Their conversation flowed easily, the two of them laughing and talking until the manager gently informed them the staff would need to set the table for the dinner seating.
“I believe we’re being politely kicked out,” Hudson said, standing with authoritative grace and reaching for his wallet. He dropped a few bills on the table as Allie gathered her belongings.
“Hudson?”
His eyes met hers. “Yeah?”
“I’m glad we had the chance to clear the air.”
“Me too.” His lips quirked up in a half smile and he waved a hand toward the door. “After you.”
They stood on the sidewalk, staring at each other for several awkward moments before Allie broke the silence. “Well, I guess . . .” Her voice trailed off as she wondered if this was actually the good-bye they’d missed out on ten years ago. She cleared her throat. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“To be honest, I wish I didn’t care whether or not we ran into each other again.”
For a moment she thought he might say more, but he merely turned and walked away. Stunned by his comment, Allie was still standing there long after he’d disappeared into the crowd.
Chapter Nine
By the time Allie got back to the office it was nearly quitting time. Part of her secretly hoped Harper had already left for the day. No such luck. Her head popped over the wall of her cubicle the minute Allie came through the door, and she was right on her heels as they walked to her office.
Allie heard the door close behind her as she rounded her desk.
“Well?” Harper asked.
“Well, what?” she replied, still holding on to her foolish hope of avoiding the Harper Hayes Inquisition.
Harper’s eyes bulged out of her head. “Are you kidding me? What happened with you and Mr. Moneybags after I left?”
“Not much.” She kept her tone light as she dropped her purse in the large bottom drawer and kicked it closed with her foot. “We had coffee and talked about the foundation.”
Hand on hip, Harper let her have it. “Alessandra Sinclair, I leave you alone with possibly the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on and you expect me to believe you spent three hours discussing alternative learning environments?”
She shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“Deny it all you want, but I know there’s more you’re not telling me. I saw the way the two of you were eye fucking each other at the restaurant.”
Allie’s gaze shot up from her stack of messages, her mouth gaping open. “We were doing no such thing!”
“Oh please, you looked like you wanted to rip each other’s clothes off.”
“Might I remind you I am engaged to be married?” Allie held up her left hand as if proving her point. Problem was, she wasn’t completely sure which one of them needed the reminder.
“And might I remind you that a diamond ring is not the same as a wedding ring.”
“I’m marrying Julian,” she told her in no uncertain terms. “My relationship with Mr. Chase is purely professional.” Allie turned her attention back to the pink slips of paper in her hand. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing more to talk about. Subject closed.
Harper took the hint. “Suit yourself,” she said. “But if it were me, I’d drop Prince Pain-in-the-Ass.” Her lips curved into a smug grin. “By the way, you do realize you’ve reshuffled your messages about five times?” Halfway out the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. “Just sayin’.”
Allie let out a heavy breath and slumped into her chair. Leave it to Harper to point out everything she’d been trying to ignore. She swiveled around, staring out the window and thinking about all that had transpired over the past few weeks. Her physical reaction to Hudson was one thing—she could almost write that off to an unresolved summer of teenage hormones—but now, talking for hours? And the conversation had been so relaxed, so easy—so unlike any she’d ever had with Julian.
Her fiancé.
A pang of guilt burned in her chest as the image of him on bended knee at Buckingham Fountain played through her mind. She’d stepped out of her brownstone that night to find him waiting in a horse-drawn carriage. Her very own Prince Charming brought to life.
Allie’s gaze instinctively fell to the silver frame on the corner of her desk. It was a photo of Julian, proudly holding the flag from the fourth hole at Rich Harvest Farms. Allie wasn’t sure what had pleased him more, the birdie he’d shot on a hole known as the “Devil’s Elbow,” or the mere fact that he’d been invited to play at the exclusive club in the first place. Either way, she’d never seen his smile that wide. They’d had dinner in the clubhouse afterward, recounting the details of every hole they’d played.
Things had been good between them then, but lately she and Julian felt out of sync. Even simple decisions like choosing a restaurant dissolved into tense debates. It had all started to deteriorate shortly after their engagement and had reached a fever pitch just before the gala.
She shook her head. Of course, why hadn’t she seen it sooner? Between her long hours at work and the wedding plans that were now taking over her life, no wonder he was distant. Needing to reconnect, Allie spun her chair around and dialed the phone.
“Allô?”
“Julian?”
“Oui. Why are you calling, Alessandra, is something wrong?”
“Oh no, everything’s fine.” She chewed her lip. Why was this so difficult? “It’s just, I never heard from you. I thought I’d check in, make sure you arrived safely.”
Someone knocked on his door. “One moment, Alessandra.” She heard a muffled voice in the background. “To my liking? If I wanted Cristal, I would have ordered it,” he snapped. There was a tense silence followed by a harsh exhale. “Fine. Come in.” Glassware rattled as the sound of squeaking wheels drew closer to Julian’s phone. “Imbéciles incompétents,” he muttered under his breath.
“It’s not his fault, Julian. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“What does that even mean?” he asked. Without waiting for an explanation, he continued his rant. “Peu importe. I’m never staying at the Plaza again. A hotel that finds it acceptable to substitute Cristal for Dom Ruinart, c’est ridicule.” Allie listened to Julian venting in his native tongue while lamenting the substitution of one four-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne for another. “ . . . head so far up their ass, they can’t even spell the name correctly on the menu. It’s Dom Ruinart,” he announced loud enough for the waiter to hear. “Not ‘Ruinard.’”
“It was probably just a typo,” Allie said.
He ignored her comment, his attention focused on the waiter. “Tell your sommelier to correct the name. Fucking insult to the French.”
Allie flinched as the sound of a slamming door echoed into the phone. “You didn’t have to be so hard on him,” she said quietly.
“And just accept the piss they bring me? I’m a French Marquis, Alessandra. I serve only the best France has to offer.”
“Are you expecting company?”
“Business associates.”
“The meetings must be going well if you’re serving champagne.”
“But of course, why would they not?”
“You just seem . . .” She paused a moment to consider her word choice. Julian seemed anxious and on edge, but in the end she settled on “tense.”
“If I am tense it’s because I work hard. There is more to my title than simply tending to various charities, Alessandra. My obligations extend beyond parities.”
Allie flinched. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Was that all you wanted, to check up . . . in with me?” A television blared to life in the background.
She sighed. “I missed you, that’s all.”