She could have made up a story, but she doubted she’d ever see him again and saying it aloud was freeing. “I wanted a fresh start. I met my ex-boyfriend through my job and that didn’t work out well.”
“What did he do?”
“How do you know it wasn’t me?”
“Just tell me.”
“He took my debit card out of my wallet and emptied my bank account before he broke up with me—via a text.”
“What an asshole.” Grant sat up straight as if preparing to punch someone right then and there. “Did you go to the police? I hope he’s rotting in jail.”
Viviana grimaced. “I didn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t worth it.”
“Not worth it? He stole your money.”
“Fifty bucks.” She shrugged, regretting she’d brought the topic up.
“That’s all you had in the bank?” The raised pitch of his voice and the real surprise in his eyes was insulting.
Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “Do you know who shouldn’t judge me? Someone who mooches drinks off complete strangers.”
“I assure you—” He stopped, then said, “You’re right.”
“I am,” she said, feeling uneasy about how easily he’d agreed with her.
“I want to repay you,” he said in a serious tone.
“That’s not necessary.”
“It is.” He went to the counter, returned with a pen and wrote a number on a napkin. “This man is a genius when it comes to retirement investment plans. Tell him that Grant sent you.”
Viviana reluctantly accepted the napkin. “Thanks, but I’m still operating on the ‘paycheck to paycheck, fly by the seat of my pants’ system.”
“I don’t understand.”
She raised and lowered one shoulder. “It involves hoping I’m dead before seventy . . . possibly sixty-five.”
His mouth dropped open. “You’re joking.”
She frowned. No matter how hard she’d tried, she had never been good enough for her father or her brothers. The last thing she needed was another judgmental male in her life. To make her point she moved her drink to use the napkin as a coaster. “I’m not.”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t be offended. I didn’t realize how bad off you are.”
“Well, this has been fun.” She pulled her hands away from his and stood. Why would God make a man that attractive but that obnoxious? Sick joke?
He rose quickly to his feet. “Don’t go. Believe it or not, this is me trying.”
“To piss me off?”
“To get to know you. I shouldn’t have brought up finances. It’s none of my concern.”
She sighed. “Technicially, I started it.”
“Don’t go. How about if I tell you something embarrassing about me then we call it even and start over?”
It would have been a whole lot easier to refuse and walk away if her heart wasn’t pounding wildly in her chest simply because he’d stepped closer to her. She folded her arms across her chest. “Okay. Shoot.”
“I don’t know how to talk to someone I want so badly that I can hardly think around them.”
“Oh.” Viviana let out a shaky breath. You’re not doing so bad now.
“So, are we even?” A boyish smile spread across his face.
Even isn’t how I would describe how we are. “Sure.” Viviana sat back down mostly because her legs had gone wobbly beneath her.
He retook his seat across from her.
“That was really smooth,” she said as she took the napkin, wadded it up, and stuffed it in her wheatgrass shot cup. No way was he getting off the hook that easily. “Now, cough up an actual embarrassing story.”
Chapter Three
‡
Grant sat back and laughed. His family often accused him of not having a sense of humor. He had never thought too much about it, but perhaps that’s who he had become. Decades of being told to be perfect, never be too happy or too sad around the family, had taught him to hold back. It felt good to relax.
That night he didn’t want to be a financial wizard. He didn’t want to think about the reason that had brought him out to the Charles River. He wanted to simply be a man who was enjoying the company of a beautiful woman. Viviana didn’t know who he was. She had no expectations of him, and that was freeing.
Her smile had returned, and he found himself grinning right back. “I can’t think of any.”
“Try harder.” She arched an eyebrow in challenge, and he forgot what she was asking him for. Whatever it was, he wanted to give it to her.
He was momentarily reminded of a similar sensation during a tour through an art museum as a child. His teachers had told him Monet was a talented painter, but he hadn’t agreed until he’d seen one of his paintings from across a large room and it had come to life for him. It had ceased to be paint on fabric and had become a feeling he’d never forgotten. Regardless of what happened with Viviana, he knew it would be the same with her. Other women had turned him on, but never like this. He could feel her—every subtle change in her expression, every breath she took, every time she bit her lip nervously. She was gloriously disheveled, and he wanted her so badly he ached.
“Well?” She was also getting adorably impatient.
Oh, yes, she wants a story. He considered admitting where his mind had wandered, but he didn’t want to rush getting to know her. He hunted through his memories for a time when he’d been embarrassed. “I’ve got it. When I was in kindergarten—”
“Seriously? You can’t do better than a childhood story?”
“It’s a good one.” At least he hoped she’d think so.
She cocked her head to the side skeptically. “Okay, I’m willing to hear it, but the jury is still out on whether I accept it or not.”
“Fair enough.” He chuckled. Refreshingly hard to impress. “When I was five years old I fell in love with my first teacher, Mrs. Dube. She wore the prettiest dresses that had buttons from the neckline to the hem. I didn’t know why, but I wanted to help her with those buttons so I did the respectable thing and asked her to marry me.”
Viviana gasped with amused pleasure. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” He loved the sparkle in Viviana’s eyes as she pictured it. “Of course she turned me down. She said I was too young, but I was welcome to ask her again when I was older.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet. She didn’t want to hurt your young pride.”
“I thought she simply needed time to think about it.
So, the next year, on the first day of school I showed up with my luggage and my mother’s engagement ring.”
A laugh burst out of Viviana. “No.”
“Yes. She explained to me that when she’d said older—she’d meant much older. Then she called my father. I don’t know if she would have told him if I hadn’t showed up with a real diamond.”
“What did your father do?”
“He picked me up from school and took me to the office with him.”
“That’s it?”
“And he gave me the look.”
“The look?”
“It was a disappointed, I-thought-you-knew-better look. Highly effective.”
“Really? That’s it? You didn’t get grounded for taking your mother’s ring?”
“My father didn’t believe in punishment.”
“I can’t imagine that. I was grounded all the time.”
“So your parents were strict.”
“Parent. My mom was sick when I was little. She died when I was eight.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago. My father raised me and my two brothers. None of us are in prison, so he did something right.”
“That’s a low bar to measure success by. Don’t you have any aspirations?”
She cocked her head to one side and said, “How do you do it?”
“What?”
She leaned forward and went nose to nose with him. “How do you go back and forth between sounding like a nice person and a complete dick?”
He coughed back a surprised laugh. “I’m working on the latter part.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Well, at least you’re aware of the problem. They say that’s half the battle.”
The battle was to not pull her across the table and onto his lap. “I like you, Viviana.”
She blushed, and he savored the sheer beauty of it. “I think I like you, too.”
He laughed. “You know how to keep a man humble.”
