Page 32 of Tempting Devil

I’m sorry.

I’m still falling for you.

But I understand if you’re no longer willing to fall with me.

As I hit send on my final text, I took another large swallow of my drink, watching the status change from delivered to read.

I prayed I’d soon see the little dots appear below my message, indicating he was typing a response.

But I never did.

I couldn’t blame him if he no longer wanted to pursue things with me. I’m not sure I’d be so quick to forgive if the shoe were on the other foot.

If I learned anything from this ordeal, it was that it was time to let Samuel go.

For once and for all.

Otherwise, I’d keep sabotaging my future. And Gideon could be my future. Or he could have been had I just thought rationally instead of jumping to insane conclusions.

Pushing out a long sigh, I returned my phone to my purse, more than aware I’d drive myself crazy looking at it all night if I didn’t. My mother didn’t see me much these days. She deserved my full attention.

I brought my glass back to my lips, hoping the alcohol would lessen the heartache, when a prickle of awareness trickled down my spine, followed by a hand grazing my shoulder blades.

I turned around, about to berate whoever thought he could touch me without my permission.

But any protest immediately left me when I was met with Gideon’s familiar gaze.

Chapter Thirteen

Imogene

How was this possible? How was he here? I didn’t tell him I was in Atlanta. I hadn’t spoken to him since he stormed out of my townhouse in the early hours of yesterday morning. I must have been dreaming. Or I’d officially lost my mind.

Those were the only possible explanations for why Gideon Saint was currently standing in front of me, his body clad in a perfectly tailored designer suit that made him look as delicious as sin.

Just as deadly, too.

“Wha-what are you doing here?” I asked, snapping out of my shock.

“The same thing as you, it seems,” he replied coolly.

“Having a drink with your mother?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

His expression faltered. “I’m no longer afforded the opportunity, I’m afraid.”

“Right.” I winced, briefly squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

“I’m in town on business,” he interrupted, saving me from having to make yet another apology. “And if I’m being honest, I was stalking your social media profile when I noticed you post a photo of you and your mother in this very bar. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I couldn’t help but think it was a sign. Or fate.”

“Fate?” I repeated, reminded of the barista’s words.

“Perhaps.” He gestured toward my mom’s vacant chair. “May I?”

I glanced past him and toward the hallway leading to the restrooms. My mom gave me an encouraging smile, along with an exaggerated wink before refocusing her attention on her phone.

One thing was certain. I had the coolest mom around. I didn’t know many other women my age whose mothers would be their wingman.

Or wingwoman.