Page 112 of Fifth Avenue Flirt

“How are you?” I ask.

“I think I’m good too.”

“That sounds interesting,” I say. Ben isn’t usually unsure about anything. The fact that he only thinks he’s good is intriguing.

He smirks. “Does it? I’m all the better for seeing you. That’s what I mean. Let’s sit.”

I know it’s his canned charm, but if I squint, I can believe what he’s saying to me is the only time he’s ever used that line.

He pulls out a chair from the low table and I glance around. “Should I get drinks or…”

“I have wine. Do you want something else?”

“Wine works,” I say, as I take a seat, willing him to touch me, to graze my shoulder or slide his legs against mine. He pours me a glass, and I don’t take my eyes off him as his large hand spans the bottle and his gaze concentrates carefully on the pour.

“Should we make a toast?” he says. “To you not falling in love with me?” He raises his glass.

“Hmmm.” I’m not ready to make that toast. I’m mildly suspicious about toasts. They have to be genuine. “Maybe later.” I take a sip. “Oh, we’ve had this before,” I say.

“Well remembered,” he says. “We had it at the Met.”

“I had a really good time that night.” I search his face looking for clues that he might have missed me. “I always have a really good time with you.” I haven’t planned what to say tonight. I know the man in front of me has a line of women around the block ready and willing to do whatever it is that he wants them to do. But I feel like I have to say something. I don’t want to feel the things I do for Ben, and for him to never know.

“What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?” he asks.

He wants to get right down to business. He’s probably got a packed schedule tonight and doesn’t want to waste time chatting to me when he could be out making contacts, doing deals, having dinner with someone else. My heart pinches in my chest, and I remind myself that even though I don’t expect Ben to feel the same way, I do have to tell him how I feel. I don’t want to have any regrets.

“Oh yes, about that,” I say, trying to be businesslike.

He smiles at me like I’ve lost my goddamned mind, which I may well have done.

“This is awkward, and you’re probably going to think I’ve wasted a lot of your time, and if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, then I’d be happy to do whatever it is you need—I mean, even move in again…” I laugh manically. “The water pressure at your place is really good. And even⁠—”

“Are you okay?” he interrupts, his eyebrows pulled together.

I straighten in my seat and pull my shoulders back. I really should have practiced this. “I’m nervous,” I say. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

He shakes his head. “Never.”

“You haven’t heard what I’m going to tell you.”

“There’s nothing you could say.” His tone is soft, and he scans my face like he’s trying to fix something.

My heart flips at the idea that there’s nothing I could say that could make Ben hate me. I’m about to put that to the test.

“We’re not going ahead with the Boston hotel, even though you’ve put us in contact with Patrick and everything is progressing,” I say as quickly as possible. “We’re going to go with the Fifth Avenue hotel.”

His expression is impossible to read. This is business-mode Ben. The Ben that gives nothing away and manages to placate every side in a negotiation. He’s good.

“Worth doesn’t want to do Boston?” he asks, his voice entirely neutral.

“I don’t want to do Boston.”

His eyebrow pulses up, conveying his shock in a very muted way. “I thought that was the thing you wanted most of all. You were prepared to do just about anything to get it, as I recall.”

My heart is pounding in my chest as he speaks. “Yes. You’re right. It was the thing I wanted most of all. And now it’s not.”

“Simple as that,” he says.