Page 47 of Never To Be Mine

“That actually shows character,” I admitted. “Most people in your position would just take the easy route. Live off the family name and call it a day.”

“Believe me, it would have been a lot easier.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror.”

The waiter appeared, interrupting the moment, and we ordered. I went with the pasta because screw it, if Hollis was paying I might as well enjoy it. He ordered the grilled chicken and steamed veggies.

When the waiter left, Hollis shrugged. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

“Too late.” I picked up my water glass. “This lunch is now officially a pity party.”

He laughed. “Are we going to wallow? Talk about our daddy issues?”

“Not me. You.”

He grinned. “Me?”

“Yep.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. Tell me something real. Something that’s not on your Instagram.”

He considered that for a moment, his fingers drumming on the table. “I don’t know. I’m an open book.”

“You seemed pretty confident in that conference room.”

He shook his head. “I’m making it up as I go along. Hoping I don’t screw it up too badly.”

“You and everyone else in business,” I said. “That’s just called being human.”

“Yeah, well. It’s nice to hear someone else admit it.”

Our food arrived, and I took my first bite of the pasta. It was perfectly al dente, the sauce rich without being heavy. I made an involuntary sound of appreciation.

“Good?” Hollis asked, amusement clear in his voice.

“Shut up and eat your dry chicken.”

As we ate, he told me about his brothers. How competitive they all were but also how close. I told him about growing up as an only child, always feeling like I had to be perfect because there was no one else to share the burden of my parents’ expectations.

“Do you ever wish you’d done something else?” he asked. “Something completely different from what your dad does?”

I thought about it, twirling pasta around my fork. “Sometimes. But then I remember why I chose this field in the first place. I actually do care about helping people be healthier. It’s not just a job.”

“That’s how I feel about B Well,” he said.

The waiter cleared our plates and asked about dessert. I was stuffed, but Hollis ordered the chocolate mousse and two spoons.

“I can’t eat another bite,” I protested.

“Then I’ll eat it all myself. But you’re going to want to try it.”

He was right. When the mousse arrived, rich and dark and topped with fresh whipped cream, I couldn’t resist. I took a spoonful and nearly moaned.

“Told you,” he said smugly.

We shared the dessert in companionable silence. This felt almost like a date. Which was ridiculous because it absolutely wasn’t a date. This was two business associates celebrating a successful meeting.

I needed to get my head on straight. The fuzzy feeling spreading through my chest was dangerous. I couldn’t afford to let my guard down. Not with him. Not when so much was riding on this partnership.