Chapter 20

The host had finally torn himself away from the table, and after the waiter disappeared, it was just her and Mr. Raemon Kentworth.

Octavia glanced around the restaurant slowly.

“I thought there’d be a lot of people here,” she remarked.

“There usually are. However, I reserved the entire restaurant for the day,” Raemon said.

Octavia looked toward his impassive face. “How many people are you meeting here?” she asked.

“Just one,” Raemon answered.

“Must be an awfully important person, then,” Octavia said. “I probably didn’t need to bring all the documents and stuff I did bring.”

“You did not,” Raemon said.

A slight frown crossed her face. “I had no idea who you would be meeting with. I had to bring everything. Not that it matters.” She looked in the direction that the host had disappeared to.

“That guy seriously just walked out of here with all my stuff. From the way he acted, I may have to pry it out of his cold, dead hands to get it back.”

“You won’t be needing any of that today,” Raemon assured her. “Have a glass of wine.”

Octavia shot her boss an incredulous look. “But…it’s the middle of the day.”

“I am aware of that,” he said. He had already reached for the bottle sitting next to him and was filling the glass in front of Octavia.

Octavia’s face was still wary. “You’re fine with me drinking in the middle of the day? While I’m working?”

“If I wasn’t, would I be offering it to you?” he said, handing her a glass with deep-red liquid dancing about its crystal bottom.

Octavia took the glass hesitantly. Then she raised it to her lips and took a sip. She made a face and set the glass down.

“I think I’ll just have water,” she said.

Raemon regarded her with a raised eyebrow. “Something wrong with the wine?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. Honestly, I don’t drink wine very much,” she said.

Raemon took a sip from his own glass and responded. “This is one of the most rare and expensive wines available.”

As Octavia looked at him with an unaffected expression on her face, she realized he had expected a reaction.

“Oh…then you drink it,” she said.

Raemon gave a defeated sigh. “Well, what do you want to drink?”

“I told you. Water,” Octavia said. “Actually, I could go for some lemonade. Is there lemonade? Yeah, I’d like that.”

Raemon waved a waiter over to them. Where he materialized from Octavia couldn’t tell, but the young man stepped forward silently, received Raemon’s request, and disappeared as quietly as he had come.

Minutes later, Octavia had a tall, ice-filled glass topped with lemonade and a bright-yellow lemon slice perched on the rim of the glass.

“Thank you,” Octavia told the waiter. She waited until he had faded into whatever dimension he lived in and then picked up her soup spoon and dunked it into her glass.

Raemon regarded her actions in silence before speaking. “What are you doing?”

Octavia was staring into her glass in concentration. “Trying to get out this crap that they put into my glass.” She fished out a few sprigs of various herbs.

“Those are meant to enhance the flavor of the drink,” Raemon said.

“I don’t need an ‘enhanced’ drink,” Octavia said, “just one that’s liquid and nonpoisonous.”

“I’ll order you another one then. One that isn’t ‘enhanced,’” Raemon said, beginning to raise his hand.

“No!” Octavia stopped him, yanking his raised hand back down to the table with her own.

Raemon stopped, then looked at her with a question in his eyes.

Octavia quickly snatched back her hand. “It’s fine. See? I got them out.” She held her glass up triumphantly. “There’s no need to have them go through the trouble.”

“Octavia,” Raemon said, “this is a five-star restaurant that I’ve hired out for the day. The least they could do is serve you a drink to your liking, one without all the ‘crap.’”

Octavia shrugged. “You hired it. But I didn’t. Besides, I feel weird being picky about things like that. I could just as well remove the crap myself.”

She raised the cup to her lips and took a few big gulps. When she was done, she set the glass down and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth.

“Phew! I was thirsty. Okay, so who is it you’re meeting today?” she said, looking up to meet her boss’s gaze.

“No one,” Raemon answered.

Octavia was not sure how to respond to this.

“You said you were going to meet with someone,” she started.

“Yes,” Raemon said, “and she’s here.”

Octavia almost turned in her seat to look around the restaurant before the meaning of his words dawned.

“You mean…me?” she asked.

“Of course I mean you,” Raemon said.

“Um…why?”

“Do you have something against eating at five-star restaurants?” Raemon said. “That didn’t seem to be the case with Lucas Marino.”

Octavia noted the twinge of bitterness that inflected his tone when he mentioned Lucas’s name.

“You don’t know where we went,” Octavia said. “We could have gone to a taco truck for all you know.”

“A man like Lucas doesn’t eat at taco trucks,” Raemon said.

Octavia observed the man before her. “You really don’t like him, do you?”

Raemon returned her gaze with a look of cynicism. “I despise the very ground he walks on.”

“I guess you’re not going to tell me why, are you?” Octavia ventured.

“No.”

She nodded resignedly. “Just as well.”

“I suppose he told you some sob story of the terrible things I did to him in the past,” Raemon said.

“Something like that.”

“And you must have believed him,” he continued, the bitterness in his tone growing.

Octavia shrugged. “I didn’t not believe him. But I wouldn’t stand up in front of a jury and vouch for him either.

“I don’t know…when it comes down to it, whatever happened between you two is your business, and I’d rather not be involved.”

“Are you with him?” Raemon asked abruptly.

Octavia’s face indicated how ludicrous she thought that statement was.

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Women can’t resist Lucas’s charm. He gets what he wants,” Raemon said.

“Don’t you?”

“I want different things.”

“Well…no, if you must know. I’m not with him. I barely know the man.”

“You knew him well enough to jump into his car and have lunch with him.”

“Jumping into a guy’s car for lunch and jumping into his bed for sex are two very different things,” Octavia responded.

“Not with Lucas.”

“With me, it is different.”

“Could you swear you’ll never see him again?” Raemon asked.

“I could…,” Octavia said, “but I won’t.”

“Why not?” Raemon demanded.

“Because I don’t owe you anything. And if you’re not going to give me a good reason for staying away from him, I’ll continue to act exactly as I choose.”

Octavia made sure to give him a calm but firm stare. “Honestly, it’s very unlikely I’ll see him again anyway.

“But if I did, I’m not going to go out of my way to avoid him just because you don’t want me to talk to him. What a ridiculous reason.”

Raemon stared her down, clenching his jaw at her words.

“Then I’ll at least warn you,” he finally said. “Believe me or not, Lucas Marino is not the person you want to be involved with.”

“Fair enough,” Octavia said. She took another sip from her glass. “But you still haven’t told me why I’m here.”

“Haven’t I? How forgetful of me,” Raemon said, his jawline relaxing.

“So what is it?” Octavia pressed.

He was silent, simply holding his glass in one hand and directing an impassive look at Octavia. Then he said, “In your words, ‘a truce.’”

“Huh?”

“Both of us are capable of doing some…damage…to the other. I propose a truce,” he said.

Octavia considered this. “All right,” she replied.

It seemed that was enough to settle things for both of them.

Shortly after, a string of waiters walked in with various trays filled with appetizers Octavia suspected were more visually appealing than appetizing.

But she tried each one and even ended up not hating a few. She was relieved to move on to the main courses, though. The progression through the entire meal was slow.

With every dish, her initial reaction usually started with, “What the fuck is this?”

At which point Raemon would take it upon himself to educate her on the identity of every element of the dish and how each one worked together to create a symphony of flavors for the taste buds.

Her response to this would usually be some sarcastic comment.

Then she picked at different pieces on her plate and made distasteful—though, often accurate—comparisons to other nonedible objects that they resembled.

Raemon accused her of having an uncultured palate, to which Octavia readily agreed.

However, when the last course was served, and the chef came out to assure himself of his guests’ satisfaction, Octavia gave him nothing but praise.

Her bright face was at a risk of wilting only when he insisted that they come back regularly.

As they exited the restaurant, she pulled Raemon aside and muttered to him that she would not be going back to that place.

He told her he was too kind a person to subject the restaurant to the experience of her presence again—and at this, she smiled.

She went home that day in a better mood than she had been in for a long time.

As she was climbing the last step to her apartment floor, she paused, realizing that during their lunch, it had been the first time she’d heard her name come from Raemon Kentworth’s lips. Strange.