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We’re still holding hands, and it feels so damn good after two days apart.
“It’s a mirror tint. He can’t see back here.”
Ada’s eyes flash.
“Dirty girl.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I was hoping,” I admit. “But now that you’ve confirmed it, I’m really looking forward to the ride back.”
For once, there’s not much traffic, and we’re too close to our destination to take advantage of the privacy now. But I’m turned on enough that the rest of the ride is going to be very uncomfortable.
“I like it when you look at me like that,” she says.
“Good. Because I like the way you look back.”
My arousal almost painful, I decide a change in topic might help me get to the restaurant a bit easier.
“How was your day?”
She accepts the change easily. “Good, I spent most of it reading reports . . .”
She trails off, and I instantly know why. She must have been reading reports about our drug. And since we’ve decided not to discuss our application in any way, Ada shrugs her shoulders instead.
“Sorry.”
I continue rubbing her palm.
“Don’t apologize. I have to learn to ask different questions.”
Thankfully, I’m somehow able to get my boner in check by the time Henry buzzes us to say we’re close.
“Where the heck are we going, anyway?” Ada asks, her eyes shining. “I mean, I know we’re in Brooklyn, but what is this place?”
Following my instructions, Henry pulls through the alley, stopping in front of a door that opens as if on cue. Or as if Henry told Trina we were almost here.
“You’ll see.”
When we get out, she’s waiting for us at the door.
“Hayden Tanner.”
The owner of the hotel, a handsome woman in her early seventies, greets me by kissing both of my cheeks. She looks at Ada, so I introduce them.
“Ada”—I don’t use her last name—“this is Trina Palucci, an old friend of my mother’s. Trina, Ada is obviously the special guest I told you about.”
“Welcome, welcome,” she says as she ushers us into the kitchen. Once we’re off the street, Trina takes Ada’s measure, although she does it politely. Discreetly. And then she starts guiding us through the controlled chaos of a restaurant during dinner service.
She doesn’t ask why we’ve come in through the back door or why there’s a need for secrecy. Given the amount of money I’m paying her for our visit, she won’t even mention this to my mother. We never spoke of it, but my request for discretion was quite clear.
“This way.”
We get to an elevator, and Trina puts in her key.
“I hope you have a lovely evening,” she says as the elevator opens. “Do give your mother my regards when you speak to her next.”
I won’t be doing that, at least not until I’m comfortable with my mother asking questions, but I agree. And I thank her as Ada says goodbye.
