Not if I could humanly avoid it. “I’ll let you know.” I smiled, gave him a parting chin jerk, and then put the phone back to my mouth. “You still there, Ty?”
He wasn’t, by the way. I’d been faking the whole damn conversation, hoping like hell Oscar would catch a fucking hint.
As he finally walked away, I tucked the phone into my pocket and blew out an exasperated groan. How the hell was I supposed to make it five more days with this guy? I knew he’d be obnoxious. He always was. At least at home, I could hide from him in the confines of my own private office.
Tugging at my tie, I walked to the hotel bar. With the conference ending for the day, the restaurants would be packed, and as very appealing as the idea of getting out and experiencing what Charlotte had to offer was, I was exhausted. Technically, I was off all week, but I still needed to check in with Emily and return a few emails to clients before I could get any rest.
“Hey there,” an older female bartender greeted before I could slide onto the stool. “What can I get ya?”
Shedding my suit coat, I sat down. “Do you serve food here?”
“Yep. I’ll get you a menu.”
“No need. May I have a burger?”
“You got it. Lettuce, tomato, onion…”
I think she kept talking, though I couldn’t be completely sure. One glance at the other end of the bar and my whole body locked up tight, my brain momentarily losing its ability to focus on anything else.
I blinked, not trusting my eyes. I’d tricked myself into thinking I’d seen her before. Made a whole fucking fool out of myself tracking down a familiar voice in a crowd that never turned out to be hers.
But as I sat there, my heart painfully frozen in my chest, there was no mistaking her for anyone else.
Gorgeous blond hair I’d threaded my fingers through countless times.
Blue eyes that would own me until the day I took my final breath.
Perfect pink lips that had branded my skin in ways time could never heal.
My Remi.
What the hell was she doing there? Of all the places I could run into her again, I’d never once considered it would be in Charlotte, North Carolina, at the International Business and Accounting for Longevity Symposium—most lovingly referred to as the IBALS.
What were the fucking odds? I made sure not to say that out loud though. Any one of these brainiacs might have actually known the math.
Then again, Remi and I had defied far more impossible odds before.
“Sir,” the bartender prompted, snapping me out of my stupor.
I cleared my throat, the shock suddenly giving way to a surge of excitement.
She was there. Right fucking there.
Four months and she was finally within my reach again.
“Actually, forget about the burger,” I said, rising from my seat.
A million thoughts raced through my head as a man slid onto the stool beside her. The crinkle of her nose was almost comical as he started talking to her. No doubt offering to buy her a drink. I’d seen that look before. She didn’t know him or want his attention.
Well, this was familiar.
A gorgeous woman across the bar, trying to shut down an unwelcome advance.
The first time we’d met, I’d waited so long to make a move she’d had to do it herself. I was not, under any circumstances, making that mistake again. I had no idea what she was doing there or how long she was staying, but I wasn’t about to waste a single second longer.
Okay, not totally true. I wasn’t an idiot. I paused long enough to roll up the sleeves on my dress shirt, something I happened to know she liked a helluva lot. It definitely couldn’t hurt my case.
“Oh no!” Remi exclaimed. The tone of her voice made my heart lurch, but when my head snapped up, the sight of her jumping to her feet, frantically trying to dodge a spilled glass of wine, made a smile split my mouth.
That was my cue.
Oh, my sweet, beautiful, clumsy girl.
The world owes you nothing. When it came to Remi, I had learned that time and time again.
Yet fate kept coming in clutch.
Remi
“Sorry about that,” I lied. Well, kinda lied.
I was sorry about spilling a perfectly good glass of wine. I was not sorry about tipping it his way after he’d completely ignored my polite refusal for a drink in the first place and instead decided to double down on his efforts by resting his hand on my thigh.
Hard no.
Hard fucking no.
I only wished it had been boiling water rather than a shitty house chardonnay. Cheapskate.
“Can we get some damn napkins over here?” he snapped at the bartender.
Strike two.
Even if he hadn’t been a total creep—which he absolutely was—that tone alone would have been more than enough for me to tell him to take a hike. Nothing was more unattractive than someone who was rude to people in the service industry. His unibrow was a close second though. It was also strike three.
