Page 25 of Broken Vows
Of course it is.
Grafton
See you then, Lynley.
The bubbles that indicate she’s typing come and go for several minutes before disappearing completely, but I’m not worried. I’m confident she’ll find the courage to meet with me, now knowing I have the ability to untangle her from her husband.
Arrogant? Maybe.
But I’ve been around long enough to know when a woman is attracted to me, and I’m not above using that. Lynley’s not the kind of woman who will give in before her marriage is completely and legally dissolved, but when she’s free?
I’ll be here, waiting for her.
Chapter 10
Lynley
The moment I step through the door of Rosetta Cafe, a warning skates down my spine, sending every hair standing on end. I freeze in front of the hostess stand, wondering if I’m imagining things. But I blink, and nothing has changed—the place is completely empty.
Not quiet, butempty.
None of the tables are occupied. There’s no one waiting to seat me, and all the ambient sounds you usually expect from a busy lunch spot are missing.
I don’t move, sure someone is going to appear and tell me off for coming into a place that’s obviously closed. When it doesn’t happen, I fumble with my bag, searching for my phone to double-check this is where Grafton told me to meet him.
I don’t even get the screen unlocked when my stomach flutters, the hair lifting on the back of my neck. I swallow thickly, already knowing what I’ll see, but I look up, and there he is.
Grafton.
He’s standing on the other side of the room, his eyes locked on me. He’s wearing another dark, tailored suit, complete with a black dress shirt underneath. As I watch, he reaches up, nimble fingers pulling his teal tie loose from his collar. My hands fall uselessly to my sides, fingers still clutched around my phone.
He pulls the silky fabric away, tucking it into the pocket of his pants. “Hate these things,” he rumbles, a gleam in his icy eyes. “Although they do have some uses.”
My gaze skitters away, unable to withstand the intensity in his, but I catch the tug at the corner of his mouth before I do. I clear my throat. “Where is everyone?”
Grafton hasn’t moved, but his presence is smothering even from across the room. It feels like he’s stealing all the oxygen, leaving me lightheaded. “I booked the place out. I thought we could use some privacy,” he says casually, and then a thick brow wings up. “I figured you wouldn’t want to risk coming back to the agency.”
“Right.” My voice is shaky, tentative. “But we didn’t plan to meet until this morning.”
His stare is a burning brand on my skin, his voice as smooth as whiskey as he simply says, “Yes.”
He strides toward a table in the back corner. I approach warily, seeing that someone has readied two place settings and a glass of bubbly white wine beside both.
My mouth thins into a line. This feels…intimate.
It’s not what I expected when I messaged him this morning, knowing I was meeting him to get access to videos of my husband fucking other people. Grafton is playing a game, and not knowing why is making me edgy. I’m always walking a tightrope in trying to extract myself from my marriage with minimal damage to everyone except Christopher.
Grafton pulls my chair out for me, and I murmur a “Thank you,” averting my eyes from his as he lowers his large frame into the seat across from me.
“How are you, Lynley?” he asks after a moment, voice soft. I look over, noticing the way the corners of his eyes have creased downward. “You look tired.”
I huff through my nose. “Just what every woman wants to hear.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I clamp my lips shut.Oh, god, it sounds like I’m fishing.A beat passes, and then my mouth is opening again, words pouring out of me. “I haven’t been sleeping well. That’s all. And after seeing the…” I trail off when his expression darkens.
I jump as a server appears on silent feet, her smile polite as she sets two plates down. “Here’s your appetizer—roasted fig and prosciutto crostini. Please signal if you need anything else.” Curiosity blazing as her eyes bounce between us, she melts away before either of us can say a word.
I watch her disappear through a back door, glancing back at Grafton, an embarrassed flush crawling up my neck. “It was so quiet. I didn’t think anyone else was here.”
He smirks. “I have many talents, but cooking is not one of them.” He gestures at the food, which is plated perfectly with a decorative garnish. “I know the chef. Julian Slater is an old friend. We shared a dorm in college.”
