Page 49 of The Fixer

If I’d like.

My goodness. So this is what it felt like to be valued? To be respected and thought of as more than just a decoration to hang on someone’s arm? It was a heady feeling, having my wants and needs considered, and I didn’t trust it one bit. It was foreign and strange, alien to the very last. It filled me with uncertainty and made untamed anxiety flare up.

Jet stepped in closer, and the heat from his body had flames erupting from within me that I wasn’t sure how to put out.

The pitter-patter of my heart didn’t help.

“We can stay in,” he repeated quietly before he pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“No.” I lifted my chin. Found silver eyes shining down on me. “No, we can go out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I just… I’m sorry, it was just unexpected, that’s all.”

Was that pity I saw on his face? I wasn’t sure, and the thought was wiped away by his thumb tracing under my jaw. “I don’t want it to be unexpected, Eliza. A woman like you deserves the best. Now, let’s get ready. I have reservations for eight.”

* * *

Intimidation swallowed me as I followed in Jet’s wake through the fancy restaurant. It was the kind of place Dad would go to with his clients. The kind of place he might have taken me for a very special occasion, not just a night on the town. Perhaps even the kind of place Nathan would have gone without me, some other woman on his arm.

Jet walked behind the maître d' like he owned the place, confidence in every step. And I stumbled along after, feeling like I didn’t belong. As we made it through the front room of the restaurant, Jet paused in his place, looking back at me. The smile on his face made me turn to look behind me, as I was sure he couldn’t be looking at me like that. But he waited patiently for me to catch up, then took my hand and continued to lead the way.

I was wrapped up in his presence, but not so much that I didn’t notice the looks the other diners threw my way. Like I didn’t belong on the arm of this gorgeous man. Like I wasn’t enough of a person to be let inside this room. Like the dress I was wearing, the beautiful, black silk dress Jet bought me the other day, was too expensive for the likes of me.

Jet pulled my chair out and gently pushed it in after I was seated, then joined me with barely a glance at the maître d'. I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable under his watchful eyes.

“Jet,” I murmured, “this is too much.”

His eyebrow rose, that smile not dropping from his lips. “It’s not even close,” he told me, hand sweeping across my bare shoulder before he turned his attention to the maître d'. I took the offered menu and nearly choked when I saw the prices on the first page.

“Can I get you something to drink?” the maître d' asked.

“Just a water, please,” I rushed out as Jet rattled off the name of some wine that was surely too expensive. I lifted my face from the menu, ready to plead with him not to spend that much, and noticed for the first time the man standing at the table at Jet’s side. “Oh!”

Broad-shouldered with the darkest brown hair, the man’s smirk should have had me cowering in my seat. But there was a calmness in his amber eyes that soothed my troubled heart. “You’re—”

“Angelo Santini,” he murmured, extending his hand to me. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met.”

His thick hand was the kind of gentle I never would have expected from a man his size. He was bigger than Jet both in height and bulk, more reminiscent of the man from my past. And though an aura of danger surrounded him, it was the curiosity in his bright eyes that brought me unease.

“Eliza Westbrook,” I told him, reaching out to shake his hand. “You work here?”

Santini grimaced as he dipped his head. “For now,” he said, throwing a glance Jet’s way. “Until the boss gets his shit together.”

Jet’s hand grabbed at the lapel of Santini’s suit, yanking the man down until their faces were close. Whispered words spit from Jet’s lips and the curl of Santini’s fell.

“Yes, sir,” Santini croaked, straightening his suit jacket as he rose to full height. He nodded to me, that grimace back in place. “Your waiter will be with you shortly.”

When he was gone, Jet turned to me, hand smoothing down his skinny black tie. “I’m sorry about that. He’s having some troubles adjusting.”

“From your previous life?” I asked, and his gaze dropped to the table. “Has it been hard for you, too?”

His chin lifted as he breathed in a slow breath. His mercurial gaze shifted over the crowded restaurant before turning on me. “Do you see that?” he asked, voice low as he leaned in. “How everyone’s watching you?”

There was no need to look up. I’d felt their gazes on me since I stepped into the room. I dipped my chin toward the table, but Jet snagged it with his finger, drawing my face toward his.

“They’re jealous,” he whispered, fingers trailing along my jaw. “The women, of how beautiful you look. The men, that they aren’t the one on your arm.”