“Also, apart from the prestige of working for someone of his stature, Michael’s offer also intrigues you because you’d be so busy you wouldn’t have time to think, to feel, to date. It’d be another excuse for you not to engage in real life.”
This? Again? Beah loved Keely, she did, but her best friend was both opinionated and stubborn. And sometimes, an attack was the best defense. “And you? Are you dating?”
Keely didn’t flinch at her accusation. “This conversation is about you, not me.” Keely cleared her throat and Beah knew her next words might have the potential to sting. Keely, forthright and honest, rarely pulled her punches.
“While I hate that you, and Finn, were hurt by your divorce, it was, in many ways, good for you, Beah. You learned to stand on your own two feet, to ask for what you want, to chase down a goal. Though I someti
mes do think you’ve become a little too independent.”
“Is that even possible?”
“Let me put it this way... I worry you push people away, that you don’t allow anyone to get close.”
Because that was what Finn had done to her.
“I’m close to you,” Beah protested.
“Mostly because I push and pry and keep pounding on the door when you slam it close,” Keely replied.
Beah couldn’t argue with her.
Over the past nine years, Keely had been her North Star, her compass point, her bedrock. She didn’t need anything more than to know she was standing in her corner. Keely’s friendship was the equivalent of having her own thirty-girl squad. “I have you, Keels.”
“But as fabulous as I am,” Keely replied with asperity, “I do not have a pair of big arms, a low voice and a non-female point of view. You need love, Jenkinson, and God knows, you need sex. When did you last go on a date? And for the love of God, do not tell me the last person you had sex with was Finn Murphy,” Keely demanded.
Beah shook her head. She’d had sex since divorcing her ex. Not often and not great sex, but it still qualified. Just.
Beah glanced at her watch and grimaced. If she didn’t hustle, she would be late and she was never late. She stood up and tucked her clutch bag under her arm. It was a fantastic excuse to end this frustrating conversation. “I need to go, Keely. My bosses won’t be impressed if I’m late, and Paris Cummings hates tardiness.”
“I suppose I should know who Paris is but I don’t,” Keely said, sounding peeved.
“Art collector, old money, a property developer. Reclusive and grumpy.” Beah said, heading for the door. Paris Cummings was an art collector she’d been pursuing for years, and she had to attend this dinner and help woo the stubborn collector to their side of the fence.
And that meant sitting at the same table as her ex-husband, pretending they hadn’t spent the best part of a decade avoiding each other.
Beah blew Keely a kiss and tucked her phone back into her clutch. She placed the bag under her arm and pulled an insouciant smile onto her face.
She was no longer the impulsive wild child who, within a week of meeting Finn Murphy, moved into his luxurious apartment and married him in Vegas on the three-month anniversary of the day they met.
She was successful. She was confident. She was in control...
At the entrance to the very upmarket restaurant, Beah smiled at the maître d’ and surrendered her coat. Resisting the urge to check that no red curls had escaped her smooth chignon, she looked over the exquisitely decorated dining room, her eyes immediately going to the best table in the room.
As if he could feel her eyes, Finn jerked his head up and their gazes clashed.
Beah’s feet felt glued to the floor and she couldn’t pull her eyes off his masculine, oh-so-handsome face. There was a hint of the nerd he’d once been, in the wire-rimmed glasses over sharply intelligent eyes and a slow-to-smile mouth. A close-cropped, super-short beard covered his cheeks and jaw; his dark blond hair was overlong and could do with a trim but his shoulders were wide in a designer suit, exquisitely tailored for his tall frame.
Finn pushed his way to his feet, unfurling his long, muscled body. He wore a black shirt without a tie and his eyes, a light green, remained on her with laser-like intensity.
He used to look at her like that while they were making love, as he was about to slide into her. Like she was a puzzle he didn’t understand but needed to complete...
“Ms. Jenkinson? Ma’am?”
Beah heard her name being called from a place far away and wrenched her eyes off Finn onto the concerned face of the maître d’.
“The Misters Murphy are expecting you and, I’m sure, delighted to have you join them.” He gestured her to precede him.
Beah forced herself to cross the room, to keep her face impassive. Yeah, she could pretty much guarantee Finn Murphy was not delighted to see her.