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“So I’ve heard.”
“How?” I asked.
“Word gets around.” Hank placed his phone back in his pocket. What was going on? He’d come here just for that?
“Ryker, if you change your mind, here is my card.”
He stretched out his hand.
“I won’t,” Ryker said in a clipped tone. “Heather, are you ready to go?”
“Yes.” Draping an arm around my waist, he turned me in the general direction of the door, and we started to make our way through the crowd.
“Hank just showing up here isn’t good,” I said.
“It’s a hot topic, Heather.”
“Hank came here specifically to interview you. He knew you were performing, and that means he’s already put solid work hours into this.”
I shivered when we stepped outside. The temperature had dropped by a few degrees since I arrived two hours ago.
“Don’t stress about it, Heather. Not right now, anyway.” He cupped the sides of my neck with his palms, splaying his fingers wide.
“I don’t think I can stop.”
He flashed me one of those panty-melting smiles. “Then I need to take your mind off it, don’t I?”
“I guess you do.” I leaned into him, needing the heat of his body.
“Are you cold, babe?”
“A bit. It was warmer when I came.”
“Here, take this.”
He shrugged off his jacket, draping it around me. I was already wearing one, but his was so huge that I could just wrap it around me on top of everything I had on. But now he was only wearing a thin shirt.
“Ryker, you’ll get sick.”
“Nah, I never get sick. Besides, we’ll get in a car in a few minutes.”
I cocked a brow, attempting to shrug out of his jacket. Ryker kept his arm firmly around my shoulders. His gaze was unrelenting.
“You’re so stubborn,” I murmured. “Fine, I’m keeping the jacket.”
“Right answer.”
I was melting at his determination to keep me warm, but I didn’t share his confidence about being immune to sickness.
We bought hot dogs from a stand near the bar and wolfed them down while we waited for our Uber. The second I slid inside the car, it hit me that I was going to Ryker’s place, and I became jittery. I had no idea why I was nervous. After all, he’d been to mine.
Ryker lived in a gorgeous two-story apartment on the fifty-fourth floor of a Manhattan skyscraper. The master bedroom was on the second floor, the living room and a guest bedroom on the first level. It was exactly what I’d imagined his bachelor pad to look like.
Modern art paintings were hanging on the pristine white walls. The furniture was in shades of black and dark brown. And the view... oh, the view.
“Ryker this is beautiful,” I murmured. The city looked so different from up here, magical somehow. It was dark already, but I could imagine that this place was flooded with light during the day.
I felt him come up behind me, touching my arm, resting his chin in the crook of my neck.
