I scurried by the hoard, earning a few side-eyes from women along the way to the front entrance. I shrugged them off, used to the cattiness thanks to years of Monica's bullshit and my former in-laws-to-be.
My nerves fluttered as I scanned the crowds for any sign of Bear. At his height, he'd likely stand out, though I still wasn't convinced that I'd be able to spot him.
Would he see me first? Had he seen me already?
Jitters wobbled my knees as I entered the colossal glass entry to the foyer. As soon as my heels touched the sleek black marble, my phone chimed in my bag.
It had to be Bear. He must have spied me first.
I glanced around for a sign of him but came up empty, most of the patrons gray-haired men with much younger dates.
I stepped to the side and plucked my phone out, glancing at the message across the screen.
Bear: Be there in five. Tied up in traffic. I'm sorry.
Rather than being ticked at his tardiness, it relieved me, knees steadying for a change. At least I had a little more time to get my nerves in check.
Jewels: It's okay. Drive safe.
Bear: Go ahead and grab our table. The reservation is under Private Lee.
Jewels: Clever.
Bear: I try. See you soon, beautiful.
I smiled, sliding the phone back into my bag.
I wanted to hate Colby's on principle, but I couldn't. The place was stunning, each minute detail finished to perfection. From the wall candelabras to the leather settees, the place was unlike anywhere I had been, even the poshest hangouts in Manhattan.
The dark plaster walls stretched high, angling to a black and white mandala patterned ceiling, a single black chandelier dropped from its center. It was hauntingly beautiful, with thousands of onyx crystals dripping from its tiers.
As I craned my head up to take in the view, I was ushered forward by the steady flow of the crowd. A raspy clearing of a throat pulled my eyes from the ceiling to a lanky twenty-something hostess behind a podium, her golden locks secured high in a bun.
“Good evening, ma'am. Do you have a reservation?” Her beady brown eyes looked me over with contempt, seeming to know I didn't belong.
I smiled back, not letting her attitude damper my mood. “Yes, it's under Private Lee.”
She scanned her tablet, heavily lined eyes darting left to right as she swiped away.
“Ah, yes.” She glanced over at a large college-aged kid that must have moonlighted as a bodybuilder. “Lawrence, take her to table forty-one.”
“Right this way, Madam.” He waved a muscular arm, gesturing for me to follow.
I tried my best to keep up while he floated across the floor, each step covering at least three of mine. I didn’t rush, deciding early on that falling behind was better than snapping an ankle on the slick marble.
We entered a narrow opening behind the podium, revealing one hell of a dining area. It was as glamorous as the entry, though my breath caught at the lighting above.
Thousands of fingertip-sized lights dangled from hair-thin wires, mimicking the night sky. The walls and floors were dark, blanketing the room in shadows, illuminated by the lights above and sconces, giving the room a warm glow of a fireside gathering.
Each table was tucked into its own private cove, hidden from view by potted palms and ferns, creating a lush indoor oasis of excess.
Lawrence stopped at a table, pulling out a chair and waiting as I got situated, scooting me in. He placed a menu across from me before handing me mine.
“Have a lovely evening, Madam.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I could get used to being a madam for the night — not the lady pimp kind -the fancy kind that projected elegance.
He smiled and was gone, leaving me alone with the leather-wrapped menu. There was a tiny space between palm leaves, allowing for Bear-watching from the privacy of the table. I spied no one that fit the description, growing more anxious by the second.
The angel that was Lawrence reappeared with a pitcher of ice water, scaring the bejesus out of me. He offered a sympathetic smile, pouring a goblet for me and leaving one for Bear.
I continued to search through the opening, honing in on a handsome man standing at the dining room entrance. He was the right age and tall, standing at least over six feet, and well-muscled. He was wearing an all-black suit, scanning the room the same way I was, but his hair was a sandy blond rather than brown, so I moved on.
I found another contender in a man to the left. He didn't look friendly, but he had the correct height and hair color. His eyes flicked towards me, catching my stare despite the tiny opening. His eyes were cold, hard, and anything but friendly. I looked away, hoping he wasn't Bear.
By the time I looked back, he was distracted by his phone, allowing me to look him over. Long. Built. Thick legs with muscles for days.
I prayed my phone wouldn't chime with a Privately notification. If it were him, I'd have to bail. He didn't look like someone I'd feel safe being alone with.
“Elena, what are you doing here?” a voice demanded, the words fired in rapid succession, shattering the bubble of seclusion the palms offered.
I flinched and let out an involuntary squeal as my eyes fell on the speaker.
There stood Jason. Jason Barrett. As in the branch manager. The grand poobah. Mr. Don't Eat at Your Desk himself.
Decked out in a fitted black suit and navy tie, he was strikingly handsome, a pristine white button-down contrasting both. Based on his outfit, he must have been attending the private banquet. If he was looking for a friendly chat beforehand, he picked the wrong time.
“Oh hi,” I greeted with a flutter, eager to
