Chapter 6 - DINNER WITH ELIAS NORTH
Laurel called Elias two days later.
Not because of the promotion.
Not because of Preston.
Because she was curious.
And because, after seven months of rebuilding herself, she was tired of allowing her ex-fiancé to determine which risks she took.
Elias answered on the second ring.
“Laurel.”
She smiled despite herself.
“You saved my number?”
“I hoped you'd call.”
She laughed softly.
“That's confident.”
“Optimistic.”
She looked out her apartment window.
“Is the dinner invitation still open?”
“Yes.”
“Then Friday.”
“Seven?”
“Seven.”
He paused.
“And Laurel?”
“Yes?”
“No business.”
She smiled.
“Agreed.”
Friday evening, Elias arrived at a small Italian restaurant in Lincoln Park.
No entourage.
No photographers.
No dramatic entrance.
Just a dark sweater beneath a wool coat.
Laurel was surprised.
“You look normal.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Should I be offended?”
“Probably.”
He laughed.
It was a warm sound.
Unexpected.
They ordered pasta.
Shared bread.
Talked about Chicago.
Books.
Travel.
Bad hotel coffee.
Elias told her about growing up in a family that owned a small transportation company.
His father had died when Elias was twenty-three.
His mother had worked two jobs to keep the business alive.
Laurel listened.
“You built Northline from that?”
He nodded.
“Eventually.”
“Why hotels?”
He smiled.
“Because transportation taught me that people remember how you make them feel when they're tired.”
Laurel stared.
“That sounds suspiciously like something an events director would say.”
“Perhaps I learned it from watching one.”
She laughed.
Then grew quiet.
Elias noticed.
“What's wrong?”
Laurel looked down.
“I'm not used to this.”
“To pasta?”
“To someone asking questions without trying to find a weakness.”
Elias's expression softened.
“Preston?”
She nodded.
He didn't press.
Instead, he said, “You don't have to explain anything you aren't ready to.”
Laurel looked up.
May you like
And something inside her loosened.
Just a little.
