Page 115 of Sucker For You

“Since you care so much? I’ll talk to some people. See what I can do.” Another pause, another smile. “If—”

If.

“—you come back to San Francisco. If you stop doing allthis.” His laugh and flourish with a chunk of salmon speared on his fork must have been for the other diners again. She wasn’t returning his smile and she certainly wasn’t laughing. Maybe his next words were for the others, too. “I miss you, babe. I love you.”

No.

“Why?”

“What?”

Unzipped fly, shuddering bathroom stalls, dangling panties, and stilettos.

“You love me,” she said. “Why?”

The salmon dropped an inch. “I. . . seriously? I can’t believe you’re asking me that, Bella. After I drove all the way to Monterey for you?”

“Why?”

“Come on. Don’t be like this. I can’t believe you’d really—actually. . .” He gave a second laugh, though it was short and his smile was strained. His words trailed off.

“Yes?”

“I—”

She waited. One breath, two. Another jaunty piano riff zinged nearby. But no reassurances from Chase followed. Maybe the words were stuck behind his teeth, struck dumb by their expensively capped gleam. Caught, like a fishbone between molars. A flake of salmon fell from his fork.

All he had was air.

He was wasting it.

She withdrew his engagement ring. She placed it on the table and slid it toward him. “You screwed a caterer at our wedding shower.”

“No.” Now he spoke—and he spoke to her. His smile twisted. He didn’t take the ring. “Stop this, Bella.”

“Stop what?”

“This. Whatever you’re trying to prove here. All right. You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?”

His knuckles whitened around his knife.Tick, went a muscle under his left eye. “Whatever you’re. . . Do you know what you’re risking?”

“Apparently not.” She shrugged. “So tell me. Tell me what I’m risking. Tell me why I’m such a problem for you, Chase.”

Problem, and he didn’t deny it. Not tonight. Not now. Instead, and for once, he gave her what she wanted:honesty.

For once he didn’t pretend.

“Tell you?” Taking a slug of Cabernet, he leaned over the table. His grin was fixed, hard. “Fine. Look,babe. I’m setting up a private medical practice. Do you have any idea how expensive that is? How hard it is to find funders, find the best patients, to network—to make the right connections? How expensive good parking is, too, and the cost of dinner and a nice bottle of wine? No, you wouldn’t. You’re just out at the beach every day, but—”

“How much does it cost?”

How much do I cost?

“More than UCSF Medical Center pays me. I can charge double when I go private. Establishing a practice has a big price tag, but with the BioPulse checks coming in? With my endorsements, it’s been going well. Or—it was.” His empty wine glass thudded down. “It was, until whatever the hell you did today in Moss Landing that made me a liability. When the CEO heard about charges against the company for wildlife trafficking, charges linked to one of his field researchers—when he heard you’d been involved, and they obviously know about my relationship to you—”

“Yes?”