Chapter Eighteen

I sat on the vinyl seat, a nervousness making my hands twitchy. I played with the silverware, the menus, the dinky plastic cup filled with soda. I probably shouldn’t have had two full glasses already, but I was nervous and kept refilling it.

I glanced around the small diner. It was nothing fancy—a greasy spoon hamburger joint that reminded me of home. With Rachel’s help, I had rented the entire restaurant for the evening. The owner was more than happy to “sell” me the space for an evening, and I had a feeling Rachel was generous with the payment in return for a signed agreement not to tell anyone. No crazy photographers were going to ruin this date night.

I glanced up as the door chimed. Jack walked in the door, wearing a $10,000 suit. I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt—granted it was a Rachel-chosen jeans and t-shirt costing more than a week’s salary. I watched as the two bodyguards closed the door behind him. The taxi he arrived in pulled away, immediately lost to a sea of matchin