Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(115)

“What was the reason again?”

We moved forward in line. “Your moral repugnance.”

“Oh, good. I thought it was something serious.”

I gave him a dirty look. “What are you doing here?”

“In Chicago or at this event?”

“Both.”

“I’m in town visiting a friend. His mom is on the board at the hospital. What about you?”

“I came with my roommate. She works for the hospital foundation. And my company does their PR.”

“Ah.” He swirled the honey-colored liquid in his glass. “I’ve reached out a few times over the last year or so. Sent you a few texts.”

“Oh really? I didn’t get them,” I said. “Maybe you have the wrong number.”

He smiled, because he knew I was lying.

A moment later, we reached the front of the line, and Oliver asked me what I’d like.

“Vodka and soda with a lime, please,” I said to the bartender. I’d be damned if I’d let him order for me.

The bartender nodded and looked at Oliver. “And for you?”

“Nothing for me, thanks.”

While my drink was being poured, I put a dollar in the tip jar and checked my phone. It was only nine, and I was already bored stiff at this event. I wasn’t really a gala sort of person, and while I liked supporting a good cause with my work, standing around in a fancy dress and high heels making small talk with stiff rich people got old fast. My roommate had disappeared an hour ago with a recently divorced surgeon she’d been crushing on, and I had a feeling they’d gotten a room upstairs. But I didn’t want to leave without hearing from her.

The bartender returned with my cocktail, and Oliver reached for it. “I’ll carry it for you,” he said. “Where are you sitting?”

“Where’s your date?” I asked, moving away from the bar. “Isn’t she missing you by now?”

He followed me. “I came with a guy friend, and while he is gay, I’m pretty sure I’m not his type.”

“Oh.” I looked over toward my table, which I wasn’t particularly excited about returning to. “I was sitting over there, but …”

“You don’t want to sit?”

“Not really.” I took my drink from his hand and sipped, making a face. “Ew. This is totally watered-down, and I think he put tonic in it, not soda.”

“Want me to get another one for you?”

I sighed and shook my head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Listen. Why don’t we go upstairs to the hotel bar and get a real drink?”

“I don’t know. I’m kind of tired.” I checked my phone, and sure enough, the message from my roommate said Staying here tonight!!!

“Come on, Dimples,” Oliver prodded. “I’m buying, and we can catch up. We haven’t seen each other in, what, two years?”

“Three,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him, because he knew exactly when it was. “Hughie’s party, remember?

“I remember.” He finished his drink, his eyes dancing over the rim of his glass. “So what do you say? One drink for old times’ sake? I promise I’m not carrying any rubber snakes, nor will I dare you to jump off the roof.”

“Your promises mean nothing to me, Oliver Pemberton. Because you never keep them.” I frowned at my crappy cocktail. “But I would like a good drink before I go.”

He laughed, taking the full glass from my hand and setting it alongside his empty one on a nearby service tray. “You got it. Let’s go. One drink, and then I’ll get you an Uber.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

We made our way toward the hotel elevators, and I stumbled slightly on the long hem of my dress. Oliver immediately took my arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I borrowed this dress, so it’s not a perfect fit. My roommate is taller than I am.”

“Who isn’t?”

I glared at him but let him keep my arm in his grasp. I didn’t necessarily like him touching me—my body always reacted to his touch—but I didn’t want to face-plant, either.

Side by side, we rode the elevator in silence, and when the doors opened, Oliver led me through them. A woman waiting to board the elevator smiled at us. “What a beautiful couple,” she said.

“Thank you,” Oliver replied.

“But we’re not a couple,” I added, taking my arm back. I lifted up the hem of my dress as we walked across the lobby to the bar.

It was crowded, and I didn’t see anywhere to sit except for a few tables with Reserved signs on them. “Should we go somewhere else?” I asked.

“No. Give me one minute.” Oliver went over to the host, took some cash from his wallet and slipped it to him. A moment later, he was back.

“We can sit anywhere we’d like,” he said confidently.

I was annoyed and relieved at the same time. My feet were killing me. “How about over there?” I pointed to a small corner booth with a round table.

“Perfect.” He took my arm again and guided me toward the spot.

We slid into the booth, and I immediately took off my shoes. A waiter came over and asked what we’d like, and Oliver looked at me. “What sounds good? Vodka?”