If the Sun Never Sets (If Love 2)

“Landon told me you left your design firm right before you took on my project.” Talk about fortuitous timing. “Are you looking to start your own company?”

“Maybe one day. Not now. I’m working with you as a freelancer, not a one-person studio.” Farrah traced another star. “Anyway, that’s not why I left.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Blake asked, “So why’d you leave?”

“It’s a long story.”

“We have time.”

“Not really. It’s getting dark.”

She was right. The bright afternoon sun had softened to the warm yellow of golden hour. Sunset approached, turning the sky into a palette of soft pastels.

“We could continue this over dinner. Not a date,” Blake added when Farrah frowned. “Just a meal between old friends.” He was stretching the definition of “friends,” but at least she didn’t correct him. “There are a couple of great restaurants around here.”

“Maybe, but I can’t.” Farrah unfolded herself from the rock. “I have a date.”

The green-eyed monster reared its ugly head again. “Oh. Boyfriend, or just

a date?” he asked. Light, casual, but hard tension ran beneath his words.

She hesitated. “Just a date.”

Relief fizzled through him—at least she didn’t have a boyfriend—but the tension remained. Was this the same douche who’d texted her the other day? Where the fuck was he planning to take Farrah? Probably to some cheesy Italian restaurant where he’d try to get her drunk on red wine in the hopes of hitting a home run on the first date.

Farrah doesn’t like red wine, you asshole.

Some might call him crazy for holding a mental conversation with a guy he’d never met, but those people could fuck right off.

Blake shoved his hands into his jacket pocket as they exited the park. The city’s energy crackled in the air and danced along his skin, burning off some of his steam.

It wouldn’t do him any good to act like a jealous prick, so he recalibrated.

“If you change your mind about dinner or your date turns out to be a flop, I’ll be at The Egret on the Upper West Side. Best damn burgers in the city—at least, until my place opens.” Blake grinned until his cheeks ached. “Their drink specials run till eleven, so I’ll be there till late.”

Farrah ignored the bait. “Good night.”

“Good night. Enjoy your date.”

Total lie.

It was wrong and petty of him, but as Blake watched Farrah walk away, he couldn’t help but hope she had a really, really bad date.

Chapter Nine

Farrah wanted to poke her eyes out, and they hadn’t even made it to the main course.

Olivia’s co-worker was cute, she’d give him that. Ken had dark hair, green eyes, and a nice smile. No complaints on that front. Too bad he also had the personality and self-absorption of a wet sponge, not to mention the maturity of an eighteen-year-old rushing a fraternity.

“Anyway, I was on the phone with this guy, and he was all like, dude, you should totally come to the Hamptons this summer, the parties are sick. And I was like, dude, we go to the Hamptons every summer. Let’s go somewhere different, ya know? Let’s go to Martha’s Vineyard! So, he…”

Farrah’s eyes glazed over. While Ken droned on, she sipped her red wine and tried not to stare too hard at the cutlery, lest she pick up a knife and stab herself or Ken to put them out of their misery. She hated red wine—it gave her migraines and one sip made her skin flush redder than an angry lobster—but Ken had ordered the bottle without asking, and she was desperate.

Not even the restaurant could make up for the disastrous evening. They were at a cute little Italian place in NoMad that Farrah had always wanted to try. No doubt Olivia gave Ken a nudge when it came to choosing the date spot, but that wouldn’t save Olivia from the imminent pain coming her way.

I am going to kill her. How could she possibly think I’d like this guy?

“So.” Farrah tried to steer the subject away from Ken’s summer exploits. “You like to travel.”