Take Me with You (Take Me #2)(19)

A black town car was parked on the street, and I glanced around. “Where’s the truck?”

“No truck tonight.”

The driver hopped out of the front seat and opened the back door.

Oh.

Oh!

My brain wasn’t catching up quickly enough with what I was seeing. “You got a car? To drive us into the city?”

“Don’t act so shocked,” he said. “I can afford to do nice things for you.”

“Of course you can. I didn’t think you would want to.”

“That I wouldn’t want to do nice things for you?”

“No,” I said plainly. God. I needed to get myself together. I wasn’t trying to insult him. I was trying to understand. “That you’d want to get all dressed up. Ignore me. I’ll get in the car now.”

Grant climbed in after me, and then we were off.

I couldn’t believe the things I’d said and the way I had acted. Yes, it was surprising he had shown up in a tuxedo and was driving me to New York City in a town car. Wouldn’t most girls be jumping up and down for this?

I couldn’t place where my unease originated. It was probably a result of the bad grade I’d gotten today, and I was simply being dramatic. That was what I was going with.

The traffic into the city was horrendous, thanks to the holiday weekend, and it took us forever to make it to our destination. I was jittery by the time we pulled up, and I was anxious to find out where we were.

When the car door opened and I stepped out onto the noisy city street, I teetered on my heels in anticipation. Grant slid his hands over my eyes. His breath was hot against my ear, and it sent a shiver up my spine. Where had this all come from? What had happened to my manwhore rock-star boyfriend?

“Ready?” he breathed.

I nodded.

He walked me inside a building, into an elevator, pressed me back against the wall, and then dropped his mouth down onto mine. I returned his kiss that was layered with a hint of desperation and desire with my own need for him.

We broke apart as the elevator dinged before opening to our destination.

My face fell. Oh.

“Surprise!”

Orchids filled the room of the restaurant with the same name, and they assaulted my senses. I’d been to Orchids more times than I could count. When my dad did business in the city, we always ended up at Orchids. It was one of the nicest places in the city, and they catered to a certain clientele that made me wonder what kind of backroom deals Grant must have done to get us seated on such a prominent holiday.

I immediately felt bad for thinking it. He was trying to do right by me. It was sweet, charming. He was treating me like the princess he always called me.

“Reservations for two. McDermott,” Grant said to the host.

“Ah, yes, Mr. McDermott,” the man said, looking him up and down. “Right this way.”

We were seated at a little candlelit table by a window with a bottle of champagne waiting.

“Okay, seriously. How did you get us into Orchids on Valentine’s Day?” I asked.

Grant shrugged and gave me his most devious look. “Connections.”

“But this place is next to impossible to get into on a regular day.”

“You said you wanted to come here, so I brought you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What? I never said I wanted to come to Orchids.”

“Well, I heard you mention it to your friends. Same thing.”

“Oh. No, it’s where my dad always comes for business.”

His face fell as the news hit him.

“Not that it isn’t nice. It’s a great restaurant.”

“Did you want to go somewhere else?” he asked.

I caught his eye and shook my head. “No. This is perfect. Really.”

Perfect. Really.

I’d never heard so much bullshit come out of her mouth in one night.

I’d put in all of this work to get her the kind of Valentine’s Day I thought she would want. Fancy dinner, town car, tuxedo—I thought these things were a f*cking prerequisite. But she had been more uncomfortable since I picked her up than I’d seen her since I pursued her like a f*cking maniac last semester.

She sweetly smiled back at me and then opened her menu.

Man, I’d better be getting laid after this.

“So, you like French food?” she asked.

French food? I opened the menu. Half of it was in French. Well, f*ck me.

“Sure.” I shrugged as I tried to understand what the f*ck was in front of me.

The waiter came by and introduced himself. Ari asked for a bottle of some French wine I couldn’t come close to pronouncing, and she did it all in flawless French. The waiter was enamored with her. He left with a skip in his step.

“You speak French,” I said tightly.

“Not fluently.”

“Uh-huh.”

I peered over my menu at the people surrounding us. It was a myriad of older couples who were barely looking at each other and flighty gold-digger types with sugar daddies. We were the youngest people in the room by a long shot, and the longer I sat in here, the more uncomfortable I felt. I had been a fool to think that by putting on a tuxedo, I’d suddenly belong here. You can take the boy out of the trailer, but you can’t take the trailer out of the boy.

When the waiter returned, he uncorked the bottle, poured a small amount into my glass, and then handed it to me. Really? That was all I was going to get? I could down that bottle myself in a couple of minutes.