she’d be even more surprised. It might even be to his advantage. So what to tell her now? The truth? “I want to see you in the daylight,” he whispered.

For a moment, she looked stunned. Maybe even a little hopeful, but she eventually laughed. “There you are, Oliver. I was worried about you.”

Another line. She thought it was another line. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Do you want to dance again?”

She glanced toward the now-crowded dance floor. “No, actually I think I just want to go home. It’s Shark Week.”

He nearly choked on his tongue. “What?”

“Never mind.” She slid gracefully off her chair. “Want to split a cab?”

Fuck yes, he did. But he wanted to go home to the same place, and she’d only laugh at him or think he wanted more sex. “I’ll walk you out and hail one for you.”

“Aren’t you…staying?”

Oliver noticed her gaze had snagged on something over his shoulder. Brow dipping, he turned to find Blue Dress, the girl who’d waylaid him earlier, staring at him over the top of a champagne flute. Talk about Shark Week. She looked ready to strike. He gave her an absent smile he hoped wouldn’t encourage. It didn’t work. Without taking her attention off him, she set her glass down on a passing tray and swayed toward him. Oliver watched in slow motion as the girl punched another gaping hole in his chances with Eliza.