Page 59 of Forbidden Fruit
Holly leans forward. "Look at me, Becca. When was the last time you did something just because it made you happy, not because it was the 'right' thing to do?"
I open my mouth to answer but realize I can't imagine a single example.
"Exactly," she says triumphantly. "You've spent your whole life being the good girl—perfect daughter, student, perfect girlfriend. Maybe it's time to be perfectly imperfect for once."
"But what about my parents?" I groan, imagining the inevitable conversation. "My mother is going to have an aneurysm when she finds out I'm dating a man almost twenty years older than me. And my father?—"
"Your parents have barely been involved in your life except to criticize your choices," Holly interrupts bluntly. "Why are you still trying to please them?"
Her words sting because they're true. I've spent my entire life seeking approval from parents who were always too busy to notice me unless I failed to meet their expectations.
"Old habits," I mutter.
"Time for new habits, then." Holly stands, gathering her purse. "Come on, let's get out of here before Jack decides to make an encore appearance."
Outside, the cool air feels fresh after the tension of the restaurant. We walk arm in arm down the cobblestone street, Holly's presence steadying me.
"So, what are you wearing tonight?" she asks, clearly trying to lift my mood.
"I haven't thought about it," I admit.
Ask him about the settlement with Sophia. Ask why she left the company with an NDA. He'll never tell you the truth. Ask him how he emotionally abused my mother and sent her into a depression to make her cave on the divorce settlement.
"What is it?" Holly asks, noticing my expression.
I show her the text. "Jack, probably. Using another burner phone."
Holly reads it and rolls her eyes. "Delete and block. Classic manipulation tactic."
I do as she suggests, but the seed of doubt has been planted. What if there is something I should know about Clive? What if Jack, despite his apparent jealousy, is trying to warn me about something real?
"I can see you spiraling," Holly says, repeatedly linking her arm through mine. "Stop it. Tonight, you're going to put on that gorgeous dress, have dinner with a man who respects you, and ask him whatever you need."
"You're right," I say, taking a deep breath. "I'll talk to Clive directly."
“Good. Now, let’s find you a sexy dress for tonight.”
Clive
Iarrive at Lucien's fifteen minutes early, a habit I've never been able to break. The restaurant is dimly lit, intimate, with the kind of old-world charm that feels increasingly rare in Manhattan. I requested a corner table—privacy seems essential tonight.
The maître d' recognizes me immediately. "Mr. Bishop, welcome back. Your table is ready."
I follow him to the secluded corner, settling into the leather banquette that faces the door. I want to see Becca the moment she walks in. These two days without her have been... difficult. After a week of waking up beside her, the emptiness of my bed has been almost unbearable.
"Scotch, neat," I tell the waiter, needing something to steady my nerves. I'm not usually an anxious man—board meetings, multi-billion dollar negotiations, none of that rattles me. But the thought of seeing Becca again has my heart racing like a teenager's.
The scotch arrives, and I take a slow sip, letting the warmth spread through my chest. What if she's had second thoughts? What if the reality of New York has made her reconsider what happened in Cozumel? I wouldn't blame her. The age difference, Jack, the complications that come with my position—it's a lot to ask anyone to take on.
And then she's here, standing in the doorway, scanning the restaurant. My breath catches at the sight of her. She's wearing a simple black dress that hugs her curves perfectly, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She looks nervous, uncertain, but so beautiful it makes my chest ache.
Our eyes meet across the room, and for a moment, everything else falls away. Then she smiles—that genuine, radiant smile that first drew me to her—and I know, whatever doubts I had, whatever complications lie ahead, this is right.
I stand as she approaches, resisting the urge to pull her into my arms. Public discretion seems wise, at least for now.
"Hi," she says softly, a slight tremor in her voice.
"Hi yourself," I respond, taking her hand briefly before helping her into her seat. "You look beautiful."
