Page 89 of Words of Love
She glanced at him again, only to find that he was looking at her this time. Another flicker ofDon’t I know you?went through her.
The elevator doors opened, revealing the glass-paneled entrance to Harvest.
Brooke slipped her purse over her shoulder. The man held the door for her again.
“Enjoy your dinner,” he said.
“Thank you.” For some strange reason, she felt as if she should say more, but that, too, was silly.
She left the elevator and walked toward the restaurant. Another couple exited behind her. The woman edged up next to Brooke, leaning closer as if she were about to impart a secret.
“That was Lincoln Atwood,” she announced in a conspiratorial whisper.
Brooke stopped. “The author?”
“The one and only. Isn’t he gorgeous?” The woman fanned her face with her hand and gave a swoony sigh. “I heard him do a reading at the Met last year, and oh my lord, thatvoice. He had the whole room captivated. Most of the women were practically orgasmic.”
“Honey.” The man behind her shook his head in reprimand.
“What? It’s the truth.” The woman shrugged without apology. “I guarantee he’s the only Pulitzer-prize winning author who looks and sounds likethat. Anyway.” She smiled at Brooke. “I overheard you saying he looked familiar. That’s probably why.”
“Probably.” Brooke started toward the hostess station. “Thanks for letting me know.”
She stepped aside under the pretense of checking her phone, allowing the couple to go ahead of her.
Lincoln Atwood.
He was an incredible author. She’d given his most recent book five stars in her Brooke’s Books column. He’d been a literary prodigy, having published his first novel at twenty-four. The book,Truth, had received great acclaim and was a finalist for the National Book Award.
Since that illustrious debut eleven years ago, Lincoln had published half a dozen other novels that had both hit the bestseller lists and been lauded by critics. His most recent book,Honor, was no exception. The young prodigy had become an established, acclaimed author with countless awards for his work and a devoted international fan base. At thirty-five, he was legendary.
She’d seen plenty of photos of him in articles and book reviews. Heck, his headshot was in the back of all his books. No wonder he looked familiar.
Slipping her phone back into her purse, she left her coat at the coat check and explained to the hostess that she was meeting Michael Barnes. The woman nodded and led her past the linen-draped tables and sparking chandeliers.
Brooke had run into celebrities all the time when she’d lived in New York. Aside from a spark of recognition or internal fangirl moment, she’d never given them much thought. But Lincoln Atwood…she felt like that brief encounter would stick with her.
“Brooke Castle.”
Her stomach tensed. She pushed Lincoln Atwood to the back of her mind.
Though she and Michael had spoken on the phone a few times, she was unprepared for the sound of his voice saying her name in person. He was standing beside a table glittering with silver and china. He was equally polished—his Hugo Boss suit and tie impeccable, his clean-shaven jaw and perfectly arched eyebrows emphasizing his noble features.
“Hi, Michael.” She let him take her hand and pull her closer for a light kiss on the cheek. The smell of his cologne almost made her sneeze.
“You look beautiful.” He ran his gaze admiringly over her.
“Would you like a cocktail, ma’am?” A server appeared as the hostess pulled her chair out.
Needing something strong, Brooke requested a gin and tonic. Michael waited until she’d taken her seat before he sat across from her.
“Thanks for joining me,” he said.
She didn’t bother thanking him for asking. This was a business dinner.
“Your panel discussion was quite informative.” She unwrapped her linen napkin and spread it over her lap. “And I’m glad to know you like theLifelong Flingidea.”
Michael chuckled. “Way to get down to business. Can’t we just talk first? It’s been a long time.”