She blinked. “No.”
Lie.
I could read her easily. I hadn’t lost that ability. For better or worse, a part of my body was still tuned in to reading Holland Maxwell’s emotions, since it seemed nobody else had developed that skill for her when she was growing up.
They probably weren’t quite as sharp anymore, but I still had the skills to gauge how she was feeling at a given moment. Though I barely has to use those now to know that she was lying.
And hungry.
“What did you eat today?” I asked.
“Eggs over easy and toast,” she supplied merrily.
I smirked, remembering the daily breakfast I’d see her eating back at the Maxwell house in Jersey. “As usual,” I remarked, making her smile. “And for lunch?”
She paused.
“Did you eat lunch, Holland?” I questioned.
She was quiet for another second before heaving a sigh. “So I got randomly pulled into a meeting at noon, but I’m actually not that hungry right now ‘cause—”
“You need to eat,” I said, firm enough to make her mouth snap shut mid-explanation.
“Okay,” she said slowly, looking off to the side as she stretched the word out. When she looked back at me, her eyebrows quirked up, and she was wearing a deliberately awkward little smile. “Like… now?”
I eyed her. I knew what she was asking—if I would be joining her, because a meal didn’t exactly fall in line with a night of only sex. And if I knew what was best for me, I’d call room service and eat her pussy till her food arrived.
But against my better judgment, I gave a nod out the door.
“I know a good spot that’s not too far,” I said, watching her eyes light up. “Let’s go.”
The spot I chose was a New American tavern in Soho—upscale yet laid-back like its owner. Or at least one of them.
Drew and our upscale yet laid-back friend Emmett were the owners of The Oxford Social, and I probably should have know better than to bring Holland there considering it was the go-to spot of our heavily-intertwined social circle. But the place was close, it was good, and most importantly, they had sweet potato fries.
Crispy ones.
So after informing Holland of the fact, and getting—as predicted—a sharp gasp followed by the declaration “I love sweet potato fries!” I called in her order and made sure they’d have both her food and our table ready within ten minutes.
And thankfully they did, because the house was packed by the time we arrived.
“Wow. I’m glad you know Drew Maddox,” Holland said as I ushered her through the crowd with a hand on her lower back.
Well. That makes one of us, I thought wryly, wondering just how many dozen missed texts I currently had from Drew. There was no doubt in my mind that by now, he was firing off the names of every woman he suspected I might be with tonight.
Yeah, something tells me you won’t guess, I thought while taking in my view of Holland as she followed the maitre’d to our table.
Her pale sundress and white sneakers stood out among the sea of grey suits and leather loafers. Like the lone sunflower in a field. It drew more eyes than I wanted in our direction, but I still found myself wearing a half-smile I couldn’t suppress, because as out of place as she was, Holland was still the sexiest woman in the room by so many miles it would be worthless to try and count.
“Oh, wow, that was fast.” Her eyes lit up when a server appeared table-side with her food and my usual drink just as we were getting seated.
She was in the middle of saying thank you to him just as another figure appeared next to our table.
“Iain,” the familiar voice to my left said. “Thought that was you.”
I looked up.
“Lukas. How are you?”