Exposed by Fate (Serve #2)(37)

“Yes.” Oliver patted every pocket he had, searching frantically for a pen. Eliza handed him one, along with a notepad she magically produced from her purse.

God, I love this woman.

An innocent thought, sure, but it only took a split second to realize…he’d meant it. In every sense. A dull roar started in the back of his head and surged louder. He loved her. He loved Eliza. Not because she’d handed him a pen, but because she’d somehow known this call went beyond the usual importance. It was right there in her encouraging expression. Okay, calm down. Now you know. He’d have to think about it later, when she wasn’t standing two feet away looking at him like he’d sprouted horns. Why was she looking at him like that? Shit. The phone call. “Your niece hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

“That’s Frankie. She’s mule-headed like her mother, God rest her soul.”

There was a scratching sound on the other end, and Oliver got the impression the other man was crossing himself. “So you’re calling on her behalf?”

“Look, she’d pitch a shit fit if she knew I was calling you.” He lowered his voice. “She just walked in for her lunch break, though. I figure she’ll sit still for about twenty minutes, give or take, if you wanted to swing by and plead your case. ABC Cab Company on the West Side Highway.”

Oliver wanted to ask how he’d become the one pleading to give away money. Shouldn’t it be the opposite? Why did that fact that this girl didn’t want the money only assure him she was the right candidate? He looked at Eliza, watching him so patiently. He couldn’t give up the chance to spend an hour with her, could he? Dammit, though. This is exactly what everyone, his father included, would expect him to do. Blow off a project before he saw it completed. He swallowed hard, cursing the universe’s timing. He’d just have to work overtime to make sure he got this chance with Eliza again. “I’ll be there.”





Chapter Sixteen


Eliza watched Oliver hang up the phone, already knowing he was about to cancel. It startled her just how devastated she was by the prospect, when just fifteen minutes ago she thought he’d blown her off. She wanted to spend every minute with him that she could. Part of her had even been excited by his decree of look but don’t touch. That silly, hopeful part of her that wouldn’t seem to die even wondered if he just liked being with her. Even without the sex. Apparently she wouldn’t get the chance to find out.

“Rain check?” She almost winced at the desperate note in her voice.

Eyes closed, he dropped his head forward. The picture of male regret. As always, though, Oliver did it with a special flair. He took a step into her personal space and looked over her face like he wanted to catalogue every detail. She swore he even groaned when his attention snagged on her mouth. “I’m sorry, bunny. It’s really important or I wouldn’t leave. You know that, right?” Appearing fascinated, he traced her collarbone with his fingers. When he spoke again, he sounded as if he were talking to himself. “I’m under some pressure with a project. I can’t put this off.”

“I understand.” Curiosity got the best of her. She needed to know what managed to rattle Oliver from the casual, unconcerned air he reserved for business. “What’s the project?”

Oliver slid the pen behind his ear. “I set up a scholarship in my mother’s name. I’ve been looking through applicants for weeks. Students who were accepted to certain schools, but lacked the funds to pay tuition.” He looked down at the address where he’d jotted down the name of a…cab company? “This girl, Frankie—she’s a cab driver—just jumped out at me, her essay…she sounded like someone my mother would have liked. She even grew up in Middle Village, just like her. But all my calls go to voicemail. I don’t get it.”

Eliza swore she could feel her heart sinking toward her knees with the weight of feeling expanding in her chest. “I didn’t know you’d done that. It’s amazing. Y-you have to go.”

He glanced toward the door, then jerked back in her direction. “Would you…come with me?”

The hopefulness in voice pierced the air. Pierced her. “Yes. Of course.”

“Thank you, Jesus.” Once again, he took her hand and strode toward the revolving doors. They stepped out into the warm, spring air and stopped at the curb. Oliver put out his hand, signaling a yellow taxi to pull over and pick them up. “Is it ironic that we’re taking a cab to a cab company’s headquarters?”

“Ironic would be if we couldn’t get a ride back.”

Oliver laughed as she passed him and ducked into the cab. They rode in silence for a while toward the West Side. She sensed Oliver was pulling his thoughts together. Since he hadn’t brought Frankie’s application with him, he had to pull it up on his phone’s email, refreshing his memory on details that might be important during what would apparently be an ambush meeting.

He held her hand the entire way there, resting in between them on the vinyl seat. She didn’t know if he was aware of it, or if the absent brushing of his thumb over her knuckles was an attempt to scramble her brain. But she liked it. Okay, she loved it. In a way that could prove harmful to her health.

When they were almost there, he stowed his phone in his jacket pocket and stared out the window. “If I don’t deliver on this, no one will be surprised.”