The Revelation of Light and Dark (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 1)

Titus snickers and moves my way, taking the bullwhip from me as I reach back to gingerly probe my shoulder blade. It feels like the bone is bruised. It throbs so hard I feel like cursing again and I see a handful of ibuprofen in my near future.

“It’s incredibly tricky to master,” Titus says encouragingly, moving to the cabinet as he coils the whip and returns it to its hook. “Maybe you should think about a battle-ax or short sword.”

“No, thank you,” I grit out, wincing as I press against my shoulder blade. “I want to learn the whip.”

Titus turns my way, expression awash with pride I didn’t give up because of one bruised shoulder. “We’ll start serious lessons on Monday.”

CHAPTER 19

Finley

Given the madness of my life lately—learning I’m not crazy being at the top of the list—being on a date with a handsome, smart, and successful man is about the nicest thing I can remember doing in a long time.

Michael picked me up promptly at six-thirty for a drive into the city. He had told me the restaurant we were going to beforehand. Since I wasn’t familiar with it, I’d asked Fallon. She gave me advice on what to wear, offered several outfits herself, but, ultimately, I decided on a simple black strapless dress I owned with a matching long-sleeved bolero jacket to ward off the evening chill.

Despite the dress leaving my shoulders bare, it wasn’t what I would consider sexy. The top portion comes high across my chest, showing not an inch of cleavage. It is incredibly form-fitting, though, especially through my torso and hips, and comes down to just past my knees with a small slit in the side. Also because of the June evening chill, which was in the mid-fifties, I decided to wear a pair of high-heeled black boots that just brushed the hem of my dress. It’s an outfit Fallon had helped me pick out a few years ago on a shopping trip I didn’t want to go on. Still, she ultimately guilted me into doing it so we could have some “sister” time. This was just after she had started dating Blain, and she felt her own wardrobe needed a bit of a step up to be worthy of the Strathertons.

And even though I didn’t enjoy that trip with her one bit because it’s just not my thing, the look on Michael’s face when he picked me up at my house was worth every excruciating minute.

I had suspected I looked rather good. Rainey did my makeup, and she insisted on leaving my hair wild and untamed. A natural roar of flames, she had called it.

Michael’s eyes bugged out when I walked into the living room. All my roommates were there, and he was sitting on the couch chatting with them.

He stood when I entered, making no attempt to hide the slide of his gaze as he took in every inch of me. The appreciation that lit his face caused a warm glow to flush through me.

His words made my little girlie heart sigh when he said, “You are so beautiful, Finley.”

It’s been a long damn time since a man has looked at me that way, and that’s mostly my fault for not putting myself out there. Just as I wouldn’t have been at Fallon’s gallery had she not forced me to be.

Tonight, I’m grateful to her for being the overbearing and pushy big sister.

The night has gone perfectly, our conversation never stopping except to put in our drink and meal orders. Our entrees finished—scallops for me and a steak for Michael—and dessert ordered, we continue chatting and sipping at the last remnants of the bottle of wine we’d shared.

“I have to say,” Michael says with a shake of his head in admiration. “Your journey to buy One Bean is pretty amazing. It’s like the definition of the American Dream, you know?”

He had peppered me ruthlessly about my life. I mean that in the fondest of ways because the man liked to listen, and he was extremely interested in me. I can’t count the number of dates I’d been on with men who only want to talk about themselves.

“It’s nice of you to say, but, honestly, I sort of lucked into it.” I’m not playing at the humility game either. Sometimes, I’m not sure I deserve to be where I am. I wonder why Rich ever picked me to work for him, promoted me, and eventually asked me to buy him out.

Michael scoffs, leveling me with an admonishing smile. “I don’t believe in luck making people successful. It might get your foot in the door, but you can’t credit any successes past that to just luck. You worked hard, Finley, so don’t diminish it.”

He may never know how much I appreciate those words because I do tend to credit what I’ve recently accomplished on merely being in the right place at the right time.