Page 40 of The Billionaire's Promise

"I don't know. That depends. Is it work?"

"If I say it is, will you drop it?"

"Maybe," I said.

"I don't want to talk about me," she said.

"You never want to talk about you." She didn't. Charlotte could be nosy as hell when it came to the people she cared about, but she hated talking about herself.

Ignoring me, she said, "I want to talk about you and Vance."

I turned bright red. I could feel it in my cheeks, the prickly heat of a fierce blush.

"I knew it," she shouted, practically bouncing in her seat. My eyes widened. I don't think I'd ever seen Charlotte this animated.

"You knew what?" I asked, trying to play dumb.

"You slept with him, didn't you? I know you did. Your face is bright red."

"Where do you want to go to lunch?" I asked, trying to derail the conversation.

"That new burger place in the Highlands," she shot back, refusing to be diverted.

I knew the place she was talking about. The food was amazing, and it was warm enough that we could sit outside. There was also an excellent pastry and ice cream shop across the street.

"Spill. I want to know everything. Well, almost everything. Heismy cousin. You can leave out the really graphic details."

"Charlie," I protested, torn. I needed to talk to someone about Vance, and I trusted Charlotte, but he was her family. Wouldn't she automatically be on his side? Making a decision, I said, "Fine, I'll talk to you about Vance if you talk to me about whatever's going on at work."

Charlie narrowed her eyes at me and let out a light growl. One thing I'd learned about Charlie Winters—she could be stubborn.

"Fine," she ground out. "But there's some stuff going on I can't tell you. Client confidentiality stuff."

"I don't care about clients, Charlotte. I care about you. And every time I've seen you in the last few months, you look exhausted and unhappy. I know it's work because that's all you do, and you need to talk about it with someone."

"I said I’d talk about it. Geez, back off."

"Cranky," I commented under my breath.

"I'll talk. After you."

I had a feeling that was the best deal I was going to get. This time of day, the drive from Buckhead to the Highlands didn't take long. We got lucky with a parking spot on a side street not far from the restaurant.

While I loved living in my family home in Buckhead, I shared Charlotte's enthusiasm for the Highlands. Between the funky shops, excellent restaurants and cafés, and the combination of Victorian and Craftsman architecture, it always reminded me of a small town dropped in the middle of Atlanta.

It didn't surprise me that I liked the Highlands, but Charlotte's interest in the area always struck me as a little odd. Charlotte was buttoned up tight. With her perfect hair and her formal business suit, she looked like big business and old money. The Highlands neighborhood wasn't low rent by any means. Houses here were pretty expensive, and our burger and fries lunch would be both local and artisanal—i.e. also not cheap.

From where I was standing, I could see two coffee shops, one of which doubled as an art gallery, a casual wear boutique, the sports gear shop where Vance had bought my running clothes, and a tattoo parlor. Charlotte looked like Phipps Plaza—Tiffany, Prada, and Versace. So why did I think in her heart, she was so much more the Highlands than Buckhead?

Ordering didn't take long since we both already knew what we wanted. I got a lemonade and grabbed a table. Charlotte sat down across from me and leaned forward, bracing herself on her elbows. "Okay, talk," she said.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Are you two together now? Like together, together?"

"I don't even know what that means, Charlie," I said, taking a sip of my lemonade to stall.

"You know what it means. You're just being difficult."